Chicago People Watching

I was scrolling through my phone photos recently (as one tends to do when confronted with an awkward situation and needs to look busy) and I noticed how many secret pictures of people I have taken. And I've subsequently realized what a horrible, judgmental person I am. But what can I say? There are some WEIRD people in this city, and my friends need to know about them. And what better way to say I'm thinking of you than to send a picture with the words, "Hey, Erin. I thought of you today when I saw this insane-looking woman on the bus"?

Besides, seeing other imperfect people out in the world makes me happy. It makes me think that maybe my accidental navy/black/brown why-did-I-get-dressed-in-the-dark-today combo isn't really SO bad.

So I thought I would share some of my observations with all of you. I hope you enjoy these people as much as I did.


"Hey, guys. What's going on? This? Oh, yeah. That's just my parrot. Thought I'd bring him on over to the outdoor farmers market. Polly want some homemade mustard?"


Okay this boy here was possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen. Those men perform at that subway station every day and everyone tends to ignore them. But this little boy stood there and gaped at them the entire time they played, so they sang right to him.


Old Woman With Enormous Hair: "What's going on here?"
Emily: "It's a Snuggie Barcrawl. It's like--"
OWWEH: "I GOT IT."
Emily: "No, it's just a--"
OWWEH: "Listen, I may be old as dirt, but I GOT IT." *walks away*
Emily: ".............That was awesome."


NEW GAME! It's called "Find The Samuel L. Jackson Look-A-Like On The Bus." Some days are easier than others.


Come on now. I've got pants with fake wear marks and even a fake rip or two. But those wrinkles are just straight-up on the wrong side of your khakis.


Don't deny it. Man or woman, you want to be this awesome when you are old.


...Or maybe this awesome. Like, seriously. Where is this guy's monocle? (Okay, you've caught me. I just take pictures every time I see someone in a fur coat. It's funny EVERY TIME!)


It's kind of hard to tell from this picture, but this woman was a real-life Cruella DeVille, minus the awesome hair.


"Where do you guys want to have our baby playtime? Someone's house? Perhaps some other baby-appropriate place?"
"Nah, let's just go to the nearest coffee shop. I'm sure no one wants to work quietly there and would appreciate a circle of crying babies and moms singing The Wheels On The Bus."


From his gold necklace to his wind-blown blonde hair, I think this guy actually came straight from 90's California.


This isn't a person, per se. But it is definitely the creepiest thing I have ever seen in the daytime.


Really, does this caption need an explanation?


Left arm tattoo: "Momma's boy"
Right arm tattoo: "God's son"
T-shirt: "Long story short...I f*cked her!"
Belt Buckle: sparkly skull.
Sideburns: existent.
What a catch.


How much money do you want to bet this woman's favorite flavor ice cream is vanilla?


Latino Pauly D!


The real tragedy here is that this girl was adorable.


Cuz you GOTTA have blue hair.


The weird thing was not the umbrella, actually. It was that he was covered in silver paint from head to toe, and was yelling at some girls trying to take his picture.


YOWZA.


Is this my current phone wallpaper? It might be.


For someone so into fashion that you are willing to wear a tiny tie, I am questioning your choice of footwear, sir.


I can't think of a caption that doesn't make me sound insanely racist, but come on now.


Yeah? That's what you've come to work out in? Really?


The reason I took a photo of this girl is not because she is a total badass from the 50's. It is because her left arm is concealing the creepiest mannequin head I've ever seen. And I want to be her SO MUCH.


Tallest socks ever.


How cute is this old couple?? I wanted to grab them both in a big group bear hug...if only that wouldn't have cracked all their frail little ribs.


"Hey guys. Want to walk around Chicago?"
"Sure, but what outfit should we all wear?"


And those are all my pictures! I hope you all found them entertaining and maybe a little offensive. Comments welcome, as always!

Friend Week: The Entertaining Erin

Last day of Friend Week, and I've got facial tics about it!

This whole ordeal was supposed to be much simpler than it turned out to be. Because now I am realizing that I haven't told you about many of my other friends (for example, the ones that I actually see on a regular basis.) So I'm just going to have to do mini friend bios when they come up. You already know that Maggie can get into some fisticuffs. And you know that Carla is preggo and thought I was Jewish for an entire year. And if you want to know more about all the lovely people I surround myself with, well, I suppose you'll just have to keep reading about my shenanigans.

Because now it's time to put on a Russian Spy coat, hold my hand, and get funky. IT'S ERIN DAY!!


Here is Erin in my old apartment, cooking breakfast in an Erin kind of way: red suede heels, vintage coat, wine glass. That's Erin for you: an anomaly that can't really be explained in only a few paragraphs. But I'll try.

Erin and I met through Laura our freshman year of college. We didn't really become besties, though, until Senior year, when we became gym buddies. We kicked some serious gym ass, I'm telling you. Or rather, Erin seriously kicked my gym ass. She is great at tricking you into doing five more crunches. Damn you, Erin. And God bless you.

Erin (and Laura) also introduced me to the world of red wine. It was a scary road to travel at first, but somehow I came through it. It was an easening, filled also with brie and manchego and girl talk that somehow became much more personal, 2 bottles in.

Erin has style, and so much so that I will never be able to keep up with her. Classy brands I've never heard of roll off her tongue like butter. Erin is the girl who, on her visit this summer, brought 4 dresses for two nights of celebration. And one of those nights she wore a bridesmaid dress. But, you know. Options. But the great part about Erin is that she isn't some exclusive, snobby, heiress-type. She has more important things to do: like be an intelligent, professional woman who will cook you enchiladas, call someone a douchebag, and then dance the night away in 4-inch heels.

I'm not sure that there is any way to truly describe Erin. So instead, I will give you my list of Erin Quotes from the past year, which I keep lovingly in my phone:

(After a gust of wind nearly blew a vendor cart onto us) "That was like, falafel in yo' face!!"

"Weddings are meant to be hookups." (Said to a future bride and groom)

"I have a lot of clothes. It's an issue. But all I want are babies and a career." (Erin does not remember saying this, and insists that those are not ACTUALLY the two things she wants. We'll see.)

"So my uncle couldn't find a good burger and he was like, 'Fuck it,' and bought an organic farm."

(Pouring beer) "Carmen! Tip your glass like a lady."

"I always think balls are like the scales of justice. 'Yes or no? Let's ask your balls.'" (I don't even know about this one.)


I doubt that cleared the air at all. But suffice it to say, Erin makes me laugh. And she makes me feel classier and smarter and more confident, just by being near her. She always has fun ideas up her sleeve, and she is one heck of a hostess.

It is very sad that she lives in New York City and therefore far from me. But we have new plans to move to San Fransisco some day. And perhaps then we will again drink wine, eat cheese, and make ball jokes until the wee hours of the morning.

Cash Cab: You In?

I’m going to take a break from my biblical retellings for a bit. I have something I need to share with you guys. I think it might change some of your lives.

There are some days when the world is crap and everything is terrible and the human race should all go to hell. And there are days when the world is good, when people are kind and happy and everything is going to be okay. Those days happen because I watched Cash Cab.

I’m not sure that I will be able to express how marvelous Cash Cab is and why you need to be watching it. But I will try. Cash Cab is a show on Discovery Channel. The basic idea is that this man (this wonderful, wonderful man), Ben Bailey, drives around New York City in a normal-looking minivan taxi, picking up unsuspecting people. After they tell him where they’re going, Ben turns on a bunch of lights and tells them they’re on a game show.

They inevitably give this look:


While he drives them to their destination, he asks them general trivia questions and they get money for each question answered. If they get three questions wrong, they get nothing (and I get angry and stomp out of the room), Ben pulls over and they have to get out and find a real cab to drive them the rest of the way. If they get it right, they get to keep all the money. It’s awesome, because at the very worst, you just got a free taxi ride part (or all) of the way to where you’re going.

Those are the nuts and bolts. I’m just getting started. Let me explain to you what makes this show so VERY amazing:

1) The Contestants:


Everyone on this show is happy. Even the people you would never expect to see smiling. Ugly people. People in the rain. Professors. And how can they not? Seconds earlier, they were walking around New York (aka The Money Vacuum) trying to live their lives, and all of a sudden they are on television with the potential to win thousands of dollars.

Everyone on this show is a good person. Sometimes you see someone and you know if you ran into them in a bar or on the street, you would mumble “douche” and keep walking. But on this show, these people are happy. They are smart. They are happy to be smart. And they are good people. And I want to hug them and hold their hand with our fingers interlocked.

2) Old People:


Old people. Old people on Cash Cab will make your day. As soon as an old person hobbles into the Cash Cab I start squealing and clapping my hands. The best part is that whenever Ben throws a pop culture question at them, they are adorably befuddled. But for the most part, old people remind us that they are actually quite wise. Which we forget because they spend so much time telling us to get married and making irrational political statements. But they always go the farthest on this show, and they answer questions faster than it takes me say, “That’s a weird question…” Maybe it’s because any old person in New York is probably quite wily. I mean, I imagine. Cities are loud and fast and dirty. The three downfalls of an old person. So any one of them who lives in a city must be one scrappy creature.

3) Ben Bailey:


I. Love. This. Man. Ben is not only funny, he is funny in a clean way. I cannot emphasize the importance of clean humor in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I can laugh at a good dirty joke with the rest of them. I mean, that part in Team America where the guy pukes for about 10 minutes straight? Tears. There were tears. But comedians who can manage to be funny and not drop a single f-bomb or a joke about their penis….those are the good ones. Ben is also nice to everybody. Every person who gets in his cab is like his new best friend. I am incredibly jealous of people like this. Because when I meet a new person I either mumble something like, “Nice to have the pleasure with your acquaintance,” and then avoid eye contact the rest of the night, OR I accidentally introduce them to Loud Sarcastic Emily WAY too early and terrify them. So, Mr. Bailey, I applaud you for being so natural toward people you have just met. You are a man among men. Unfortunately, Ben looks a lot like my cousin, so I can’t get behind finding him attractive, but I would like to grab a sandwich and go people watching with him. I think he would be amazing at it.

I have yelled at Erin, who lives in NYC, for not trying hard enough to ride minivan cabs and therefore not getting on the show. I mean, she's been living there for two years. WHAT could she possibly be doing with her life, if not focusing on riding in minivan cabs? WHAT I ask you? WHAT?! ...Working? What's that?

My Travel Plans

I’m not partial to New Years Resolutions. I tend to be in the when-I-want-to-I’ll-change camp. But this year, I just so happened to go to a yoga class right before the New Year and discovered how sadly sad sad my abs are. So I’ve resolved (and it just so happens to be at the New Year) to do a couple crunches. You know, here and there. And today as I listened to my Songs I Should Know By Now mix, Free Bird came on. At my first crunch I heard the lyrics, “Lord knows you cannot chaaaaange!”

Screw you, Lynard Skynard. No one asked your opinion.

Another thing I’ve been thinking about that is very New Years Resolution-y is travel. While unemployed, these travel plans are all put on hold. But I also assume that I WILL have a copywriting job in the near future and will not be forced to go back to school to become a Kindergarten teacher (which, despite my surly exterior, I honestly think I would be good at). So once I get back to Corporate America, I have a few places I’ll be flying to. In no special order...

New England:
I’ve seen New York and DC and Pennsylvania, but I have never been to true New England. I’m talking lobster-catching, sand-dollar-finding, old-women-who-smell-of-the-sea New England. And for some reason, I am dying to go.

Reasons Why This Is Ridiculous:
1) I hate all food that comes from the sea. (EVEN CUCUMBER SUSHI?!?! Yes. Stop judging me.)
2) Is my biggest reason for going that I once read a charming tween book about a girl who visits her grandmother who lives in New England and she gets her first kiss from the shy blue-eyed neighbor? Yes. That is my biggest reason.
3) Is my second biggest reason syrup? Yes. That is my second biggest reason.

California:
The fact that I have never stepped foot on California soil is a horrible injustice. Why?

More Lists:
1) Many (if not most) ads are shot in California. I have produced many ads, and have yet to go on an ad shoot. It’s embarrassing.
2) One of my best friends from college is from southern California. Her family is rolling in it, and her mother has told me that if I ever want to come to California, whether to visit or, you know, live indefinitely, I can take up residence in their home. And they would give me delicious food and possibly a Jag. And yet I have never been.
3) My favorite ad agency is in San Francisco, so it is my goal to become worthy enough to work there. Although I am really bad with hills. This might pose a problem; I hear San Fran has a few.

Scotland:
I am more or less a mutt, heritage-wise, but I always just tell people I’m Scottish. My family has a Scottish crest, a plaid, a castle, my great uncle plays the bagpipes, and the only semi-close relative who is 100% anything was my great-grandfather, last name: MacBeath.

So I want to go to Scotland, visit my castle, maybe plant a flag, and then drink Scotch with the locals until I understand what the hell they are saying to me.

I was very close to Scotland a number of times when I dated The Irishman, but he refused to take me there because he didn’t want to spend his money travelling to a country that is basically the same as the one we were already in. So instead we went to Mainland Europe. Which brings me to my next destination—

France:
I am not going over the entire story. But yes, the man dumped me in front of the Eiffel Tower. So I am determined to go back to France and have it not be the worst experience of my life. Because I think France deserves as much. Certainly their cheese does. And their crepes. And their crème brulee. And their scarves.

Greece:
I used to really want to go to southern Italy, just for the fact that it was distant and warm. But I have changed my mind. I must go to Greece. And I will even endure the fact that you can’t flush toilet paper (I hear.) I will endure it for this reason:

CATS EVERYWHERE

(photo courtesy of Erin C)


I know a couple that went to Greece and whenever they sat outside to eat, they were barraged with cats. Just cats, flying in from everywhere to eat their yogurt and baklava.

I know most people are of the cats-are-evil persuasion, so the idea of CATS EVERYWHERE makes them want to curl up and die a little. Not me. Cats are awesome. So are dogs. So are hamsters. So are rabbits. Summary: if you have fur, you are awesome. (Another reason why I'm with Joe.)

So *jump* <-- That’s me, jumping on the Greece train.


These are my top places to visit. Not for 2010 necessarily, but hopefully within the next five years. Howabout all y’all? Where do you want to go?

TMI

Another thing I have not quite decided on for this blog is: what qualifies as too much information? Exactly how much of myself am I willing to give away for this thing?

On the one side I think: Hell with it! Finally, you've found a place where you should be able to be yourself. Don't censor! Just BE!

On the other side I think: Yeah, but...but...

So there are the two sides. Both valid points. Today I'm going to venture out and err on the side of TMI.

So I mentioned earlier that we went out to a drag show for my friend, Maggie's birthday. Now, I've never been to a drag show of any sorts. But if I've learned anything from the movies (and boy have I) I think many drag shows feature multiple manladies. And they have a stage, to show off their gloriousnness in all their glory.

Wellll this drag show was more classy than that. Ish. It takes place at the Kit Kat Lounge in Boystown. Basically, you walk into this place and it seems like any marginally classy restaurant. Minimal menu, tablecloths, etc etc. You sit, you order a strawberry daquiri because they have no beer on the menu and dagnabbit, what the hell are kids ordering these days??

And then at some magical hour, which I believe is every 30 minutes, a woman comes out decked to the nines (that's a phrase, right?) in sparkles and twelve different colors of eyeshadow and she lip syncs to something Beyonce-ish. Occasionally she rubs her voluptuousness up against the poor souls sitting on the inside seats until they put dollar bills into her hand/cleavage.

So, naturally, while the drag queen is changing into her next number, me and my friends practice slipping ones smoothly into each other's nether regions. Erin slips one into my shirt and immediately begins commenting on my cleavage. So, since the night has basically been filled with boobs (real or supplemented) I feel comfortable enough to comment back. Now, I'm the kind of girl who talks with her hands. Even on the phone. So whilst discussing my lovelies, I begin demonstrating. I'm looking down and doing a bit of push, release, push, release. Suddenly Maggie lets out a snort and I look up.

I realize that not only am I doing a cleavage show for two of my best college friends, I'm doing it for the entire table. And the one over. And the drag queen. And her two friends.

I hope she didn't think I was trying to make her jealous.

Maggie's Birthday Weekend Of Fun and Games

I wish I could tell you about the drag performance at The Kit Kat lounge (She was fabulous. And booty-licious.) I wish I could tell you about the near-empty duelling piano bar where we danced on pianos and I was hit on by a boy with a guitar pick on his hemp choker ("Do you like the Beastie Boys??" *shudder*)

I wish I could tell you about all this. But instead, my friend Maggie had the worst weekend in the history of weekends. So that's the Weekend Story you get to hear.

The reason for the drag show and the piano bar and the hemp choker is that we were out for Maggie's birthday. It was great oh-right-I'm-24-not-30 kind of fun. After we danced our tights off, Maggie +1 went one way and Erin (who is visiting from NYC) and I went another. The next day (Sunday) we met back up and discovered this story:

After we had split, Maggie and her friend stopped for some drunk food at the big McDonald's downtown Chicago. When she walked into the bathroom, there was a group of girls, loud and drunk. One was puking in the sink. God, what is NOT to love about twenty-somethings? Anyway, Maggie found a stall and did her biz. When she tried to get out, the door wouldn't open. So she put her weight into it and shoved. One of the girls was holding the door. Now, at this point, I'm not sure what I would do. But I tend to avoid strangers like they are chock full of leprosy, so I'm pretty sure I would have apologized, washed my hands, and walked out.

But not Maggie.

Maggie says something along the lines of "What's your f*cking problem? Why are you holding the door?" and ALL SH*T BREAKS LOOSE. Apparently this girl and her friends go into "oh no you di'int" mode and started beating her up! She tried to reach for the door and one of them actually grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back.

So a security guard helps her out, and they call the police. The girls actually take a while to high tail it out of there, so by the time the cops get there, the girls have only been gone for a few minutes. The cop tells her that, despite the fact that the girls were in a STRETCH LIMO and that the security guard had gotten the license plate of that limo, they could not find the girls. There are so many things wrong with all that, but whatever. Mags is fine, though shaken, so there's not much else Erin and I could do but listen to this whole thing with our mouths open wider than that damn singing fish.

While Maggie tells us the story, we have a lovely time walking around the annual market they set up downtown full of old-timey German Christmas foods and ornaments and carvings. And we're insinuating things about weiners and schnitzel and wood and it's a lovely time.

Eventually Maggie, who now lives downtown, drives us all back up to my place in Wicker Park. I tell her to park in the first spot we see, and we go inside to watch Muppet Christmas Carol (obviously.) After she leaves to go home, I get a call a few minutes later. Someone has broken into her car. The passenger side window is shattered and her iPod and GPS are gone. She calls her dad, who technically owns the car. He calls the police, and the only thing they do is say they'll mail her dad something. No one comes out, nothing.

The problem here is that I know EXACTLY who did it. There is this group of high school aged guys (gang members question mark?) who stand on my street all day. All the time. Doing nothing. They never bothered me when I walk past or anything, so I've never done anything but mutter under my breath about how they need to go inside and do their homework. And this spot where these guys chill is exactly where Maggie parked. When she got to her car, in fact, she said all those people were standing there looking at her, as well as the kids in the house there. Lovely. So either YOU are the ones who did it, or you stood idly by as someone else did (unlikely).

So in the end, we swept up most of the glass, put cardboard and a garbage bag over her window (WHY do I not own real duct tape?!) and sent Mags on her way.

Happy birthday, Maggie.