Long Commute

I practically am commuting back and forth to Texas these days. Not really, but it sure seems like it having been here every 3-4 weeks for the past few months. I came down earlier than I expected to spend Christmas with the fam.

My thought process was to change my ticket because Chicago was supposed to get some questionable weather the day I was scheduled to depart. The last thing I wanted to do was spend 8 hours on the tarmac during a snow storm. Nothing much was going on with me in the coming few days so I just bumped the departure up. Perfect weather the day I left but of course I encounter mechanical delays. So the luck. You try to avoid weather delays but end up with mechanical ones. I get to O'Hare only to find out my plane is, in no exact words, broken. Always a pleasant feeling looking out the window of the airport at a plane being "fixed" that you're about to board. Kinda like.. "hope this works!" I always picture half-trained mechanics patching things together with duct tape and rope. The duct tape didn't do the trick apparently because we had to board a completely different plane after the airline scrambled to locate one for an hour. What a logistical nightmare that must be. World's second busiest airport and you're just trying to find another MD-80 layin' around that, for some reason, isn't being used already. I doubt it's as simple as "Ummm, let's see.. Marv would you pull around the silver one.. no not.. yeah that one. Yeah the one over in the back let's use the silver one" like the terminal ramp is a Hertz Rental or something. Must be a total mindfuck when the entire airline's scheduling goes awry because of a broken knob in a cockpit (or coffee maker for all I know..we were never told what the problem was).

I won't even get into the FULL detailed story of the verbal argument that the pilot had with a passenger in the first class cabin when we were halfway to San Antonio. Basically: the female captain came out of the cockpit to use the restroom and a dumbass passenger came up from coach to use the same bathroom. Not sure if you've ever seen the ordeal that goes on when a pilot comes out of the cockpit to use the lav, as most people barely notice and they keep it low key, but it's a protected endeavor to say the least. First, two flight attendants are called to the front, the aisle is blocked either by a door, a cart, or two crew members so that no one can reach the front of the plane easily while the cockpit door is being opened. Anyway, this circus did take place but ole' stupidface decided to mouth off to the pilot after she told him to please take a seat until she was safely back in the cockpit (FAA post 9/11 regulations, etc.). Apparently he didn't think that new rule applied to him and decided to yell at her, to the top of his lungs in front of everyone, that he "Aint no kind of THREAT, don't YELL at me! what do you want from me!" I popped my headphones out of my ears, thinking this would clearly be better than the movie I was watching on my laptop. And it was. Good plot, lively characters and definitely a climax. I already pictured Jodi Foster playing the pilot (you can see it) and .. I dunno, some fatass playing the, well, fatass passenger. The ending wasn't as exciting as me having to jump out of my seat and help take the guy down to the floor, but I unbuckled during the argument anyway just in case. They exchanged heated and louder words back and forth in their power struggle for a good while as everyone around got tense. It ended with the female pilot turning back around after she started to walk off and he tried to get the last word in under his breath. She walked back towards him with a glare on her face and a finger in his and said "EXCUSE ME?! You will SIT. DOWN. and you will BE. QUIET. right now.. do you HEAR ME SIR?! I said DO.. YOU.. HEAR ME?!" OOOOooOoooh it was fun. I was practically ringing my call button to have more Amstell Light and maybe a bag of popcorn brought over for the show.

I wasn't kidding about the unbuckling of my seat belt in case I needed to help throw down with the crew, I really did unbuckle. In a half "Crap.. here we go" and half "BRING IT ON!" sort of way. Ever since 9/11 I've been READY. I see someone making their way to the front of the plane for the potty and I don't care if they're 10 years old.. I'm keeping an eye on that Jr. Terrorist. Not like my 5 foot 10, 155 pound self would do a ton of damage but I'd happily take some rage out on a disgruntled passenger who was acting threatening towards a female crew member. This guy was only a biological terrorist, however, as he announced to everyone "I've got 'frickin' bronchitis, I just need to BLOW MY FRICKIN' NOSE. What's the PROBLEM!" at one point during their spat. Yeah, thanks, now you're projecting all of your germs into the re-circulated air we're breathing.

I buckled back up and tried not to breathe for the rest of the hour and a half we had to go so as not to catch his illness (or somehow catch his obesity and attitude, just in case those were contagious, too).

My friend Alissa told me the other day that when she received my Christmas card, she could tell who it was from even before she saw who signed it. Apparently, according to her, I write exactly the way I speak and when she's reading what I've written she can clearly hear my voice as if it's a conversation, not a card. She doesn't read my blog by the way. I asked her to explain but she said she couldn't really put her finger on it but when she reads something I've written it is exactly the way I would speak conversationally. I don't know why but I thought that was interesting. Moral of the story: If you read my blog but have never had a real conversation with me- they're interchangeable and you're all set, no need to attempt the chat. She said it was a compliment because each time I've written her a thank-you card or a Christmas greeting.. it always seems as though I'm talking directly to her and isn't cold. Her mom apparently read to her the Christmas/Thank You card I sent them and Alissa said she could hear me talking clearly through their card as well. I guess it's a good thing unless I should get so busy one day that I have to have a secretary write things for me. Then I'm screwed. "Wait a second.. this doesn't sound like Mason at all, there must be some mistake. WHO is this card REALLLYYYY from?!"

Busted.

Merry Christmas,
M.db

Open Letter

Dear People who are in charge of paving roads in Chicago,

Please get to paving on Lake Shore Drive north of Irving Park cause I'm about to go out there and do it myself using super glue and the other limited craft utensils I own.

I was cruisin' down "The Drive" today and it was like playing a goddamned video game of "Dodge the giant canyon in the road" or "Try Not To Hit the Land Mines That Make Your Tires Blow and Sound Like You're Bottoming Your Car Out When You Go Over Them."

Although both of those games sound fun in electronic format, I can promise you that they're not fun at 55mph in real life format.

By the way, why do you only not give a fuck about the condition of the road north of Irving Park? South of there it's like driving on marshmallowie clouds of soft goodness. North of Irving, on the other hand, is stressful. I grew up in Texas and have driven gravel and dirt roads through MANY-a-ranch and those were like a brand-new thoroughfares in comparison.

Now, I realize that the roads in Chicago are terrible in large part due to our climate. 6 months of the year this city is about as tropical as a Donner Party trail ride through the Sierra Nevadas and then it can get hotter than the most demonic region of hell in the summer, but COME ON. What magical pavement are you using on the parts of the road that go through Lincoln Park, Gold Coast, etc?!

Tip: Use that same special pavement on the rest of Lake Shore Drive as well- it will make driving more fun. Darting back and forth to dodge chunks of pavement and aw-inspiring pot holes isn't fun OR safe.

PS- (not to you, road people, but to my readers) The number one way my blog is being found on accident via google searches these days is "Mom is a cheater" or "Cheating Mom" or some other variation of the phrase. The connection is being made because of a post I wrote a YEAR ago regarding the creepy Christmas song "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" wherein I discussed how that makes mom a cheater and Santa a skeeze, but I never received hits from that search phrase before now. Turns out there must have been a new porn flick in the past year about a naughhhttty cheating momma, cause it's gettin' Googled across the globe lately.

Sincerely,
M.db

But Baby There's Roofies In There..

I'm in the Christmas spirit, listening to seasonal music and preparing for a holiday "party" I'm having tomorrow. I say "party" because I don't intend for it to be more rowdy than people eating stuff, drinking stuff and hanging out. We'll see how it goes and I'll let you know.

Speaking of Christmas, I was putting together a mix of songs for said party and sincerely enjoying catching up on all the old favorites of the season.

I actually quite like the song "Baby It's Cold Outside," vintage and cute. It was on in the background today, however, and I started laughing at one of the lines.

As I'm sure you're familiar with the song, its' a male and female bantering back and forth about whether she should stay longer at his (I assume) home after they've already had a nice evening together. For example, here's a snippit:

Man: But baby it's cold outside..
Woman: I've got to go away
Man: but baby it's cold outside..

and

Woman: my mother will start to worry..
Man: beautiful what's your hurry?
Woman: and father will be pacing the floor.
Man: listen to that fireplace roar..

You get the drift.

Okay so clearly he's trying to get her to bed-down with him in a very 1956 kinda way. As the song progresses she starts to give in to him because, after all, "no" meant "yes" in those days. Well that, and as he said, it's fucking cold outside. "maybe just a cigarette more.." she says and so on and so forth. Well my FAVORITE lines, that really cracked me up today, are:

Woman: the neighbors might think...
Man: but baby it's bad out there
Woman: say, what's in this drink? <--(please note)
Man: no cabs to be had out there..

He totally just ignores her question, which is fine, but hey what WAS in that drink? He totally just roofied her ass!


Say, what's in this drink? Whatever, who cares. CHEERS!
M.db

Breaking News (from like 27 hours ago)

REEEEERRR-rrrrrr REEERRR-rrrrr

That's the sound a siren makes. It's not that unfamiliar to hear it outside in the distance here in Chicago. Actually (not lying) I hear one right now, faintly, as some ambulance hauls an old person to the hospital or something.

Yesterday, I heard one, then two, then like 18. I thought "oh somethin' good is happening out there!" So I looked out my living room window and saw THIS:



Oh no, my neighbors are on FIRE! Their building is an eye sore, but still it's on FIRE!

OOH now there's a helicopter!



Now there are THREE helicopters and it looks like they're involved in a syncronized swimming routine!



That means that this shit is probably on the news.. oh look it is:



And, finally, I counted 27 (from my vantage point) fire trucks surrounding the building (not 27 in this photo I'm sure):



From my condo I couldn't see the side of the building that was actually on fire, but the entire ordeal did create about 20 minutes of entertainment for me before I left for the gym yesterday afternoon. The action was still going on 4 hours later but I'm happy to report that, last I heard anyway, there were no injuries or deaths. Spectical, yes. Death, no.

I have this crackpot theory that Chicago has a fire curse. I mean the entire city DID burn to the ground a hundred (something) years ago. And I feel like there's a strangely high number of house, building, office fires in this city each year. It's like the curse keeps trying to get the city to go up in flames.. we just don't make buildings out of wood anymore so it's more difficult. God bless brick and steal.

And God bless you,
M.db

QuizNO

I keep giving the Quizno's restaurant near my place of residence a chance. Have you ever had one of those places in your world that, after leaving each time, you ask yourself "why do I keep going there, I don't even like it.." Quizno's fails to impress me each time, yet once every few months I wander into the one by my building anyway.

Weird stuff always goes down at the Q-no's by me, too. Maybe the weird stuff can be attributed to the fact that the store is in the shape of the Bermuda Triangle!! Well, I guess, everything triangular is in the shape of the Bermuda Triangle, but still. It's a TRIANGLE-shaped store; that part is weird enough. It's at the corner of a few intersecting streets so the south end of the store literally comes to a tiny narrow POINT. Not much sittin' room over there in that corner.

Anyway, regardless of the reason for this establishment's weirdness, it's an odd experience whenever I visit. A few months ago I was about to finish paying for my meal and this guy came in the store and started talking right over my shoulder to the manager as if there was no one else in the room but the two of them. He looked like he was probably in the Mexican Mafia. It was hard to tell what the one-sided conversation was regarding but the Quizno's manager just nodded in silent agreement as the Mafiaman said things like "now I like you, I don't want to have to do this." and "you hear me man? I give you one more day man. One more day, look at me... one more day. We're cool my friend... but one more day." The manager looked scared and who knows what I looked like but I sure FELT scared. After all, I was the only thing blocking manager-boy from gunfire.

Mafioso walked out the door and I was handed my change as if nothing had happened. I was glad I got my order to-go.

And by the way the store employs only two people and two people only.. managerboy and his sister (I'm assuming) who speaks the same strange language as Manager. No idea why that's relevant information, I just want you to get the full picture here. Review: Triangle shaped tiny Quiznos, same two employees always, possible deal-gone-wrong situations happening with the Mexican Mafia, etc. Okay we can continue:

On my next visit I ordered a sandwich and the sister-girl forgot how to make it halfway through the process. She stood and stared at the sandwich in front of her for what seemed like 10 minutes as if maybe the bread was about to give her a hint about what she should do next. I was thinking "what... just happened or is ABOUT to happen?" Sisterkins was completely frozen, like she ran out of batteries or was passing gas. I was super uncomfortable and feeling like maybe having the customer stare at her would only make her more nervous I started pretending like I was picking out chips off the rack, looking at my cell phone and just generally acting as though I had not noticed she was in a state of rigamortis. I did sort of want to keep an eye on her though because clearly ANYTHING could happen between those two pieces of bread at that point as she obviously was about to start guessing what ingredients to throw in there. For all I knew I was about to get a Broccoli Cheddar Soup Sandwich with pickles. She pulled it off in the end *whew" but still a weird experience. After she rang me up and I got my soda she asked "you need more napkins?!" Um.. do I look like I need more napkins before I've even started eating?

Another time when I was enjoying a fine dining experience at this Quizno's the manager man returned to the store from, somewhere. He had left sissy to run the store while he was away apparently. He came in with another person, a friend I guess, and they were both speaking their special language that I neither understand nor have ever heard before in my life. They both walked through the front door together but Manager headed back behind the counter while his friend stayed by the entrance, turned around facing the front door, reached up and began to rub a horseshoe that was nailed to the wall above the front door. He rubbed it with his right hand probably about 15 strokes worth. He then said something else in Pig Latin (or whatever) and walked out. I looked around at other people in the restaurant to see if anyone else A.) saw this and B.) thought it was as funny as I did. Obviously just a little superstition happening there, which is no big deal, but still a peculiar thing to witness.

They do offer you free chips and a drink if you bring your receipt back on your next visit, so that's cool. I never save my receipt but I still appreciate the offer.

MMM MM MMMM MMM MMM TOASTY!,
M.db

The V.I.P. room at 35k FT

I came home a few days ago from a great trip home for Thanksgiving. A longer than expected trip.

The weekend following Thanksgiving, my alma mater (Univ. of Oklahoma) won their final football game of the season thus sending them to the Big12 championship. The game was being held at the Alamodome in San Antonio the next weekend. I couldn't turn down my parents offer to take me to the game if they found tickets. They found tickets. So I returned to Chicago a week later than anticipated but who would complain. I had a really good time with the mom and dad.



(me @ the Big12 championship, being very proud to sport my school colors)

My flight back to Chicago was less than half full, which I loved. It's so great to spread out on a whole row to yourself. My i-pod had it's VERY own seat next to me and my laptop got to use the tray table to my right to sit on for my movie viewing pleasure. It's also nice to have my own row because I like to sit in the window seat but I hate to make two people beside me get up so I can use the bathroom during the flight. Nooooo problem on this trip. No one even lining up to use the lavatory either.

When I fly, I always have to piss. Doesn't matter how short or long the flight is, it's like clockwork. Once above 10,000 feet I am permitted to use my approved portable electronic devices AND I simply must also use the toilette. *ding*


It's like going into a private little oasis once you're in a bathroom lav. Granted it's an oasis that smells like urine and weirdly bad air freshener, but still it's sometimes better than being elbow to elbow with a guy that looks like Mike Ditka and a woman that smells like cats. Every time I close the lavatory door behind me and lock it, I get that *WHEW* feeling, like I just left the paparazzi outside and I've hidden from the public eye. I can now do WHATEVER I want.. for like 2 minutes or else it starts to look weird. All I do, of course, is pee, but it's still like you're in a private little V.I.P. box for a moment. No one can see me! I'm not buckled up! Weeeee!

And let me tell you something I've noticed: I look GOOD in airplane bathroom lighting. I don't know what it is about that gentle glow, but when I finish my bizuss and turn towards the mirror I always think to myself "did I look like this when we took off??" The answer is probably no. Anyone who knows me will realize I don't typically look in the mirror and say "duh-ammn you are fine." On the contrary I'm sort of difficult on myself, so it's obviously something about the lighting in there. I look pleasantly sun kissed, my hair looks all purdy, my complexion is suddenly flawless. Who are YOU all of a sudden and do you wanna join the mile-high club? Oh it's just a reflexion.

What IS this alternate universe? Then BAM you unlock the door and step back into reality and I look like the haggard traveler again, headed for my seat next to Cat Woman and Ditka. I feel like saying to the people at the front of the plane "Hey you should have SEEN me in there! I. Looked. Awesome." They wouldn't believe me. Luckily though, no one was next to me on this plane so no talking had to happen at all.

I sometimes think, in a very Twilight Zone way, how freaky it would be if you came out of the plane's bathroom and you were suddenly on a different plane than you were on when you entered the bathroom. Like; on an American Airlines flight bound for Dallas, you go into the bathroom, and when you come out you're suddenly on a completely different plane headed God knows where.

"this.. wasn't.. the way the plane looked before I went in there.."

And then you'd be all embarrassed to ask someone where the plane was heading because they'd think you were CRAZY. "Duh, we're going to Jakarta.." And FURTHERMORE, where would you sit in this scenario?! Everyone would notice that suddenly there's a new guy next to them. "Hey! Where'd you come from!?" Just something to think about in case it ever happens to you.


(bye bye Texas)

Well anyway, that's all I got. Quit trying to make Amy Winehouse go to rehab, she already said no like THREE times.

G'night!
M.db

How YOU doin? (on lotion..)

So I fake 'n Bake. K? I do. Maybe once a month. I know it's bad for you, but I do it anyway so don't lecture me or I'll nit-pick your ass apart on all the bad things you do:)

Anyway, in case you're not aware I'm blond haired and blue eyed. Oh, and fair skinned. If I, in the winter for example when there's less outside time, don't hit up a tanning place every so often I become blond haired, blue eyed and TRANSLUCENT skinned. Where's Mason? Oh.. there he is, he blended in with that white wall.

Anyway, so I went in today for a quick zap and after giving my name to her, the girl behind the counter asked what EVERY employee asks me when I go there: "how you doin' on lotion?" My answer is always "fine." I think there's a prompt on the computer screen when they enter my name that shows I haven't purchased tanning lotion in for-ev-er because they ask every time. I guarantee you that they get kickbacks for selling the stuff because they push it like it's their job (and clearly it IS their job, so no harm).

This time, tanning-girl went a step further and started a line of questions about my current lotion (which, by the way, I rarely put on before I go, hence I never run out). She started with "what kind do you have?" and I said "I dunno, the one in the colorful bottle with the gold cap??" Then she says, unconvincingly, "Ooooh yeah, I think I know the one you're talking about.. anyway, have you had it long?" Clearly she's already seen on the computer screen I probably have. "Yeah, a while" I said. She goes in for the up-sale by informing me "well, you know once you get about halfway through a bottle your skin actually becomes immune to the lotion and it loses its effectiveness."

I stared at her straight-faced, obviously seeing holes in the theory, and said ".. well I guess next time I'll buy a bottle HALF the size of the one I've got now, and problem solved!" She giggled a tad and then her face looked like a dog who just heard a funny noise in the distance and handed me a towel.

I mean WHAT is that claim? So basically.. if you have a 12 ounce bottle of lotion, when you get to 6 ounces (half the bottle) your body is immune? What if you have a 6 ounce bottle, will you still be immune after you use 3 ounces and therefore half the bottle? BAD sales technique, chica.

I'm so tired of people trying to get people to buy things they don't need by using terrible tactics.


Oh well, I'm tan.
M.db