Emergency Lights Give You Magical Powers

After moving to the real suburbs, I have discovered that the overuse of emergency lights is a plague on this nation.The automotive power they wield is unparalleled. A path will open in gridlock traffic like the Red Sea to Moses' staff, and I have come to the realization that some individuals abuse this privilege - this emergency privilege. *This statement was typed in a state of utter disgust*

Apparently, by turning on these vehicular lights, you can do anything that you would like - no matter how illegal it may be. Examples include:

Hey, only authorized vehicles can make a u-turn at this location. Let me just flip on my emergency lights - that way I become an authorized vehicle!

O, I have to walk a long distance in order to get into the grocery store. Looks like this is an emergency situation for my tired feet. I'll just turn on my emergency lights, and quadruple park in a handicapped zone!

I have been sitting at this red light for over fifty seconds. I have places to be - emergency lights!

I'm one hundred percent sure that any type of vehicular based crime can be pardoned if emergency lights are in use at the time the crime is committed. The possibilities literally become endless, from basic traffic violations all the way up to murder. Right now, I am imagining an individual on trial for murder pleading emergency lights . "Sorry judge, I was mad with power and blood lust from turning on my emergency lights. Next time, it probably won't happen."

Everything about emergency lights inspires ideas of wizardry and witchcraft. I mean, at the Salem witch trial, emergency lights totally would have been burned at the stake for the supernatural power they wield. Nothing can stop them. They are the invisibility cloke of the non-fiction based world, literally hiding any individual from law enforcement representatives.

I remember the days of driver's ed when I was frightened into utilizing these mysterious lights only for actual emergencies. I even get antsy when they are activated, and there is actually a situation that warrants it. My palms start sweating. I literally have to talk myself down. "You deserve to use them. It's your prerogative." I CANNOT HANDLE THE PRESSURE OF THE EMERGENCY LIGHTS. I just can't.

As I have a nervous breakdown in the face of such power and responsibility, others simply abuse this sacred rite. It must be stopped. Without the rules of the road, we are simply savages careening down a treacherous path - like the Lord of the Flies with autos. I refuse to give in to these lax road rules.

Therefore, I am starting a campaign for the reduced use of emergency lights in 2011. You can support this effort simply by putting individuals who use emergency lights inappropriately into emergency situations. I fully embrace high speed chases and the utilization of guns, and I hope to see this implemented in the near future.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Baby It's Cold Outside - An Exercise in Holiday Deviancy

Disclaimer: This post deals with an interpretation of a song that may be thought by some to be offensive. I in no way condone sexual harassment of any form. Remember, this is all in good fun, and if you think you may be offended based on the title, please do not read. Thanks, and please feel free to email me with any concerns.

*OFFENSIVENESS BEGINS NOW!!!! THERE IS NO TURNING BACK FROM THIS POINT!!! TYPING IN ALL CAPS IS FUN!!!*

After a mild reinterpretation of the classic holiday song Baby, It's Cold Outside, the theme of sexual deviancy presents itself multiple times throughout the seemingly joyful lyrics. 

Here are now the only lyrics you will hear whenever you listen to the HolidayLite with Delilah (just imagine her menacing laugh as she locks the door) . Sorry to ruin Christmas for everyone. The non-bolded lyrics are the original, and the bolded "lyrics" prove my point.


Keep this translation in mind the next time you are snuggling up next to that fine gentlemen or lady friend underneath the mistletoe.

I really can't stay - Baby it's cold outside

                                *Lock sliding into place*

I've got to go away - Baby it's cold outside

                               *Menacing laugh* 

This evening has been - Been hoping that you'd drop in

                                I’ve been waiting for you to make the fatal error of dropping in

So very nice - I'll hold your hands, they're cold as ice

Wait, what did he just say?   -  Give me your hand. Never let go

My mother will start to worry - Beautiful, what's your hurry

I should remind him I have family to humanize myself - You’ll never leave now

My father will be pacing the floor - Listen to the fireplace roar

My father is a cop  -  I’m becoming more animalistic as we speak, relying more heavily on my sense of sound

So really I'd better scurry - Beautiful, please don't hurry

Well maybe just one drink more - Put some records on while I pour

I guess if you can’t bet ‘em, join ‘em? - I think some music will put her in the mood

The neighbors might think - Baby, it's bad out there

If I scream, the neighbors could hear me, right?

Say, what's in this drink - No cabs to be had out there

Well, I’m pretty sure there are roofies in this drink – No, it’s snowing too hard for                                                the neighbors to hear you

I wish I knew how - Your eyes are like starlight now

                                     I can see by that glazed over look that the drugs are taking effect

To break this spell - I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell

By this, I mean I wish I knew how to break the lock that you have placed on the door and also the roofie spell that I'm currently falling under

I ought to say no, no, no, sir - Mind if I move a little closer

O wait, I have been. That’s right. I have been politely saying no this entire song – Now is the time to make my move

At least I'm gonna say that I tried - What's the sense in hurting my pride

In a court of law – What’s the sense in hurting my pride

I really can't stay - Baby don't hold out

                                    Your resistance is futile at this point

Baby it's cold outside


For a fun holiday twist on this song, please follow this link.

And there you have it ladies and gentlemen. My case has been proven. Enjoy the holidays without sexual harassment but rather a true sense of non-denominational holiday cheer and spirit! (CONSISTENTLY REMEMBERING THAT NO MEANS NO.)


Update: Most holiday songs do not have underlying sexual deviancy themes or at least they have one's that I have yet to investigate.

Battle of the Blade

In a constant battle with personal hygiene that we all face everyday, I have met my match. Shaving for some reason has become my vice. I don't enjoy doing it. I never have, and I never will.  I think this is because of the process that it entails. You have to wash your face. You have to shave your face. You have to moisturize your face. I'm getting exasperated just thinking about it. Sometimes I wish I could just stop in the middle of the endeavor, but alas, I would most likely be left with a Hitler 'stash and accosted for being a member of his youth brigade. I imagine that ladies have the same issues with shaving their legs without the Nazi associations of course.

Therefore, I have included a list of professions that would require me to never shave again and the reasons why they would never work:

Lumberjack

I think this career path would involve a woodland lifestyle that does not become my current plans. In other words, how many argyle sweaters can I bring to the woods before it's too many?

Paper towel endorsement model

Unfortunately, I'm not muscular enough to carry the Brawny name on my shoulders. This is especially detrimental to them because of my chiseled jaw and George Clooney good looks.

Hermit

Although this career path would leave me plenty of time to blog, I just don't think it would be as good without my awkward social interactions. My best friend rock and friction though would get a lot of blog time.

Anyone in the 1970's

Sorry guys, we are officially in the Willenium. Will Smith is now god, and Wild Wild West is my Bible.

Anyone in the current porn industry

Gross.

Cartoon villian - facial hair would have to be more stylized than unshaven

Who am I kidding? Being a cartoon villian would be pretty sweet. Although I would be constantly bumbling in comparison to my heroic counterpart.

Criminal/Convict

I'm far too dainty to maintain myself in a jail house setting. Unless it was some form of musical version like Jail House Rock, but then again, those guys all looked pretty put together.

Fugitive

Harrison Ford, anyone? I imagine that being a fugitive would be like participating in the game show the Mole. I would slowly be driven insane by the fear that everyone is out to get me, and I guess they kind of would be. Yikes.

Unibomber

Sorry, already been there and done that.

Messiah

The second coming is upon us. I think I'm more of a soapbox all-star than a Messiah though.

Documentary film maker

I think that besides unkempt facial hair this career also requires you to be obese and to be hated by all people.

Cast away

I would miss my blog and my raving fans in Croatia, Canada, and South Africa too much. Also, I am not going to follow in Tom Hanks' footsteps especially after his creepy likenesses in the Polar Express.

Survivor contestant


I'm not crafty or useful enough to actually make it to the point wear I would grow obscene amounts of facial hair.

Pedophile


Not really a profession, more of a hobby. Yet again, gross.


*In looking up more professions where you never have to shave the most popular google search is profession where you might be bitten by a dog.* - This search was fruitless. FYI.

But in case you were wondering the following careers may involve a series of dog bites.

And the top four responses in a survey of one hundred people are

Family Feud Top Four Answers

1. MAIL MAN
2. VET
3. DOG CATCHER
4. POLICE OFFICER

It looks like I will have to fight another day with my razor until one of us loses the epic battle of skin vs. blade. Damn you personal hygiene! You win again!

Why Ice Will Slowly Destroy Your Life. Forever.

Update on "Yes, Ma'am" - Danielle, please stop calling my workplace to hear me answer the phone. Thanks.

Nothing, not one thing, is as destructive and useless as ice. Sure, I'm a huge fan when it is maintaining my beverage at a luke warm to cool temperature during the summer.But then something happens. We stop creating ice for our own amusement and pleasure, and IT STARTS FORMING ITSELF. Much like the playful dog that gains an unsightly case of rabies - Cujo anyone - ice turns from a playful friend into a slobbering monster providing only pain and misery (Fun fact: both Cujo and Misery are novels by Stephen King - the R.L. Stein of adult horror).

You never realize how much you love something until it is gone. This is very much the case with friction, which ice slowly steals away with Jack Frost's iron fist (if Jack Frost did have an iron fist, it would be incredibly cold and most likely covered in cartoon icicles). I love friction. I mean, we've had our bad times, like in the sixth grade when I jumped off my friend's pegs and scraped my knee, but we are still cool. And I think that was mostly inertia's fault. Inertia was the main bully in the scenario, and friction was merely afraid, following in suit to protect himself.

Being a nerd, I have looked up the equation for the force of friction:

F = μN


Sure, this equation is all FUN (That is a pun, ladies and gentlemen) and games during the warmer months. But during the winter months when that force gets closer to zero, I feel the equation looks more like this:


F = μcK μ


And it is this second equation that makes me want to stab Jack Frost with one of the cartoon icicles clinging to his iron fist.


I mean, I don't make the situation better for myself - at any length. I wear traction-less shoes throughout all of the winter months. But that is because they look better and make me appear more stylish. I have very few things in this world, and I will not let ice steal my sense of fashion. This is one victory I will claim over the demon ice god, and don't you forget it.


This extreme aversion to ice has led me to find extreme methods to protect myself from possible slips and slides. Two of my friends recently gave me the idea to carry around salt and to sprinkle it wherever I may go, much like in the cinema Hocus Pocus. Although I do enjoy the fact that this would make me feel like a fairy creature, I don't know how practical it is to carry around salt - expect on Halloween of course when it is a necessity to keep Bette Midler and Sarah Jessica Parker away from you. I may have also developed this aversion to Ice because of the character Ice in that film?


I would absolutely love if a circle of salt worked against ice like it did against evil witches. For instance, if I were to encircle my auto with salt, perhaps the driver's side door would not freeze, or I wouldn't get stuck in an ice pocket. In my dream world, this would be a fact, but then again, in my dream world, friction would be a tangible form so that we could be best friends. We would grow old together, and at our twentieth high school reunion we would laugh and laugh at the obese monstrosity that ice had become.


To dream a dream. 

"Yes, ma'am"

EXTRA! EXTRA!

The early reviews have hit the stands, and the opinion on Sleepless in Oakbrook Terrace is an overwhelming YES!

Here are what some people had to say:

"Your blog."

Much like a Charleston or Macarena (for some reason I could only think of dance crazes), Sleepless... is an overnight sensation.

Now I have to maintain my readership though, and I have to overcome my constant fears of not being good enough. But then again, who am I kidding? As I have stated before, this blog may or may not have the longevity of the Macarena. Soon, it will be played at minor league sporting events, and the dance will be mimed by modestly obese individuals following trends from ten years ago. That is what I would like to call the American Dream.

And I know you want to listen to the Macarena as much as I do right now. Therefore, I have provided a link to the music video on YouTube.

ONWARD!

Okay, so I have realized my absolute pet peeve that can turn any mundane day into a black hole of murderous rage.

It starts simple enough. I answer the phone in a polite, upbeat voice (surprisingly chipper if you have ever met me) with a generic greeting:

"Hello. Thank you for calling *wherever I am working at the moment* in *whatever town*. This is Marty speaking. How can I help you?"

And then, it happens - like a flash of lightning *OVERDRAMATIC RANT STARTS NOW* *cue thunder and lightning effects to put emphasis on the use of the word lightning*. The individual on the other end of the phone (most likely a male) refers to me by a feminine pronoun (most likely ma'am).

Okay, great. SO, not only am I female, but I am also an older female who you feel that you must refer to as ma'am. Good job. You have officially started a shame cycle that you had no intentions of entering. No really, I'm glad you have brought both of us to this place.

I, slowly sinking into an abyss of self doubt, now have two options of how to proceed. I typically follow both routes simultaneously. I lower my voice so deep that it is unmistakable that this individual has made a fatal error while dramatically shifting the tone of the conversation to rude and surly.

Now, I can hear the Spacely Sprocket's cogs (threw the Jetson's reference in there - deal with it) slowly moving in this individual's head. He is slowly but surely realizing his mistake. But what can he do now? He's already entered into the twilight zone (where apparently men sound like women).

HE IS TRAPPED in a conversation with me that has taken a brutal turn. DAMN YOUR POLITE ANTICS SIR!!!!

He has only two paths in front of him. The thought processes are like this:

"I have already referred to this person by a feminine pronoun. This situation is now embarrassing for me and the person on the other line of the phone. I can therefore either ignore the obvious facts in front of me and continue to refer to this person by feminine pronouns or I can slowly switch the tone of the conversation toward masculine pronouns (which will still be diminutive in nature - pal, bud, etc.)."

O, and don't worry, I am not remotely understanding in this respect. Therefore, we must also add an element of fear to the equation. The person on the other line now has embarrassment and fear: a complex combination that will eventually lead him to recoil at the thought of ever calling any establishment ever again. Or maybe not.

And then, the conversation ends as soon as it began. The heatwave of daggery (not a real word) anger has passed. And I'm pretty sure that nobody wins, which is sad. In these situations there should always be a clear winner and loser.

And that is my ultimate pet peeve (I also hate the phrase pet peeve or any version of the word peeve) in a nutshell (I don't particularly enjoy this expression).

In lighter news, my car became stuck in an ice pocket on my way to work tonight. I, being a genius, decided that I should try pushing my car forward out of the ice with my traction-less boat shoes. This resulted in me slowly sliding with my body half out of the car into a snow bank. But, don't worry, someone was there to watch, and not help, as I flailed helplessly to move my car out of the ice. Thank you Oakbrook Terrace resident for your overwhelming helpfulness.

Hey, do you blog?

The answer up until now would have been a resounding no. However, I have finally given in to both boredom and technology. Mainly boredom though.

You see, I work the overnight (graveyard - jeez I hate referring to it as a graveyard) shift at the Staybridge Suites in Oakbrook Terrace. Hence, the title of this blog that made you smile ever so slightly as you either clicked on a link or typed it in to your selected internet browser.

As you can imagine, the Staybridge is not the most hopping place from 11pm to 7am. Quite the opposite in fact, which is lucky for you since you can now read my thoughts through a blog medium! I wish I was as lucky as you, but I can only think of awesome, hilarious things. I rarely have the opportunity to read them.

Also, I figured it would be nice to have another outlet to pursue my extreme vanity. Another reason I am enjoying reading this blog is because I can see a really handsome reflection of myself in my laptop screen.

While I am not fulfilling the whims of Staybridge guests (retrieving alcohol pads for a gentlemen to rub on his fiance's face - this happened), folding laundry, or shoveling snow, I will now be updating you on the most mundane attributes and stories I can muster.

Congratulations. You are now reading one the best things on the internet*

*This is not yet true, but it will be. I give myself a week before I fully reject this venture, and set up a rap studio behind the front desk at this gd hotel.

First random thought: totally blogworthy of course, I don't like most words that describe devices invented in the last twenty years. For example, laptop. I wish that a modern day Shakespeare would come around and determine a new series of vocabulary in a Renaissance English that is more becoming to my petite eardrums.