my co-worker has stated the following:

carpentersville has award-winning water. people drive from all over the state just for a glass of carpentersville water.

his dog, also known as "little boopity-boop-boop," does NOT drink carpentersville water. the dog's water comes bottled from natural springs in moland.

his wife also does not dring the award winning water. her water is also bottled.

my co-worker, now that he thinks about it, is the only one in his household drinking this award-winning water. but, boy, is it tasty.

my co-worker spends upwards to two hours in the bathroom at a time and complains of strange stomach cramps. when i suggest that it may be his "award-winning" water, he takes great offense and spends another two hours on the internet trying to find articles to back up his award-winning claim.

the dog and his wife are both doing well.

tomorrow he's going to bring me a glass of some award-winning water. i will pawn it off on one of the other bankers and then document his subsequent bathroom time.

high apple pie, in the sky hopes

friday i have an interview at the bank. if i get the position i'm interviewing for, the pay raise would be about ten thousand per year. this is a lot. i'm nervous as all heck, because i do not interview well, but i truly think that i am qualified for this position. if i get this job, i will:

stop worrying about money.
plan the best honeymoon ever.
celebrate with a thirty dollar steak.
start looking at townhomes again.
contribute more to my 401k.

well, i probably won't contribute more to my 401k, despite the advice that the "latte factor" guy gives in his compelling book "the automatic millionaire." i hate saving for retirement because i have this awful feeling that i'm going to be hit by a bus the day before i'll qualify for any of that stuff. it kills me; i still have a pension plan with the optical that's earning interest, and by the time i'm able to draw funds on it, it'll be about 30,000 (and that's a conservative estimate). it kills me when i get those statements in the mail. i know that the pension people are banking on my early death or forgetful mind (pension plan? what pension plan?), and i'd much rather have my vested amount now so i could go out today and buy:

a used car,
three margaritas,
a new suit,
and some vacuum cleaner bags.

anyhow, wish me luck. and if you have any good answers to the "biggest weakness" question, let me know, because all of my responses are completely inappropriate.

hundred acre graveyard

over the weekend, both the voices of piglet and tigger passed away. cnn is making it sound like two separate, coincidental incidents, but i see right through that. this has "murder-suicide" written all over it.

a realistic rendering

summer in stereo

last night: cubs/brewers game up in milwaukee. we allowed ourselves a full three hours for the drive. i mistakenly thought this would be enough time, but we did not allow for the massive traffic jams caused by other assholes from chicago also taking advantage of cheap seats, kosher hot dogs, and the luxurious miller park stadium. thus, we missed the first inning, but it was a gorgeous night and the cubs played a great game, so at the end of the evening, we left happy. the original plan was to get a hotel in milwaukee and spend the day there today, but, again, we did not account for other assholes from chicago also having the same idea, and so the room pickings were slim and expensive. we drove around milwaukee for a while and then, since i have placed us on a "financial diet," we headed back home after we were unable to find an available hotel to meet our price.

today, though, after sleeping in, we headed over to the par king golf course in lincolnshire, which is something we've meant to do for about a year now. i wish i would have brought my camera with, because some of the holes were really interesting, but alas. the outing would have been better if not for this lone, psychopathic woman who was one hole behind us and would come watch over our shoulders, unsmiling, as we hurried to finish each hole and get out of her way. what forty-something woman goes to play mini golf alone? unfortunately, it's something we agreed my mother would do if not for the hefty six dollar price tag. she's got the lone, psychopathic woman thing down to a tee. no pun intended. either way, this woman was not my mother, and i just hated her for not maintaining a respectful difference. wierdo.

i'm on vacation from the bank this week, and tomorrow and thursday i'm going to work at the optical again. i'm probably going to spend the night at my parent's house tomorrow as a way to get around rush hour traffic on thursday, and, i gotta tell you, it's going to feel odd. i haven't slept under that roof in over two years, and i have this fear that if i go to sleep in my old room tomorrow night, i'm going to wake up on thursday and find out that all this time with chris has been a dream, that suddenly i'll be 21 again with all of my old problems and no recollection of anything post 2002. i'll be in my twin bed with my dead end job having all of the old arguments with my mother and haunting all the same places that i had been so sick of, so ready to leave. my screams will wake the dead.

a therapist would go to town on my fear to fall asleep in my old room. it's a good thing i don't speak to therapists.

i'm not as think as you drunk i am

here i am, awake at an ungodly hour on a sunday morning, hungover and about to drive forty minutes to my new second job, which is the same as my old first job, but in a different town. wow, that was one sentence. anyways, it is now as i nurse coffee and water that i am maybe possibly regretting my decision to work two jobs. do i really need added stress in my life? is the extra money going to be worth my newfound lack of spare time? didn't i swear that my old job was evil personified and that i'd rather eat cow dung than ever have to work for them again? yeah, i vaguely remember that. but thirteen dollars an hour is thirteen dollars an hour.

i just hope none of my bank clients in the northwest suburbs happen to be shopping in the southwest suburbs. all professionalism would go straight out the window, and then i'd have to be held accountable for millions of dollars in losses. i also hope that if i have to answer the phone today, i'll remember which job i'm at and what i'm supposed to say. furthermore, i hope that just because i work at a bank, nobody expects me to balance the register tonight, because i am not a bank teller, and i would resent anybody insinuating that i am. finally, i hope the room stops spinning just a little bit, because going to work hungover is so 2001. where in the heck did my dignity go?

i can't wait until i (a) win the lotto or (b) get a big promotion. or (c) chris' salary quadruples over night and then i never have to work again. that would be the ideal situation; i'd just stay home and undermine the maid.

whoops, gotta go. until i return, please read the work of the lovely ferozan. she's my favorite sassy brit.

in a competition of hamburgers, you're a mistake

i was a judge last night in a karaoke contest. i qualified for this prestigious honor simply by answering my phone when my local karaoke d.j. rang. i should not have been a judge; i am neither fair nor just. plus, it was hard. it wasn't just picking winners based on who sang the best- there were categories. did they have to look at the monitor a lot? was the crowd into it? how was their showmanship? did they have any unsightly ketchup stains on their trousers?

in the end, the best girl won, and i'm glad i had a part in allowing her to recieve her cash prize, plus one night stay at the holiday inn with complimentary continental breakfast- e.g., all the day old bagels and slices of toast you can eat, washed down with a watery glass of orange. i scribbled my own name in at the bottom of my score sheet; somehow, despite recieving an astronomical 3,000 points, i still did not win, place, or show.

30 days in 60 minutes

morgan spurlock's new show, "30 days," premiered last night on cable. now, "supersize me" irritated me, but i was really looking forward to "30 days," and, for the most part, i was not let down. morgan spurlock has been compared to michael moore, for relatively obvious ideas, but i dislike that comparison, mostly because michael moore, while having the right intentions, is basically just an asshole with access to a camera. michael moore derives pleasure from shaming innocent employees who happen to work for not-so-innocent companies; he uses inappropriate venues to tackily broadcast what are, admittedly, valid points that come out sounding just, well, bad. i think he failed the "medium is the message" part of his communication class. morgan spurlock, on the other hand, just plugs himself into the shoes of others (fast food eaters, minimum wage earners, muslim-americans) and tries to make his point by saying "i've walked a quarter of a mile in this guys loafers, and look where it got me."

anyhow, last night's episode of "30 days" was 30 days on minimum wage. not that it was "eye-opening" or anything like that, but it's a topic that really does deserve some attention. however, can i just say that morgan spurlock's girlfriend annoys me to no end? i disliked her in "supersize me," and i can't stand her in "30 days." chris doesn't like her either, so at least we have that in common- hating random people for no good reason. then, during the episode, they keep talking about how morgan's brother's kids are coming up to visit, and how kids are so expensive, how it must be so hard to have kids on minimum wage, etc. the kids finally show up, and, wouldn't you know, they're 17 and 14. i'm expecting five year olds, and here they get two kids who are old enough to go out and get jobs. the one is practically in college!

i started this blog entry at 10:30 this morning, and now it's almost 4. clearly, i'm not going to have the time to properly finish this. i just wish the people at work understood that i have blog entries to write and need a certain amount of "alone " time.

i like girls

yesterday was fun. so much fun. in the morning and afternoon, my good friend gail and i had one of our days of leisure- lunch, martinis, shopping, wedding planning (we're both getting married soon, which is kind of neat), and laughs. we stopped so gail could get her hair cut; in the beauty shop, the woman who ran the front desk was in the middle of washing her hair, which was kind of weird. "can i help you?" she called from the sink, her head upside down under running water. gail and i exchanged looks. "sure," gail said cautiously. "i need a cut." the lady came over, water running down her shirt and face as she instructed us where to sit. are they allowed to do that, just start washing their hair in the middle of their workday? must be nice to get paid to use free shampoo and conditioner while on the clock.

then, in the evening, i headed into the city to go to the cub's game with chris' sister and two of her friends. we had a blast, four girls with four beers sitting a few rows back from the third base line and laughing our heads off. i miss stuff like this. what happened to all of my girl friends? my best girl is in new york right now, which would partially explain my loss, but why don't i hang out more frequently with others, like the extra fun gail? i need to make it more of a priority.

and today it's back to my life being a sausage fest; except for management, i am now the only female banker in the office. which is nice, because, truth be told, working with girls can sometimes be four straight weeks of pms. and then the cycle of life starts again.

indeed.

french sushi and other delicious wares

we checked out a new sushi restaurant in the neighborhood called "bistro wasabi" on saturday night. i was wary, at first, since those two words didn't seem to go together. would my sashimi be served with a croissant? would there be a fromage list next to the maki roll list? my worries were put at ease during our delicious dinner, though, despite the fact that nobody who worked there was japanese. they were all asian, granted, but not japanese. that's the interesting thing about certain sushi restaurants: i've found they're oftentimes run by korean or filipino people who assume that us americans can't tell the difference. how wrong you are. i can't tell the difference between scottish or irish, greek or italian, but between the different asian nationalities? bingo.

then, yesterday, we went to my dad's house where we enjoyed a feast of meat. in one sitting, we had steak, teriyaki chicken, and hot dogs. on the side was corn, a chick pea salad, pasta, grilled mushrooms, and grapes (not grilled, you silly bastard), but the side dishes were barely touched. i'm sure i would have made mr. atkins proud with my massive consumption of meat; i certainly made my dad proud. it's not that often that i have steak, so i had a piece that was bigger than my head.

speaking of food, we're narrowing down the wedding menu. the only problem is that the vegetarian choices are slim and none. i apologize in advance. i'll have to call and find out about vegan options, but the menu they gave me doesn't look promising. all the soups are "cream of," the veggies are mostly drenched in butter sauces, the appetizers all contain cheese, and i think even the salads have a little bit of pork in them. i could be wrong about the pork in the salads part. the entree choices are various cuts of steak, various chicken items, and a few assorted fish dinners.

never fear though- superbride will work things out.

anna banana

you know who i really hate? anna quindlen. i don't necessarily have a good reason for disliking her; she just irritates me. whenever i see her column in "newsweek," i immediately get a bad taste in my mouth. i know she's a pulitzer prize winner and all, but there's just something about her that makes me feel like she's totally unqualified to be dispensing her famed "commonplace wisdom." what this quality is, i can't define, but i can say that when i saw her book, "a short guide to a happy life," i reflexively spat and ranted, "what the hell gives her the right to tell me how to have a happy life?" best-selling author or not, i don't feel comfortable having anna quindlen telling me to enjoy fireflies and quiet times with children. this could be due to a disastrous night back in '83 when a firefly swallowed my only child and then flew off into the stormy night sky.

bank the monkey

working at the bank is a daily reminder of exactly how poor i am. if i were a more optimistic, happy-go-lucky girl, i would look instead at all of the accounts that are constantly overdrawn due to thousands of dollars in checks written on a weekly basis to the grand victoria casino in elgin; instead, i write those account holders off as utter morons and concentrate on the customers who woefully complain that they have so much money that they have to keep their cash at numerous banks due to fdic insurance reasons. oh, how terrible that must be.

before i got this job, i didn't think too much about money. i maxed out credit cards, did balance transfers to juggle my debt around, and then started on new cards. i never looked at my bank account and just automatically assumed i was doing okay. this automatic assumption would be followed by a celebratory round of eight dollar martinis. now, i look at every penny and ask myself, "how could i be saving more?" i follow the rise and fall of interest rates, can quote the local cd rates of every bank within a twenty mile radius down to a hundredth of a percent, and use savings calculators to figure out how long it will be until i'm a millionaire. current estimate: 98 years. at that point, a million dollars will be today's equivilant of 6 dollars and some gum, so i must remind myself to adjust for inflation.

anyhow, with the wedding coming up, i'll be spending like cash is going out of style. that will put this particular banker in a somewhat sour mood. however, i must also applaud myself for becoming more money savvy these last few months: i haven't used a single credit card since january, i've been making huge payments to the folks at visa and mastercard, and still, i've managed to save money by making wiser spending and saving choices. and that, my friends, calls for an eight dollar martini.

church of st. credit cards not accepted

i think the catholic church recruits their priests from former timeshare salesmen. we went in to see the father on tuesday morning, and, because we are a couple that is living together- in sin- before marriage, he's making us do this special "get-away" in order to become a stronger christian couple. "it's three hundred and fifty dollars," the priest began, but then continued, "and look at all you get!"

the church makes it expensive to get married. three hundred fifty bucks for music. three hundred fifty bucks donation for use of the church. (that is not "suggested" donation, either, much to my dismay.) three hundred fifty bucks for the "living in sin" get-away. thirty-five dollars for the christian personality quiz that will tell us how compatible we really are. i didn't even ask what the cost would be if a fat relative were to accidentally crack one of those kneeler things, or if i ended up barfing all over the altar. some costs i'd rather not know until it's much too late.

i'm taking a second job to help pay for all the expenses. in fact, i'm taking my old job- but at a different, much farther location. i know i said i'd never go back- but three or four days a month won't kill me. right? or should i just lay down now and die in peace?

in other news, my friend shane and i went for a walk on tuesday night, and i found a shovel in somebody's trash. not that i often go digging through trash- i just happened to see the shiny black handle poking out from between the garbage bags. it's about time i got a shovel- this past winter, chris had to dig out his car using a folding chair. so, although we are barely into the dog days of summer, i'm already prepared for old man winter. bring it, bitch.

stumblebee

last night, i came in first place in the world championship poker tournament of chris and jackie's apartment, effectively taking out both the cheese and his co-workers. this is the first time i've ever been last girl standing in a poker game, and, let me tell you, it felt fantastic. my poker skills are really coming along, and i'm starting to think i can quit my job and do this gambling thing full time.

in other news, i haven't had a full night's sleep in nearly a week now. my eyes are heavy, my skin is ashen, and even my hair feels limp. my posture is saggier than usual, and my teeth ache. i've been prone to insomnia before, but it's been awhile since i've had consecutive, sleepless nights. this is like when i was about to move in with chris; i didn't sleep for a solid month. jackie plus a big event equals the waking dead.

reviews from someone who usually doesn't give a fuck

sideways- five out of five wineglasses.

this movie has all the classic ingredients for a homoerotic reawakening. two guys set out for a week long trip involving a shared hotel room, lots of fancy wine, and dinners for two. however, it soon becomes apparent that this movie is actually about two straight guys setting out for, well, different things entirely. jack wants to spend the week getting laid. miles seems to want to spend the week avoiding getting laid. they're both fuck-ups when it comes to women and while their fuck-ups may seem totally opposite, they do have one thing in common: the lies they share. why must men lie so much? oh, i'm publishing a book. oh, i'll move up here and help you take care of your kid! oh, hey, jackie, i know i owe you, like six hundred dollars, but don't worry, you'll get it all back. anyways, this movie has it all- comedic effect, poignant moments, tips on how to taste wine. plus, the whole "frass canyon" scene is a nice little rub at all those commercial wineries out there. they even have the soulful poet type strumming his guitar next to the fountain in the entryway.

finding neverland- three and a half out of five lost boys

it was entertaining, and depp is a magnificent, magnificent man. however, i feel like certain elements of the story were rushed, and while it's not really advertised as being grounded in fact, i still end up disappointed when stories are only loosely based on actual events. it confuses my brain. as a sidenote, it is interesting to note that peter and michael ended up killing themselves later in life. maybe barrie wasn't that great with kids after all. anyhow, the movie was "neat" but not neat enough to warrant multiple viewings.

paper mario: the thousand year door- five out of five goombas

i tend not to like video games- unless they feature a mario brother (or a wario). maybe it's the italian in me, or the fact that it harkens back to the more innocent days of the super mario brothers bopping along on my old nintendo system, back when i was just a wee lass with sore thumbs and endless hours of spare time. anyhow, i knew i would like this game- but i didn't know i would become obsessed with it. dare i say that this is the best mario game yet? dare i say i enjoy the element of civilized combat on a stage in front of an audience of toadstools adds a touch of theatrical elegance to the whole game? dare i say that even the exposition (and there's a fair amount of exposition) is worth sitting through just to be able to fold myself into a plane and soar off in the air? i dare.

something blue

holy cow, we have a wedding date set. it's less than eleven months away, and, yes, i am freaking out.

it's not the "getting married to one man" part that's sending me into a tailspin. we've been living together for over two years, and i said good-bye to being wined, dined, and pined for by another guy. which is a relief, because that would probably mean i'd have to back to shaving my legs on a regular basis. the part that's getting me all pukey-feeling is the whole wedding planning part. i am like a fish without fins and gills just thrown into the ocean. now, i've picked all my bridesmaids- but what the hell do i do with them???? what do they expect out of me- and what should i expect of them?

i haven't slept since monday, which is when we set the date. i'm tossing and turning, all caught up in the details and the sheets. i start shaking just thinking about it. i'm like carrie in that episode of "sex and the city" where she tries on the wedding dress and breaks out in the rash. instead of getting a rash from the wedding dress, though, i'm getting a rash from the reception hall websites, the invitation list, the words on the calendar that say we're meeting with the priest next week. i can't plan a saturday night of movie watching and pizza. how am i going to plan what's supposed to be every little girl's dream? and how come, when i was a little girl, i dreamed not of big, elaborate weddings but complete seclusion in some room equipped with a typewriter that looked out at the mountains. of course, if *that* dream came true, i'd probably be dead within the week from a self-inflicted gun wound, but my point here is that i'm not springing for the prime rib, goddammit- you'll have to choose between chicken and orange roughy, because prime rib is ten bucks extra, and this wedding is going to cost enough as it is.

(breathe, breathe)

anyways, see you on april 21, 2006.