Chick-fil-A and Me. Worst Breakup Ever.

I really need to stop reading articles that support Chick-fil-A, DOMA, and discrimination against gays. I legitimately go insane.

                                                                              

Chick-fil-A. Your sandwiches were never good enough to hate gays. This is coming from someone who loves chicken. Although I will admit that your chicken nuggets are bordering on a point where you can almost hate gays.

Now for the rant.

Either people need to stop leaving comments on these articles or they need to have some idea what they are typing about. Everyone (or pretty much everyone), whether they support Chick-fil-A or not, sounds dumb. I am glad that in the United States both liberals and conservatives, religious or nonreligious can sound like idiots. I hope people from other countries don’t ever find these articles or comments. The wild misspellings and name calling aren’t exactly charming. Calling Chick-fil-A and its supporters liars and bigots isn’t working any wonders, and it is not helping the homosexual/gay rights cause despite what you may think. On the other side, please do not refer to me as a “militant homosexual” Mike Huckabee. I don’t like it, and it scares me to think that I may be drafted now into both the United States army and some secondary homosexual army. On that note, One Million Moms never use the term ‘Big Gay’ machine. Ever. It just sounds too fun and like something everyone would want to join. So maybe, actually keep using it?

Along with not being in any military, I would also prefer not to burn in the pits of hell. That would really be a bummer. So please commenters, do not tell me that I am doomed to this fate as this seems slightly worse than a gay army. I think God is the only one who can determine whether I go to hell or not, right? Similarly, nobody is impressed by Bible quotes either. Any person with the internet, the forum on which you have chosen to write your words of wisdom, can Google “anti-gay Bible verses” or “anti-fag Bible verses” if you’re feeling saucy.

Also, STOP TYPING IN ALL CAPS. We get it. You are really passionate about this issue or your religion. That’s great, but typing in all caps is the internet equivalent of wearing a dunce cap in a 1920’s red schoolhouse.  

Basically, this is just an outcry for people to think before they type. Defending your stance is great, but in all actuality, most of the time, it doesn’t do any good. It is definitely not doing any good when either side lashes out on the other. On the pro-gay marriage side, it further confirms the religious beliefs of the traditional marriage side. I personally do not want to be written off as a “sinner”. I think with thoughtful arguments, our opinions can be heard and actually start to change the opinions of others. Let’s have conversations about issues instead of internet Jet/Shark-esque rumbles. Let’s find out why people think what they think instead of immediately telling them that they are wrong. And finally, let’s treat others how we would want to be treated. We learn this in grammar school and forget it instantaneously when we log onto the World Wide Web. These are actual people writing comments whom have thoughts and beliefs that may differ from yours. They have the rights to these thoughts and opinions as we do not live in the plot of 1984. Would you shout at these individuals on the street if their opinions differed from yours? I hope not, and if you would, I am going to say that you need some anger management counseling. Also, you probably did not get to this point in this post as you realized that this is targeted at your comments. It can be grating when you don’t understand what someone else thinks or why they think it. On homosexuality issues, the stance is pretty much something you are born into, so these ideas can be especially challenging to break/change/bend.

On an end note, I am a big proponent of freedom of speech and freedom of religion as long as you aren’t physically or emotionally hurting someone. I don’t think that Chicago or Boston should stop Chick-fil-A from opening new locations. It kind of violates the exact same principles that we want people to understand. Imagine if I could be fired for being homosexual. (Side note: Oh wait, that’s right, I can be in the majority of the United States.) I want to be able to work where I please and live where I please. Chick-fil-A should have this right too despite opposing the views of Chicago’s and Boston’s respective mayors. However, I do admire this stance and the conversations that it has been started. And this will be the only shout out I ever give to Chick-fil-A: thanks for starting this dialogue (or what could be a dialogue if we actually do the listening portion). By taking a blatant anti-gay marriage stance, you have brought to light several other gay issues and further pushed homosexuality into the public eye. Snaps for the “gay agenda.” (We don’t actually have an agenda. Shhh! *girlish giggles*)

Also, these cities have obese people who need terrible chicken sandwiches, and I don’t want to deprive the people of their freedom of food choice (I think that is in the First Amendment as well, right??). Another thing, I haven’t confirmed this, but I could definitely see some references to Chicago and Boston as Sodom and Gomorra, which we definitely just don’t need.

As for now, I will bid Chick-fil-A farewell. It was definitely one those relationships where you realize that the other person is terrible but you stay with them for years. I will not be going to your party that you are hosting on Wednesday (Chick-fil-A Appreciation Day...THIS IS HAPPENING). I will be screening and blocking all of your calls, and my friends will pick up my things around two p.m. tomorrow. 

P.S. I am sorry that I haven’t written in over a year. I was kind of a little busy with graduate school. I think I am back though, which feels good. I love a good comeback story. Also, I am sorry if this post is like the absolute worst. As I said, I have not written in a super long time, and I am rusty.

The Gap Year: A Retrospective Look at a Year in Mediocrity

Let me paint you a quick picture: a young, fresh-faced gay male graduates from the University of Illinois with the future in front of him and no limitations in sight. Sure, he had suffered a bit of rejection, but nothing was going to keep him down. The enthusiasm and optimism surrounding him is palpable.

This person is me nine months ago, and he is an IDIOT.

The life undergraduate is a surreal experience soaked in sexual innuendo and alcohol. You graduate with a false sense of superiority, thinking that the world is your oyster. Little do you know that oyster is just waiting to clamp shut on your tiny little torso at any moment.  Damn you oyster for tempting me with your stylish pearls.

Luckily, the skills you gain throughout your college career are extremely useful. FALSE. I’m sorry, but knowing how to hook up with three people in the same evening, control your black outs as to appear not blacked out, and dominate at drinking games will not be useful in your adult life. Well, at least not your professional adult life. I’m sorry I party?

So, seeing as I entered the real world without legitimate skills I ultimately screwed myself into a gap year: a year during which you work for the man at minimum wage. I could no longer work at my retail job with the sense of superiority I once had. I couldn’t say to people, “Oh, this is just my side gig while I finish up school. Look how self important and better than this I am.” I was officially a retail gay and turning more into a stereotype than I ever cared to be.

Seeing as I was working for a pittance, I also had to take a second job as a hotel heiress, meaning I work the night audit every other weekend at a hotel. Do not ask me why I thought it was a good idea to work on the weekends overnight. This is a terrible idea. Like the worst ever. Under no circumstance should this be done or even considered.

Now, this wouldn’t be too terrible, except for the hours of BOTH of my jobs (which scarily almost turned into careers) are awful. I work in retail from 5am ‘til 2pm every weekday and then at the hotel from 11pm ‘til 7 am on weekends. I basically have just kissed my Circadian rhythm goodbye. I miss it, and I treat it as “the one that got away.” On the weekends, I sometimes forget what time it is appropriate to brush my teeth and wash my face. Thank goodness that this has only increased my rugged good looks and charm…

Now, if the gap year teaches you anything, it’s how much your life can blow. During the holiday season, I worked sixty + hour weeks. I did not see my friends or family, and I basically worked or slept through every holiday (both official and drinking) of this past calendar year.  And don't worry, this menial labor isn't too demeaning when you graduated cum laude from a top school with a degree in molecular and cellular biology.

Throw in an ill fated relationship with the craigslist killer and some auto troubles, you have me riding my bicycle to work every morning at 5am with a little bit of emotional damage (cue Damaged by Danity Kane). That gap year can really kick you when you are down my friends.

But don’t worry, this story has a happy ending. I have just recently been accepted to graduate school. The gap year has an end in sight, a light at the end of the tunnel.  The most satisfying part of this will definitely be leaving both of my jobs, especially since we are coming on the busy season in the hotel. Ultimate gratification for real.

This guy is going back to college a little older and a lot wiser.

Robin Hood and His Merry Men: A Sequel

The Lifeguard and I were alone. The night appeared to be eventful but over.

I have a feeling that this is how people who haven't experienced a tornado before must react:

"O man, I'm safe. That storm ruined my life, but it's finally over. I will never have to go through anything like that again. O wait, I AM IN THE EYE OF THE STORM!! We are just halfway done with this beast." *PANIC*

I was in my own personal tornado (soaking in a false sense of security), and things were about to get worse.

Remember how we had received a ride home earlier in the evening? Remember how I scampered off with two homosexuals leaving the driver alone and helpless? Well, you should, because the Driver will become a key player in the second half of this story.

Let me just start by saying that the details on this part of the evening are slightly...muddled.

I remember being outside of my apartment wearing pajama pants and a cardigan (I decided to forgo a bottom layer for unknown reasons). The Driver seemed to emerge from the All Hallow's Eve mist ominously surrounding my apartment. Now, I must have had a conversation directing him to my location. This has been mentally misplaced on my part.

I invited him into my apartment. I thought that having another person there would ease the awkward situation previously created by Uncle Sam and the Lifeguard. We all took our places on the couch. The Lifeguard was seated in the center with the Driver and I on opposite sides of him.

I decided that the film Donnie Darko would be a good viewing choice. I have since realized that Donnie Darko is not a good film and that I mostly enjoy Jake Gyllenhaal brooding in all that is 80's adolescence.

Well, the film obviously was not that entertaining, because the next time I looked over to my left, I saw some serious fellatio action underneath a blanket.

WHAT. THE. HELL?

I think this the point at which I called my friend Amy. The whole recording is muffled except for two words, "madame" and "brothel".

I had apparently opened a whore house in my small apartment, pimping out the Lifeguard to any gay male who happened to stumble in. I COULD NOT handle the situation, especially once Uncle Sam had reappeared to call on his shower buddy.

I believe the night ended in an emotional plea on my part to have the Lifeguard think about his boyfriend (who was sick in bed, most likely dying). It went over really well, as soon afterward the Lifeguard and Uncle Sam merrily pranced to another location.

I woke up the next morning lacking both my phone and a sense of faith in the homosexual way of life.

Happy Halloween?

The following porno names have been attributed to the above evening:
Robin Hood and His Merry Men
All Hallow's Beej
Uncle Sam Wants You
Gaywatch

P.s.  I think we can all agree that the most disturbing part of this evening is that I did not get any action. AT ALL.

Blog Inappropriate?

So, I have realized that an unsightly number of people in my life read my blog. Therefore, I have began to censor myself somewhat needlessly. That ends here with the following tale of scandalous sexuality and delightful "this could only happen to me" awkwardness.

The story begins on October 30th, 2009. It was unusually warm October. I remember because I was debating on whether to even wear shorts underneath my Robin Hood frock or to just go for tights alone. After the realization that if I even raised my arms the slightest bit I would be fully exposed to the general public, I wore the shorts.

To give a general picture of my costume, I wore a jaunty hat (that always seemed to fall to the side of my head in a playful, fun way that made me super approachable), a green frock with black plastic detailing on the sleeves and bottom, black basketball shorts, bright green (and mostly transparent) tights, and tie up leg warmers with similar detailing as the frock. My costume also included a rapier that I used to both stab unsuspecting passersby and take beer shots out of its base.

Actual conversation I had with someone that night:

Me: "Are you sad? You look kinda sad."
Girl: "No, I'm fine."
Me: "Are you sure? Because if you were sad, you could take shots out of the base of my sword with me."
Girl: "I am sad. Please let me see your sword." (JUST REALIZED THE DOUBLE ENTENDRE!!!)

Anyhow, these details are just adding to the imagery of the evening. You know I'm quite the story weaver.

So, that night is when I ran into a once potential hookup with whom nothing had come to fruition. I saw him at the party I was attending, walked up, and said, " You look like someone I know, but he moved to California. So, it couldn't be you."

His response: "Marty, you are an idiot. It is me."

We had a small discussion about his current boyfriend (who he was visiting) that was completely irrelevant to my life. Therefore, I zoned out the majority of the conversation and entertained myself by speaking in a British accent and swordplay.

End scene. (Not really end of the scene. Other events of that night include crashing a party with a pumpkin I had just met and losing my cellular device in a random's car.) However, move on to the next night, October 31st, 2009.

I am without cell phone, still hungover from the previous evening. I had lost the basin aspect of my sword, which would mean no more glamorous and attention/popularity gaining beer shots.Also, a cold front had moved in. I should have known my night would go awry by these foreshadowing components.

My friend Amy ventures to my apartment dressed as Robin from Batman and Robin. We were actually an unexpected couples costume that most people did not begin to understand. I was Robin Hood, and she was Robin, which effectively made us Robin and Robin. Great Couples costume or the greatest?

As we begin the festivities for the evening, I receive a facebook chat from the gentleman of the previous evening. He shall be referred to as Lifeguard for the remainder of the story (These names have been chosen based on costume. This is just a precaution for when my blog blows up even more, and I get that book deal. Nbd.) He chatted me wanting to know my whereabouts and plans for this fine All Hallow's Eve. He told me that his boyfriend had taken ill, and therefore, he was without plans for the night. I invited him out. LITTLE DID I KNOW. LITTLE DID I KNOW.

Fast forward to the bar. We run into a past hook up of mine Uncle Sam, who apparently had been hitting on the Lifeguard basically in front his boyfriend the entire night. The lifeguard's only request was that I keep them separated for the majority of the evening. Now, believe me when I say that the minute this request was made the Lifeguard immediately began flirtatious behavior with Uncle Sam.

Brown out starts now.

Open on me in a car with Uncle Sam, the Lifeguard, and three other gentlemen who shall remain nameless at the moment. I at this point in my college career had begun yelling the word "afterhours" at the end of every bar night. This would result in many a random entering my apartment and partaking in the festivities. This was the cast of the afterhours for this evening: two thirty year old gay men (one of whom is my friend), the driver of the vehicle, US, and LG (abbreviated for ease).

In a twist of fate, the car broke down at a busy intersection on campus. I jaunted away from the vehicle yelling something about having to meet my friend Amy. Only two of the five men followed me: Uncle Sam and the Lifeguard. Now, at this point, I begin to realize that something may be happening between these two. My drunken haze had distracted me from the obvious flirtation between them, but it was coming to the forefront more and more. Enter Amy who had come to gather her belongings. All she told me is that I was mouthing the words "Help me" to her as she left.

The flirting hit its peak when the Lifeguard asked if he could use my shower. Not thinking about the consequences of someone entering the shower, I obliged.

What's the worst that could happen? Just think about your answer to this question...

Okay. So, you have probably deduced that Uncle Sam moments asked me if it was okay for him to get into the shower as well.

US: "So, would you mind if I got into the shower too?
Me: "Wait...WHAT?"
US: "I'm going to get into the shower."
Me: "What. Is. Happening?"

I was literally just standing in the bathroom staring at the motions behind the shower curtain. I could not look away. It was like a really graphic accident or a terrible pornography. O wait, THIS IS JUST MY LIFE.

The Lifeguard kept yelling for me to get into the shower despite protests from Uncle Sam. At first I resisted, but then I realized what I needed to do.

After some drunk reasoning as follows:

1) The Lifeguard wants me in the shower
2) Uncle Sam does not want me in the shower
3) I do not want to be in the shower
4) Due to these two volatile reactions to me being in the shower, if I enter the shower this situation will diffuse itself.
5) I am sloppy enough to think that #4 actually makes sense.

I crossed the threshold and entered the no man's land (which ironically was filled with men) of the shower. My only weapon being insane amounts of awkwardness. Luckily, it was the only thing I needed. Within one minute, the situation had been resolved. Uncle Sam left immediately afterward, and the Lifeguard and I were left on our own for me to awkwardly remind him of his boyfriend. Did you forget that he had a boyfriend? BECAUSE I SURE DIDN'T.

Inebriated Marty - 1
America - 0

Well, doesn't that seem like a tidy little ending. It gets so much worse...

To be continued...

Nightmares

As a child, I always seemed to have really exciting nightmares in which fantastical creatures would attack me and I would try (and fail) to escape. I remember explicitly the content of the majority of these nightmares, and for a while, I was convinced of the fact that I had night terrors. I actually just wanted to have night terrors, because to be honest, it sounds awesome.

"O no, I don't just have nightmares. I have night terrors. I thrash uncontrollably in my sleep, and I wake up screaming. Jealous?"

Although, at this point in my life, I am absolutely sure that not a single person  would be jealous of night terrors.

Anyway, as of late, my brain has decided to play some tricks on my dream sequence. Instead of having awesome nightmares of wax figurines coming to life in a museum of death or falling into a grave, I am now having what I will refer to as mundane nightmares.

A mundane nightmare is when something arbitrary happens in a dream that really would not matter in your waking hours. However, in this dream, your life shuts down when this event occurs. I am the only person that I know that has this strange nightmare.

My latest nightmare consisted of me running out of checks. Now, in real life, running out of checks absolutely does not matter. In the least. Like this is absolutely the farthest you can get from a big deal. But for some reason in my dream, I was freaking out.

I WENT CRAZY.

I found that I had come to the last check in my checkbook, and my dream self COULD NOT HANDLE IT. I just didn't understand how I could let this happen.

My dream thought processes:

"O, look I'm at the last check in my checkbook. Wait, what? I don't have anymore checks. How am I supposed to pay my bills and my rent? I'm going to have to order more checks. That's going to take two weeks for them to be delivered. Wait, in two weeks, these bills will be past due. (Normal brain patterns stop here.) If I don't pay my bills on time, I AM GOING TO DIE. I will be thrown on the streets and I will die of starvation. I AM HOMELESS AND HUNGRY.

THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT COULD EVER HAPPEN!"

I am absolutely sure that I was thrashing in my sleep, terrified of my checkless life. What would I ever do?

Well, to say the least, I woke up in a cold sweat. I'm pretty sure I was actually panting in exacerbation. The dream seemed so real. And embarrassingly enough, I ran to check that I still had checks.

I still have half a book of checks. I win this time dream Marty.

Other mundane nightmare topics include a shirt not being ironed for work, your room being dirty, bad cellular phone reception, etc. The thought processes are exactly the same, with the ending realization that this minor problem will cause your imminent death.

Sweet dreams? Also, how fitting that I am writing about nightmares that actually leave me sleepless in Oakbrook Terrace. I think so.

Tweet. Tweeeeeeeet.

Sleepless in Oakbrook Terrace has officially breached other social media in the form of Twitter. Now you can get minor updates in the time between posts. So far Twitter has proven to be a rousing success. #obscureblog. I'm going to be famous by the end of this year if it actually kills me. I mean, postmortem blog posts could be as big as deceased Tupac's last five albums.

Also, I will be posting from now on once a week to give you something to look forward to on your bland Sunday morning.

The Year of Martifest Destiny

So after some fateful occurrences of this new year, I am making this the year of Marty. It's all about me this year, which means that others need to step aside and stop stealing my shine. I still have some swagger from my college years that I'm going to use to my full advantage. Basically, don't rain (unless it's dollars) on my parade. If it is dollars, please make it rain.

So I am coining a new phrase: Martifest Destiny (which could coincidentally also be my drag name).


A brief history lesson

Manifest Destiny - The notion that God's divine power called the United States to expand from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean.

Much like the above concept, I'm pretty sure God's divinity is working in my favor in 2011. I mean it's been bumpy so far, but I have some good karma my way. My blog much like a war on either Mexico or Native American populations will sweep the nation from coast to coast. Hopefully, with less bloodshed, but I will not make any promises. And that my friends is the notion of Martifest Destini.

I'm pretty sure that this will be taught in history classes around the globe in about fifty to one hundred years. People will wonder where the fabulous name came from, as by this time Manifest Destiny will have been forgotten. Also forgotten will be the writer's block that I have had for virtually a month.

Welcome to my year. I'm funnier than ever. Deal with it.




 

Sickness: A Survival Guide

Place: Lincoln Park

Operation: The Apartment

Things you should know before venturing out with medical school students*:

1) These individuals are interesting studies. They obviously have experience with drinking, but have seemingly forgotten how to consume alcohol of any sort.

2) Binge drinking is mandatory.

3) The old adage quality over quantity holds true for nights out but not for liquors consumed.

4) At least one person will vomit at the pregame.

5) Another will vomit at the bar.

6) You will hear the phrase, "I'm so drunk" at least five times (most likely from the individual who appears the least drunk).

7) And finally, you will definitely hear about alcohol dehydrogenase or antidiuretic hormone. As well as the subject of their last test.

8) You are the most sober. Accept it now.

*Upon review most of these points have similarities to both high school and college drinking. Duly noted.

Basically, the true comedy in this night arises at the bar. I being a casual observer of those around me happen to notice a girl who is scantily clad in a cutout dress. 

The cutouts were in the following places: Breasts, stomach, arms, and back. If your imagination can wrap around the concept of nudity you basically have the dress correctly categorized.

Well, I thought it would be funny to ask this young woman for a proper dance. At first, I questioned myself (My pulse was racing and my palms were sweaty. I have never been that nervous to approach a girl. Eeek.), but then I thought, "What the heck? I have this whole female interact thing in the bag." Little did I know, little did I know.

I saunter over gallantly looking pretty good if I may say so myself. I ask the girl, "Hey, do you want to dance with this?" making an obviously exaggerated dance maneuver. 

At first, I cannot hear her reply so I ask her to repeat herself. 

She slowly lifts her finger to my face, and says a simple two syllable word: "Sickness."

WHAT. THE. HELL?

I have no idea how to react to this scenario. Is there a protocol? So I just say, "I mean, well, if you, ah, change your mind, ah, I'll be over there."

So suave.

After this brilliant interaction, she proceeds to have a photoshoot with her Snooki-esque friend in the mirror at the entry way to the bar.

Men literally could not get further away from the spectacle...Ultimate embarrassment commences.

And that is how I got rejected by the anti-siren of Lincoln Park.

Reasons I Should Have Terminal Brain Damage

Reason One: my sister's jealousy

When I was three or younger (it's hard to say exactly), my dad was walking and asked if I would enjoy a piggyback ride. Little did I know that my sister would erupt in a fit of absolute jealousy. Like molten lava, at first just bubbling at the surface, and then blasting forth from the pits of hell, finally covering a small ancient Roman village in volcanic ash, she leaped from the ground fueled by envy of my happiness. She knocked me off of my father's back with her razor sharp finger nails (much like a velociraptor). A playful afternoon turned to tragedy as I tumbled toward the ground. Joy turned to terror. The end was near. I fell from my father's back into the pavement of the sidewalk head first. A mark/crack in the sidewalk still resides where the event occurred. (I'll show it to you if you ask.) To say the least, I now lack a substantial amount of memories from my childhood due to this series of unfortunate events.

Meet my sister!
Image from: http://www.rareresource.com/pho_velociraptor.htm

Reason Two: my over-enthusiasm toward volunteerism

In the third grade, our teacher asked if anyone would enjoy helping to carry ice cream in from her trunk. For some reason, the combination of volunteering and ice cream drove me to insanity. I had to help. I don't know why, but I JUST HAD TO. I wasn't even one of the first round picks. I didn't care, I just wanted to get that ice cream into the building. To think of it, I'm not even sure the ice cream was for us. O well, anyway, the teacher eventually realized my undying desire to aid in the ice cream moving process, and she casually asked if I would like to help. I immediately jumped from my seat in a fit of joy. FINALLY, IT WAS MY TIME TO SHINE like the brilliant sun that shone over our heads that fine morning.

How sad for me that I would not even get the chance to handle these ice cream treats. As I RAN toward the door, a "loose" tile caught me off guard. (There is absolutely no way that there was a loose tile in the flooring. This is the lie I continually told so as to make the situation less embarrassing. I mean, I had just nearly fallen out of my seat raising my hand to volunteer. But whatever.) I tripped. This may be hard to believe since now I am the king of poise and grace that you know me as. But it happened. I tripped, and then I slid across the floor into a door jam at a high enough speed as to split my head open. As my parents drove me to the hospital, my only regret was that I didn't get any ice cream.

Reason Three: my jealousy toward my sister

The summer after the above "incident" had occurred. My sister and I decided to play a "quick" game of monopoly. This spiraled out of control until it was eleven pm and both of us hated each other. We really just wanted the game to end. Isn't that the way monopoly works? It starts out fun, teaching us about capitalism and property management, then degrades into an epic battle. No one can win, especially when the game involves only two people. The end never comes.

Well, as I was eight years old, I little body could not handle the eleven pm hour that we had come to. BUT I HAD TO WIN. Therefore, when my sister managed to thwart me multiple times in a row, I went crazy. I jumped from the floor onto her back much like she had done years earlier (foreshadowing much?) Lucky for her, she was not three years old and defenseless, because she threw me from her back into a coffee table, splitting my head on the exact opposite side from just months before. My dad was furious as he drove me to the hospital, but hey dad, it was just for the love of the game.

The coffee table still resides in my eldest sisters house. I hope my niece and nephew will be able to escape my fate.

I'm back in 2011. With vengeance.

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.