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Random Stupidity archivesSunday, May 11, 2008
He's a big fella!
This post is solely and completely an inside joke devoted to one of my very favorite family members, Jeffrey, who brought this up over Mother's Day dinner tonight and nearly had me choking with laughter on my Brown's Chicken, just when I needed it. Dude, I could not find a video for this but I am still looking. Posted by Erin at 09:25 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Thursday, May 08, 2008
We share a birthday, but that's about it
Carmen Electra has officially done for Cosmo readers what virtually no one in the past decade has been able to do: Provided them with NEW, horribly fucking inane tips by which they're supposed to believe they can nab a man. Readers have had to use the recycled, horribly inane OLD shit for YEARS now. A "sexiness kit?" And in this kit she says we should stash perfume, lip gloss and a pair of heels. I can assure you that if I'm not wearing an outfit that doesn't already necessitate heels, I'm not about to pair up something like my yoga pants and hoodie with purple stiletto pumps. Scott would laugh so hard he'd never regain composure. Ugh. Posted by Erin at 12:49 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Thursday, March 27, 2008
To Random House
Especially the folks at Knopf Delacorte Dell? FUCK YOU. Seriously. FUCK YOU. And especially a HUGE FUCK YOU to both Noreen Marchisi and Kathy Dunn, two women who oughta know the fuck better. I don't know any woman who, no matter her size, hasn't been impacted by arbitrary standards of beauty, set by narrow-minded, fascist ignorants. So that the following is being lead by two women just adds insult to injury. There is not a woman of my generation alive who didn't read the Sweet Valley High series of books and NOT recall the stigma of NOT being a "perfect size six," which, you might recall, was the size of the Wakefield twins, the main characters of the series. My boyfriend just took an informal poll at his office and EVERY woman he spoke to remembers and can recount that little fact as there wasn't a SVH book that didn't include that little factoid. And now Random House is re-releasing the series, with some modern updates to "appeal to today's reader." Which apparently includes LOWERING what constitutes a "perfect" size from the aforementioned six to a SIZE FOUR. Look, I don't blame Sweet Valley High for a lifetime of body image issues, but subtle influences like reading "perfect size six" in book after book after book of a series I read in my formative years was just one more contributing factor. And to think that the people who publish these books would reissue the series with such damaging language angers me to no end. I don't agree with how it was used then, but culturally speaking, the idea of assigning perfection to a clothing size was certainly more pervasive in the 80s. We're supposed to have evolved and communicated the dangers of perpetuating such ideas! We're supposed to care more for our girls! Hell, we're supposed to care more about our society in general that we stop allowing a select few to do such things. I take responsibility for the fact that I'm an educated, knowledgeable person who has a choice whether or not to continue to be victimized by these sorts of people. I don't say this because a book publisher has decided to assign a value to a clothing size and now I'm feeling bad about being a size 10. But I'm a grown woman and I know better and I've fought long and hard to overcome "lessons" I learned as a young girl that taught me to hate my body and be critical of its shape at all times. But it's the young girls who are going to read these books and think they don't measure up because the tag on their skirt doesn't read "4." That's what I'm mad about. You should be too. Posted by Erin at 02:29 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Saturday, March 01, 2008
Scott says when I tell this story I sound like someone's grandmother
When I was a little, and it was time for me to graduate from my small, pink, banana-seated bike, JP took me - and my sister Kate - to the local Schwinn dealer. We were a Schwinn family. No other bike would do. In the mid-1980s, in Joliet, there was only one bike that would do for a 10-year-old girl, however, and that was this 10-speed, pink and gray bike with the curled handbars, and I'll bet that there are some very lucky ladies out there who owned that bike. If so, I hate you. Because guess what? I couldn't have that bike. One, because it wasn't a Schwinn, and Two, because it was pink. JP wasn't buying us pink Schwinn's. I could deal with that. It wasn't as though I was a horribly ungrateful child, and there were other colors I liked more. I was never much of a pink person anyway. So we get to the dealer and I head straight for a similar bike, one that was fire-engine red, with ten speeds and curled handlebars. This was when I learned something else I wasn't going to be getting: a bike equipped with ten speeds and/or curled handlebars. The bike that my father and I settled on was a single speed, royal blue cruiser with upturned handlebars. And by "settled" I mean, "The bike I took before I ended up walking out of there with no bike at all." (It kind of looked like this but a little more rounded, tubular and heavy. Seriously.) I got teased a lot by my next-door neighbor Chrissy for that bike. She made all sorts of comments about how absolutely uncool that bike was, but I rode it because, you know, what else was I going to do? Walk? I could handle the color, the single speed, but I was so patently dorky riding around with those upturned handlebars. I might as well had the word "dork" painted on my back. All of my subsequent bikes were the same, with upturned handlebars, and I hated them all with a passion, because don't think the teasing stopped in grade school. Oh no, when I road a bike to my after-school job, with the boy whose affections I'd longed to capture, I got teased unmercifully by not only him and the line cooks, but also the homeless guy who ran the dishwasher in the back. And by that time, JP had also fashioned a light to the front. A LIGHT. I don't know which part I caught more hell for by then - the light, the upturned handlebars, or the fact that I was in high school and still riding a bike to my job. I am convinced that everyone has one of these things with their parents from when they were kids, one of those unexplainable clashes in taste where the parents inevitably win because until you're out of the house, the only taste that matters - when the purchases are over $50, that is - are the parents' taste. My friend Sarah left for NYC this week to continue her professional dancing career with a fancypants dance troupe and she wasn't in need of her bike any longer. I bought it from her for $50. It's a sleek, purple road bike with curled handlebars, albeit only one speed. I hugged my friend, wished her well, loaded the bike into JoJo the Wonder Scion and immediately headed straight to Rapid Transit where I had them make one major modification, and one only: I had them swap out the curled handlebars for upturned ones. It's frickin' sweet, and I'm going to be so happy every morning and night when I'm riding that thing back and forth downtown for work. Posted by Erin at 04:46 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Friday, February 29, 2008
Gone
A couple of weeks ago, I was scouring my computer, looking for an old entry I'd written. Not long after I announced I was getting a divorce, as a response to what seemed to be an onslaught of people scouring my site to read the old entries, I took down all of my live archives at ejshea.com. At the time, it was weird to look at my referral pages and see (mostly) strangers tear through page after page of things I'd written about my ex and our relationship, and then it was just plain hurtful after I discovered total strangers gathering in online forums to discuss the end of my marriage. I wasn't about to provide easy access to those folks looking to use my own words to take shots at me. That time was a shitty time on its own, and I didn't need to watch as people spent sometimes a good two hours reading old posts of mine, even if some of those reading weren't wishing me ill whatsoever. I suppose I can say with clarity now that I worried those people would uncover the very thing I'd been fearing the most - that they'd discover what I had earlier, that I had been a fake and a phony. I wasn't exactly ready to conduct more of such self-discovery in public, much less online. I cannot tell you how many times that those in my day-to-day life would say to me, "But all of your entries! All of those things you wrote!" I always steeled myself for one of those people to follow it with, "Were you just lying?" They never did, of course, because the obvious answer was, yes. Yes, I was. I know now that it wasn't a conscious consideration on my part as much as it was the act of someone trying to write the relationship she wanted, thinking eventually it would come true. A goodly portion was true: I loved him, he was my friend, and everyone liked him very much. The parts I left out: I wasn't in love with him, we had barely a thing in common, didn't spend much time together and I couldn't leave him because everyone liked him. It is criminally easy to put yourself in a situation that is safe and sound. But time passed, and things happened, and I realized that I had to leave. I had to come to terms with the fact that, yup, I was a phony and a fake. I'd been manufacturing for myself a life that had more to do with what I thought would make me happy, rather than giving any considered thought as to what actually would -- in and outside of the blog. In doing so I hurt a lot of people. My marriage was the collateral damage of all of this self-examination. I don't mean to sounds trite, but it's important to note that once I realized that the life I was living mirrored absolutely nothing that I truly wanted, I couldn't keep moving forward for the sake of safe. My dearest friends have said I was brave for what I did. And there are a handful of days, when I see what my life is like now, that I believe them. Most days I am just ashamed and sorry for having been so cowardly for so long, in the many years leading up to leaving Erik. Because that's what it boils down to: I was a coward. The leap between coward and liar is not far, and eventually they become mates.
Posted by Erin at 06:03 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Wednesday, February 06, 2008
A special place in hell
I was reading this before we went to church on Sunday and Scott made me stop because with every paragraph I got more and more upset. There were a lot of puppies who got lots of prayers out of me last weekend. But my friend Margaret linked to it again yesterday, so I read the entire thing, twice, and I didn't cry (well, too much)but I did make a donation to Best Friends Animal Society for the work they're doing. Plus, I think it's important to read stories like that, to get upset, to pass this sort of story on to others. If we as a civilized society don't expose ourselves to these realities, and get pissed off beyond all comprehension, then we send a message that we condone the actions of people like Michael Vick, and any subsequent punishments will be laughable. Honestly. My friend Dawn said it best today: I'm kind of hoping he is already the bitch of a large inmate named Bubba. And perhaps that they are in the process of prying his teeth out so that he is less harmful during forced mating. Posted by Erin at 02:02 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Monday, January 28, 2008
You know ...
... if after two years, and only two trysts later, the guy you're having an online affair with hasn't left his wife for you, the logical step would be to assume he's not, in the words of Nora Ephron, ever going to leave her. I don't know that putting an ad in Craigslist, looking to hire someone to kill his wife, is the smart way to go. Just sayin'. Posted by Erin at 07:48 AM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Friday, December 07, 2007
Mine is one of the good ones, thanks.
I just thought I would put that out there since the New York Post just emailed me, hoping to interview me for a story about partners who want their significant others to lose weight for them. And my head just spun around in so many directions, for so many reasons, the least of which is that I can't believe this poor reporter has to do an assignment like that, and the most of which is what would ever give anyone the impression that Scott doesn't love me for who I am? For the record? He does. 110%. After I split up with my ex, I knew that the next partner I would have would have to fall in line with me, at least somewhat, in the realm of political and social consciousness. My ex-husband was a Republican, and fell lockstep with every conservative viewpoint possible. It was, in a word, infuriating. Such beliefs shape how you view your world, and how you act in it, and I knew after we split up that I would never date someone who wasn't at least somewhere on the same page as me. Gosh, it makes my blood boil just thinking about it all, to be honest. When I first met Scott, he wore a pink triangle on his coat lapel. I knew he wasn't gay, so I asked him about it. He said, "Well, I've been trained to counsel gay youth and this just symbolizes that I'm someone they could go to." It was almost impossible for me not to fall immediately in love with him. After all, he was not only awesome enough to work as a youth counselor, but also comfortable enough with his sexuality to sport the second-most popular symbol of the gay rights movement. But what makes Scott so awesome as a partner is how open-minded he has always been. After all, this is a man who once interned for Mary Matalin, and identified himself as a Republican, too. To get from that point to where he is now in just a decade speaks volumes about his intellig ... open-mindedness. Since dating me, not surprisingly, he's been introduced to the delightful and scintillating world that is The Woman with Body Image Issues. This month, Women's Health magazine described me as follows: "Feisty former Chicago Sun-Times Web editor Erin Shea has a healthy body image, and it shows." As I told a group of friends of mine recently, "Where does it show? Seriously. They need to let me know so I know where to find it for myself." I struggle more than I probably ever truly let on, but I like to think I have a good sense of humor about it all. Scott has been a tremendous support in this capacity as he has been proof-positive that men are just as fed up with all of the nonsense being discussed over women's bodies as we are. Case in point: he and I both gave Tribune columnist Steve Johnson a ration of shit for being such a dunderheaded git about the Jennifer Love Hewitt dust up. (I know people from the Tribune read me! He is a git, people! Jesus.) It felt good and empowering to be out there in the Internet trenches, with my boyfriend leading the way, at not only the blog at Time Out Chicago, but also his own blog. It certainly isn't the definitive word on the subject - personally I think it's a fucking waste of time to be talking about it in any context at all, though I'm tremendously chuffed by JLoHew's response - but I am so proud to be with a man who has no problem publicly decrying another member of the mainstream media joining the chorus of people who feel the need to comment on, of all things, the size of a grown woman's body and the story about it. But even without all of the sound and fury, he's just as patient and supportive privately. Scott knows it's a blurry line I walk, and he lightly holds my hand as I do so. So it was funny tonight to get that email from the NY Post reporter, seeing if I could speak to being a partner whose significant other wants her to lose weight for him. Not only would that never enter Scott's mind, but also he'd talk down any one who expected that out of his or her own partner. I told the reporter, "Not me! I'm lucky that I'm not dating such a creep." She quickly emailed me back, "Yes, you are!" Seriously. I know it. Posted by Erin at 05:52 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Indeed
Ever have one of those days where all you really want is some peanut butter? Today is already one of those days. Posted by Erin at 08:19 AM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Thursday, November 08, 2007
Someone somewhere clearly wants me to give a hoot about the nimcompoops on The Hills
I chalk it up to genetics, this fascination I have with celebrity culture. (Can you actually call it "culture?" Probably not. Celebrity "propaganda" is more like it. Still, you know of what I speak.) Oh sure, the tabloidization of mainstream media (wretched term it is) has made it so everyone knows about Linsday Lohan's drug-and-shopping binges, Paris Hilton's snatch and Jesus Lord Britney Spears, she of the tight purse strings for the poor. It's all rather inescapable, I used to work at a big daily newspaper, I know. Even we once led with a story on Brangelina, as misguided as a move though it were. But no. I come by all of this quite naturally. My mother, may she rest in peace, was obsessed with All-Things-Celebrity. I don't want to say she was obnoxious, because she wasn't. She wasn't one of those adults who would stalk celebrities at appearances in grocery stores, though I'm pretty certain Cathy once showed up for an autograph session with the actors who played "Cliff" and "Nina" on All My Children. But she paid attention and discussed with my sister and me every minutiae on her favorite stars. I still have to remind myself when I come across her visage that my mother really didn't know Victoria Principal, though to hear her talk you would have thought Vicki would be showing up that week at The Colonial, the restaurant she and my father frequented almost every Friday night with their friends. I'd also wager a guess that my mother was never more thrilled with my dating choices than when I was dating a sportscaster in the late '90s. I'm sure she was up in heaven celebrating the fact that her daughter was a serious item with someone who showed up on TV every day. So it's not a surprise that I've been a subscriber to Us Weekly. I used to be embarrassed by it, but I've since embraced my addiction much in the same way we embrace many things of which we were once concerned with what other people thought. I am old enough not to give a rat's behind anymore. And up until lately, I've looked forward to coming home on a Friday and hunkering down with my weekly book o' crap. I mean, it is crap. Why should I be surprised that Sascha Baron Cohen buys the "good" toilet paper? The dude is rich. I know when I started having more expendable income the first thing I did was buy this stuff, and I buy it in bulk on the off-chance that ... I don't know. I just know I never want to use single-ply sheets of anything in a place that means so much to me. Even all that said, Us Weekly has been lacking. And I know why. As a 31-year-old woman, I'm creeping slowly into a demographic that they could care less about. I'm not going to buy those fucked up diet pills, or tanktops that read "Mrs. Efron," or consciously use the word "bling" in any normal conversation wherein I am not poking fun at others who do. Because of this, the articles are mainly about celebrities I have no interest in. It's not as though I'm looking for the latest on Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward or anything, but I do not care who Lauren Conrad is, or about her latest dating strategies, and so knowing my subscription was drawing nigh, I made a decision: I was breaking up with Us Weekly. I announced it to Scott on several occasions, because I knew he'd never believe I'd do it, and declared myself totally over the whole thing and ready to get a subscription to ... I don't know. Something else that would enrich my life. But just a week before the subscription was set to run out, do you know what happened? Those jerks charged me $70 for another year. So I called and complained and gave my very best impression of an adult, because I really did have it in my head that people who look like Perez Hilton and the cast of High School Musical are the ones manning the phones down there, and was told quickly that I'd be refunded. End of story. I called back today after receiving only a $1.35 credit to my account, as opposed to one for $70. The nice guy on the other end, however, noticed something before he could assess the situation: I had another Us Weekly account in the system from a subscription that was placed six years ago. This nice person assured me that I'd be receiving my $70 back, and that the $1.35 was a refund for the one issue that I "would have received last week" (which I totally did, suckers!) but that the old account showed that I had two years, paid in full, left. That's right. TWO YEARS. I'd like to say that this shocks me but it doesn't. My twenties were a blur of incredibly bad decisions across the board, so to learn that I'd set down a wad of cash on a gossip magazine subscription, and then never bothered to change my mailing address with them, just totally blew it off, is not a surprise. The day that comes that someone says to me, "You took care of this matter back in 2002," will be the day you can color me amazed. That era was just bad news bears, people. You know what this means, right? I am the proud owner of an Us Weekly subscription until March 2009. Do you know how much in my life will potentially change in two years? Everything! But not my status as a subscriber to Us Weekly! No siree! I'd like to think that this is a sign of something of a legacy that I will leave my children, too. Posted by Erin at 07:49 AM | | filed under: Random Stupidity , Supastah Friday, October 26, 2007
Random observations
* One of my favorite things about working on an iMac is that I no longer have to worry about carrying a mirror because iPhoto Booth is like having the most awesome mirror times twenty. It is the mirror for nerds like me. * Every time I get an email from JP, I immediately wonder why it reads "John" as opposed to "Dad." * Last night Scott uploaded Joe Jackson's Greatest Hits for me. And The Very Best of Hall & Oates. The other day, I complained about being referred to lately as "mam." Clearly I need to face reality. My iPod says as much about my age as do the lines around my eyes. * My new job provides a pop machine in the cafeteria where all the pop - and it's good pop - is $.25 a can. Diet Coke and I have resumed our bubbly, chemically goodness-filled affair. My skin is as cracked as a clay vase. * When I was in Las Vegas this week, I watched as a perfectly normal-seeming woman - well, as normal-seeming as some of these folks who land in Vegas are - sit at a slot machine at Caesar's Palace, pull out a bottle of Scope, take a swig, swish it around in her mouth for a few minutes, and then grab a randomly discarded coffee mug to spit it all out. My girl Hixx might be disappointed to learn this, but Las Vegas can bite me. If I start going off here about how I really feel about this place, I'm bound to insult someone. Let's just say that the Scope-swilling situation has never happened to me on the CTA. Thank God I was there for work and didn't have to pay for any of it. * Speaking of the CTA, someone who works for the CTA has started reading my site almost every day. To you, CTA worker, I say, "Thanks for your blue line!" I've started taking the blue line to work and I love it so much I want to make out with it. I'm home from work in 35 minutes. And that includes the 1/2 mile it takes me to walk to the el station. * I miss Oprah. Last year my schedule at the paper allowed me to watch Oprah every day. Now I can't, and I'm going to start Tivo-ing it. Something I can admit to you now is that I was interviewing for a job at Oprah before I took the job I have now. That's right - I was in the inner sanctum. It took everything in me not to blog about the fact that I was sitting, alone, in the a conference room for a few minutes, and massive pictures of Oprah adorned the walls and it wasn't done ironically. I ultimately declined to pursue the job - the process would have been several more weeks, with no guarantee of a job at the end, and I had another offer on the table - but it was fun to meet everyone at the Oprah.com team again - we'd met months earlier - and hopefully we'll have drinks soon. (Hint, hint, M) Anyway, This is why I miss watching Oprah. I love her show. I do. I have no problem admitting this. Posted by Erin at 05:15 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Everyone play along!
Upon checking my referral logs, I noticed that someone did a Google search using this phrase and ended up here at ejshea.com: This, of course, begs some very serious, thoughtful answers and I implore you all to chime in and provide some for our searcher. I'll start: 1) Give you up. Your turn*! *Comments will of course be moderated and shut down after a few days. UPDATE! Bonus rickroll! Courtesy of The Boy. Posted by Erin at 12:33 PM | Comments (23) | filed under: Random Stupidity Monday, June 04, 2007
Find this mother ...
... and neuter her. And then lock her up. If this is truly real, and God help me if it is, this woman is evil and must be destroyed. I'm speechless. Posted by Erin at 01:05 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Thursday, May 24, 2007
Why my boss might be cooler than your boss
My boss just sent me this link - from the always entertaining Jim Emerson "Scanners" blog, housed at everyone's favorite source for All-Things-Chicago, the Chicago Sun-Times - and I can't stop laughing. Posted by Erin at 03:56 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Tuesday, May 22, 2007
When I'm with him I only want to dance
All day, well, twice today, The Boy has sent me You Tube links, under the guise of the actual video being something other than what it was. What it was, was, a Rick Astley video. This one, in particular. Go ahead. Click on it. Rock out to it. You know want to and you know you would if you were five drinks into the mission at a bar with a dance floor. Don't lie. Apparently, such trickery has a new name, and it's called rickrolling. Our mutual friend, Rachelle, apparently told him this. What I want to know is why this is a bad thing?!? First of all, you will never get me to believe that Rick Astley is anything but awesome. Those suits! That hair! Those songs! Oh my God - those were some damn fine pop songs and that man could sing. And see, when everyone thought he was a black guy singing, we liked his songs! But when he turned out to be a pasty, freckled white dude from the UK? Not so much. But not me. I loved him always. My love for Rick Astley was so great that I had a MASSIVE POSTER OF HIM hanging in my bedroom. No joke. I did. It didn't hurt that he was the spitting image of my very first boyfriend and because unless I somehow got my hands on and smuggled in a camera to my 7th grade classroom at St. Mary Nativity, then convince JP and Lynette to develop the film and not look at the pictures, a poster of Rick was as close to a picture of Bobby I was going to get. So my boyfriend is welcome to send me all of the Rick Astley videos he wants; it's not as if he wasn't aware of my love for Rick Astley in the first place. He's just fanning the flames. And now? Well, now it's not illegal for Rick to give me a call and see what I'm doing. I'm just saying. Posted by Erin at 09:37 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Friday, May 18, 2007
Mouth off
I went to the dentist this morning, for the first time in about seven years. I know, I know. There's no excuse for it. One of my New Year's resolutions was to get my teeth issues resolved. Not that I knew what those issues were exactly, just that I was sure I had some. You can't have parts of your teeth chip off, and on more than one tooth, and not expect that you're not going to have other problems uncovered. Especially when those parts chipped off more than a year ago. Seriously. I know. So The Boy recommended to me his dentist, and off I went. I steeled myself for a scolding, but the dentist - a lovely young woman named Michelle - was rather sweet and kind about the whole thing as she dove into my mouth. And actually before, too. She smiled and giggled at me while viewing my X-rays, asking if I wasn't sure that it wasn't another tooth causing me some slight pain. The whole process was turning out to be one big exercise in niceness. "We'll need to actually do a deep cleaning," she said. "And that takes a couple of visits. You've got some tartar build up ..." "Ok," I said, cheerily. This was clearly no big deal. I was ready for anything. Walk in the park. With puppy whiskers and cupcakes and rainbows. "... but we'll get that done before you'll need to take care of a few root canals ..." That's right. A FEW. Not "a" root canal, as in singular. A FEW. Jesus. I mean, when someone wants to state their aversion to doing something, they usually just need to say, "I'd rather have a root canal" because obviously you can stop right there and get your point across. No need to get all dramatic and greedy by pluralizing the act with "I'd rather have a few root canals." I have to have THREE root canals done. Plus, the big kicker, I have periodontal disease, which didn't surprise me much since she said I needed to have the deep cleaning. Maybe it was just because I was still dealing with the shock from learning I am going to have to have THREE ROOT CANALS PERFORMED ON MY MOUTH and I haven't had the chance to register that my gums are infected and diseased. There are crowns in my future. Other things, too. Honestly, I just kind of blanked out after a while. My mouth is just a black hole of grossness. Thank you, years of smoking, rare flossing, and visiting a dentist only once during your adult years! So it looks like I will be spending the greater portion of this year dealing with my mouth issues. My dentist, whom I still find lovely and sweet, especially since she loves my boyfriend (probably because he takes care of his teeth and also is a Sox fan like her) and called us, "the cutest couple ever," says my insurance should cover about 80% of all of it, which is good because this all will probably cost a gajillion dollars to fix. The Boy cynically notes that we're probably "the cutest couple ever" owing to the fact that between the two of us, we're spending an awful lot of money on her dental services. In the past several months, after visiting my eye doctor, general practitioner, and now, dentist, I have walked away from each learning that I have something wrong with me that isn't horrible, but just horrible enough to annoy me for the rest of my days. It's as if I entered my 30s and subsequently started falling apart. Next month I'm scheduled to visit my gynecologist and God help me if she gets down there and tells me that's not working right, either. I think maybe I'll just stay home. Ignorance is bliss, people. Posted by Erin at 02:58 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Random observation
You always know when bloggers' Girl Scout cookie orders start coming in when post after post after post mentions fighting the temptation to eat an entire box full before hitting "Publish." Posted by Erin at 01:59 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Wednesday, March 21, 2007
I can't wait until I have my own washer and dryer
You know it's going to be that kind of day when you walk into your office and look down at your wet-from-the-spring-rain umbrella to realize it's covered in sudsy bubbles owing to you being such a Rhodes scholar that you didn't close the bottle of Tide laundry detergent tight enough and it leaked out, all over the backseat of your car, onto the big, black umbrella lying down next to it. Posted by Erin at 12:41 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Sunday, March 11, 2007
Bending over backwards
Which is to say that I did. Last night. In the middle of Kate's living room. For someone who never took gymnastics, or was a cheerleader, or has any sense of grace or balance whatsoever, I have a few odd moves I've picked up along the way in my almost-31 years that my stubborn Italian demeanor refuses to shake loose of and grow the hell up already why don't you, Erin? One of these things is the backbend. And you know, it's not something I whip out on a regular basis. I don't stand around at parties or bars and all of a sudden just end up with my back arched out and flipped around. But, like the splits and the trick where I put my left leg behind my head while balancing on my right leg, it's one that my brain performs before my body has the chance to stop it. My brain remembers me doing it, mastering it, even, at some point in my life, before also remembering that despite yoga and various other forms of athletic activities I participate in, I am no longer a nubile, flexible 12-year-old girl for whom such things were a snap. So yeah. Last night, as we got back to Kate's, her sister, Liz, throws on DJ E-Z Rock and Rob Base and before you know it, you really can't blame my brain for forgetting that it resides in an almost-31-year-old body because everyone knows that "Joy & Pain" is the best song to jam to at the St. Mary Nativity sock hop, Go 1989! The first backbend was excusable - we'd just got back from the bars, Candace remembered all of the words from the song and clearly a dance-off was happening. The second was a gift to Kate since she was in the kitchen for the first, heating up another pizza, and missed the spectacle entirely. It was her night, everyone wanted me to do it again, and who was I to disappoint her? It was a great night, and I'm lucky to have such wonderful friends. Really, really lucky. But I think next time we all rent a trolley and go bar hopping all night, I really need to remain upright. I hurt in places that I didn't even know existed. Posted by Erin at 04:22 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Whatever you do ...
... don't buy the Hershey Kisses' filled with Cherry Cordial Creme to throw in with a dessert you're making tonight because you will taste one and want to whip through the entire bag before you know what hits you. I'm just saying. My 2nd favorite candy on earth is the chocolate-covered cherry and these taste just like one. My mom, every Christmas, would buy me my very own box of them. Posted by Erin at 01:17 PM | Comments (4) | filed under: Random Stupidity Thursday, December 21, 2006
End of the year wrap up ...
1. What did you do in 2006 that you'd never done before? I did a lot of research and visiting of different houses of worship, mostly those either straight up Buddhist or with a Buddhist bent. I'm going back to one temple next month to start meditation class. 2. Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year? Didn't do so hot with the physical fitness stuff. I wonder if I'll ever be happy with my body. 4. Did anyone close to you die? No. 5. What places did you visit? The fact that none of them include NYC only serves to piss off Randi. :) 6. What would you like to have in 2007 that you lacked in 2006? More peace, which was what I wished for in 2006 and got a little more by year's end. Financial stability would be good, too. 7. What dates from 2006 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? This year was a big ol' blur. March 31st is an important one, but it's been all over the map and I can't quite think of good answer to this one. :) 8. What was your biggest achievement(s) of the year? Living on my own for the first time in years and loving it. Making my own choices and thinking for myself. Starting a new job. 9. What was your biggest failure? I know you'd think there was an obvious answer to this but I don't consider that a failure. 10. Did you suffer illness or injury? Nope! 11. What was the best thing you bought? Hmmmm. I didn't really buy much of anything this year. 12. Whose behavior merited celebration? It was nice to see how the American people made a big move for change during the election last month. 13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Oh, several people's. But what's the use of dwelling on it? 14. Where did most of your money go? Bills, bills and bills. It's been a tough year. 15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?Music. Again, I was really happy I spent another year going to a ton of shows. All of the new babies around here aren't bad. My 30th birthday was one of the best one's ever, too. My new job is great as well. 16. What song will always remind you of 2006? Hmmmm. Actually, just go back through all of my iPod lyrics. Those were my favorite songs this year. Some of them have special meaning, some don't. 17. Compared to this time last year, are you: 18. What do you wish you'd done more of? Prayed. Meditated. Thinking before acting, feeling or speaking. 19. What do you wish you'd done less of? Letting my mind get carried away. Worrying. 20. How did you spend Christmas last year? Sick and missing my family. 21. Did you fall in love in 2006?Indeed. 22. How many one-night stands? Good God no. 23. What was your favorite TV program? Grey's. 24. What did you do for your birthday in 2006? "Vincit Veritas." Photo booth at Liar's Club. Dancing. Scotch at Club Lucky. 25. What was the best book you read? "Eat, Pray, Love," by Elizabeth Gilbert. 26. What was your greatest musical discovery? The Weepies. Ahhh. The Weepies. 27. What did you want and get?Healthy nephews. 28. What did you want and not get? Peace. Still working on it. 29. What was your favorite film of this year? The Last Kiss. I know Eliza, I know. 30. Did you make some new friends this year? I did! 31.What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? Less car drama, more spa treatments. Seriously. I could use a spa day. 32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2006? There wasn't one to speak of. 33. What kept you sane? Music, running, my dog, my sister, my friends ... and the occassional glass of a really good scotch with my best friend. 34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Um. I was obsessed with the entire litany of characters that pop up in Us Weekly. 35. What political issue stirred you the most? The war. The election. 36. Who did you miss? Andrew. I don't get to see him enough. 37. Who was the best new person you met?Oh I can't narrow that down. 38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2006. "Let go and let God." Posted by Erin at 04:22 PM | Comments (3) | filed under: Random Stupidity For Erin I
1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? Hot chocolate, although JP used to make egg nog when I was a kid and I rather enjoyed it. 2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? He used to just leave them under the tree as I assume that Barbie Dream Houses were tough to wrap. Now he wraps. 4. Do you hang mistletoe? No. 5. When do you put your decorations up? The week after Thanksgiving. 6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)? The Shea's are big on Christmas Eve snacking, so there is usually a plethora of fattening, tasty snacks. Spinach dip, sausage, ham sandwiches, etc. 7. Favorite Holiday memory as a child: JP sitting down with Kate and I and reading the story of Christmas before we set out Nana cookies and milk for Santa. Nana cookies are these particular cookies my family makes, handed down from my great-grandma on JP's mom's side. So while we tend to call them "Shea" cookies, technically they're not Shea at all. I'm the one who makes them now and have for about 10 years now. 8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? The year I found the Cabbage Patch World Traveler doll I asked Santa for, under the basement stairs, two weeks before Christmas, and then it appeared under the tree from Santa on Christmas morning. 9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? All of them. We are Christmas Eve people. 10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree? Lights, ornaments and ribbons. There really isn't any particular theme. 12. Can you ice skate? I can and I did two nights ago! 13. Do you remember your favorite gift? JP bought me ejshea.com on Christmas Eve, 1999, kinda as a joke. 14.What is your favorite holiday dessert? Nana cookies 16. What is your favorite holiday tradition? Hanging out in my parents' living room, talking and watching movies. 17. What tops your tree? This ornament Candace made me in 2001. She looked at it this year, slightly appalled that I use it to top my tree. 18. Which do you prefer giving or Receiving? I like giving the older I get. 19. What is your favorite Christmas Song? I have a favorite Christmas album: Carpenters - Christmas Portrait. I had friends over for Christmas merriment on Tuesday and I made them all listen to it. When I went ice skating on Monday, a song off the album played and I called Kate to tell her. The Shea girls are OBSESSED with the Carpenters Christmas Portrait album. It is so awesome. 20. Candy Canes? No opinion on them. Someone the other night told some rather obscene stories involving candy canes and therefore I don't think I could even think about eating one ever again. Posted by Erin at 08:10 AM | Comments (6) | filed under: Random Stupidity Wednesday, December 20, 2006
The first of a ton of silly meme questions!
In 2007 ... 2. Will you be looking for a new relationship? Nope. 4. What will you do different in '07? Hmmm. Well, I'm hoping to remain consistent with my workouts so as not to have another repeat of me gaining back a bunch of weight and being a little miserable mentally and physically as a result of not getting any exercise. I plan to pout less, stop and think more, and work on my baking skills. 5. New Years resolution? None really. I think I'm going to borrow a page from Robyn and say get better about emailing people back. 6. What will you not be doing in '07? Ummmm. No idea. 7. Any trips planned? If I don't say NYC my old roommate will kill me. 8. Wedding plans? There are, so far, three that I'll be attending. Two of the couples have yet to set dates and I'm in at least one of them, possibly two. 9. Major thing on your calendar? Hmmm. There are a couple of things that are happening and I know the general vicinity during which they'll happen but that's about it. I'm looking forward to mid-February. :) 10. What can’t you wait for? Nothing in particular, but the weddings are going to be a lot of fun. Each will be really different, which is awesome. 11. What would you like to see happen different? Whoa nelly. Where to start ... 12. What about yourself will you be changing? Hopefully I'll have gotten back to working out before work. Mostly I'm just concerned on making my life a lot more peaceful and simple. 13. What happened in 06 that you didn’t think would ever happen? Well there was that whole divorce thing that sucked majorly. 14. Will you be nicer to the people you care about? God yes. Especially to a couple of people in particular who have bore the brunt of my problems this past year. To them I promise lots of hugs and biting of the tongue. 15. Will you dress differently this year than you did in 06? Style-wise, no. But I'd like to get better about polishing things up - getting pants hemmed, dry cleaning my things more frequently and actually pick them up. 16. Will you start or quit drinking? I imagine I'll do what I always do which is to stop for several weeks and give my liver a break. I joke and exaggerate here about my drinking, but I don't drink nearly as much as you might think. Maybe once a week, twice at that. 17. Will you better your relationship with your family? I hope so. 18. Will you do charity work? Yes. One of my really big goals for the year is to get more involved in the community. I signed up with a local volunteer organization that does everything from tutor kids to feeding the homeless to clean-up projects. 19. Will you go to bars? Is the Pope Catholic? Indeed. 20. Will you be nice to people you don’t know? Yes, actually. I've been working on this already because - big shocker - sometimes I'm a total asshole. 21. Do you expect 07 to be a good year for you? I really, really do. But I've learned enough now to know that anything can happen and it's all day-by-day. I control the outcome with the choices I make; nothing is entirely accidental. 22. How much did you change from this time last year till now? There isn't a way to measure how much I've changed. 23. Do you plan on having a child? Nope. 24. Will you still be friends with the same people you are friends with now? I hope so. 25. Major lifestyle changes? Some, perhaps. 26. Will you be moving? Didn't this question already get asked? 27. What will you make sure doesn’t happen in 07 that happened in 06? I'm putting a moratorium on shit happening. I'd like nothing to happen in '07. That would rule. 28. What are your New Years Eve plans? Going to my best friend's in the 'burbs, watching the Bears game (perhaps going to it!) and telling '06 to kiss my behind. 29. Will you have someone to kiss at midnight? If I make out with Ali, her fiance will be pleased and I like making Andy happy. 30. One wish for 07? Quiet. Posted by Erin at 01:05 PM | Comments (1) | filed under: Random Stupidity Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Ice Skating and Burnt Hair
That's right. Ice skating. Oh how I love ice skating. In the winter, mostly in junior high and the early years of high school, we'd all head over to Inwood on Friday nights and ice skate before heading over to Aurelio's for mozzarella sticks. Mostly we'd skate around the rink a couple of times before hitting the benches to talk about Debbie Gibson and boys, but you know, same idea. Last night at Millenium Park it was so cute to see the junior-high aged girls, all glammed up as they can be, to rent skates and stand around, giggling. So the rink was packed last night, and I only skated for about a half-hour, owing to skates that were a size too small and left my arches cramped up. By the time I'd finally gotten a pair in my size, there wasn't much time left. However, I'd hit just enough of a stride to feel pretty pleased with myself that I'm still pretty skilled on skates, meaning that I managed to dodge rowdy teen-aged boys and not trip over my own feet. Cosi was closed so there were no S'mores, but then again, Morton's does make a mighty fine chocolate cake that washes down well with a glass of Cabernet.
It keeps her humble. Lastly, this morning, as I began to style my hair for work, somehow I managed to singe off an entire chunk of my bangs. In one shot. I turned on the hair dryer, brought it to my round brush and, BAM! The smell of fried hair went through the apartment and the carnage of hair fell around me. Do not ask me what happened because I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that I am now walking around with a tuft of hair sticking up where fully formed bangs used to be and the rancid smell of burnt hair as my perfume. Nothing says "Happy Holidays" than bad hair, right? Posted by Erin at 09:50 AM | Comments (4) | filed under: Random Stupidity Sunday, December 17, 2006
I'm sorry, Erin circa 1988
Right now I have just written down a series of codes that will enable me to get myself on track while playing The Legend of Zelda. That's right. The Legend of Zelda. I bought it off of eBay - and, along with it, Super Mario and Super Mario 2 - almost two weeks ago and last night, after a grueling day working in my office, I finally sat down to play it. I'd put off even putting the damn cartridge into the system because I knew this would happen: I would get obsessed. Again. I know I've discussed here before just how video game crazy I was growing up. I always had a system of some sort, mainly because JP has always been a Friend of Technology and video games always seemed to loop in with that. But when we got Zelda, after owning a Nintendo for a while, everything changed and the inner geek shone through. I could not get enough of Zelda. I ate, slept, breathed and consumed everything Zelda. When it was time to defeat Gannon at Level 8, JP devised a way for me to RECORD MY GAMES ON THE VCR so that I could study my moves and figure out how to get to Gannon's lair. To this day, I have yet to meet anyone whose dad did that for them, and I will spend the rest of my life with irrefutable proof of my father's love and support for me and those things I am passionate about. Seriously. It was his idea. And now that I've been playing it again, after probably 15 years, I can see not much has changed, only now I have the internet and all of its secrets. Including how to get through Zelda, a feat I mastered TWICE without the help of any books at all. Not a one. Sure, friends and I exchanged tips and the like, but I never resorted to such laziness as I did now. I feel bad, but I'm sure I'll get over that once I get past Level Two. I already stumbled upon Level Three so I'm on my way. Posted by Erin at 05:57 PM | Comments (2) | filed under: Random Stupidity Thursday, November 16, 2006
Confidential to JP
Appalled, Dad. APPALLED. Posted by Erin at 04:40 PM | Comments (5) | filed under: Random Stupidity Friday, August 04, 2006
It's Like Being A Very Deadly Jew
There is nothing better on the Internet right now than these cartoons. Posted by Erin at 08:55 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity Sunday, July 23, 2006
Your Fat Girl Tuck Can't Help You Now
The worst might possibly be Jenna von Oy, but not because of her, specifically, but because my old boss from my high school job at Wendy's said I reminded her of the character von Oy played on "Blossom" and, as we all know, that's as close as anyone ever wants to get to Joey Lawrence. Whether I actually resemble Ann Margaret really isn't the point. If I'm to wager a guess, Chuck's take on the picture has more to do with my big hair and the fact that the blurriness gives off a quality of movement, and if the lovely Ann Margaret was known for anything it was all of that hair and all of that moving. Like I said, worse comparisons could be made. I found this face recognition program as I was trolling around on the Web recently, and when I upload decent, non-fugly pictures of myself, it tells me that my face most resembles Kelly Clarkson. I maintain that this is a good thing as "Since You've Been Gone" is so going to hold up as one of the best pop songs ever. No one, ever, is going to mistake me for Kelly Clarkson. I know that. You know that. Kelly Clarkson, despite making some incredibly unfortunate costume decisions, would spit nails if she learned that such a thing was said. But the photos I used are ones that Make The Cut. The ones that I deliberately posed for so as to mask a multitude of sins, such as late-night quarter-pounders, weeks without setting foot in a gym and Maker's Marks on the rocks. Dana was always fond of calling this phenomenon the Fat Girl Tuck. It's when a girl poses for a picture and she situates her head so as to create the illusion that she doesn't possess an extra chin or two and that everything from below the neck would be just as palatable if you in fact saw that too. It's a silly and vain practice, but everyone does it. I've done it, of course. Some people, unfortunately, more than others. Here's the thing: People? Can we talk for a second? I love Flickr, too, but is there any chance I could get some of you to stop with the copious self-portraits? I'm not pointing at anyone in particular, but Flickr has allowed vanity to run amok. We get it. You're alternately quixotic and thoughtful, spunky and serious, and somehow - somehow! - all of these qualities exist inside of little ol' you and you've managed to capture them all with your digital camera. If we've seen one head-tilting, pursed-lip photograph of you, we've probably seen them all, thanks. What we don't see, however, is the nasty, gnarly pictures and I say it's high-time everyone just own their own ugly pictures - the ones where there is no way in hell anyone is ever going to mistake you for Jennifer Aniston, the ones where we'd be all, "Is that what she really looks like?" and the ones where even our parents would question how it was that they brought such an ugly person into this world. I mean, seriously. Haven't we all been playing this game with each other long enough? So I'm going to start. I give you the antithesis of cute: The Fugly Set*. These are pictures of me taken during the past five years and none of them ever made their way to the Web for reasons that I think will be quite obvious. Join me, won't you? Cast off the shackles of your own manufactured adorableness and get Fugly with me. !!UPDATE!! My friend, Matt, has suggested I set up a Flickr group for you all to add your Fugly photos. And so I did. The Fugly Set. Have at it, folks! [*All apologies to Jessica and Heather!] Posted by Erin at 07:22 AM | Comments (11) | filed under: Random Stupidity Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Breathe Right My Ass
I am going into work tomorrow if it kills me. And the rest of my office. I have been couped up in this house since SATURDAY NIGHT. Saturday night, people. I can't take it anymore. Just cannot. It's too much for one woman, all of this sickness. And there is nothing else I can do to relieve all of my symptoms. If there was, I would try it. Would you believe that I'm sitting here, Kleenex, Burt's Bees and petroleum jelly at my side, while I type with a BREATHE RIGHT strip across my nose? That's right. I've resorted to using things that everyone and their brother tells you are a hoax and do you want to know why? Because I can't breathe, which means I can't sleep. Or eat. I can barely talk. And there is a strip across the strip that I am supposed to scratch to release vapors of some sort but I swear to God I can't smell them. The dog is staring at me. She knows how stupid I look. "Really, mama," Glin is saying. "Do you know what a sucker you are? Now go get me a pig's ear. Make it a double, chump." Sigh. Wish me luck that when I awake tomorrow all is right with the world. At lease my part of it. For now, I'm going to go and watch Boston Legal and hope that come morning light I won't find one of these strips stuck to my hair. Posted by Erin at 08:46 PM | Comments (3) | filed under: Random Stupidity Saturday, January 14, 2006
A Little Nostalgia For Your Saturday Morning
In the summer of 1987, I had two goals for myself: make out with Ralph Macchio and solve The Legend of Zelda. I had a tendency to aim high in certain areas of my life, low in others, and if one panned out, it was a victory for pre-adolescent self-esteem everywhere. In this scenario, which is which is based solely on your perspective and it must be said that even I knew at 11 that it would be an enormous challenge for me to make out with a guy old enough to be dating a woman named "Phyllis." There were no Phyllis's roaming the playground at St. Mary Nativity or any other parochial or public schools in the Joliet area so it was pretty clear that to me that Ralph might not find my tight perm, Dr. Pepper lip balm and my occassional penchant for an evening of Barbie doll playing as seductive as I might have hoped. So Zelda it was and, with the help of JP, he who configured our TV, VCR and Nintendo to work together so that I could record my every move during the game and review the tape of each attempt, I defeated Ganon, the King of Evil, and rescued the Princess of Hyrule, returning peace to that oddly pixelated universe. I cannot decide what is sadder: that I was the sort of girl who would take solving a video game so seriously that I would tape myself playing it or that I am a woman of almost 30 who continues to tell people that I did this. It probably says something about my aforementioned statement about the goals I set for myself in that nothing much has really changed and it borders on pathetic when a grown person is still bragging about the fact that she solved Zelda, both quests, without a cheat book or the Internet. Booyah.
It's times like these that I really and truly wish I'd had my old NES because I'm not kidding: I could get way more wrapped up in a morning of Zelda playing than any Karate Kid marathon they might be playing on TBS. Posted by Erin at 08:43 AM | Comments (10) | filed under: Random Stupidity Saturday, December 17, 2005
Hey Hey Hey!
Oh. My. God. So I just started flipping through the channels, looking for something to pass the time before Saturday Night Live starts, and what do I find? Kate and I used to watch that show. Religiously. The episode airing right now is the one where Rerun sprains his ankle before some talent show that used to air in the 70s featuring Wolfman Jack. I can't remember the whole premise as I'm just catching the tail end so cut me some slack BUT SERIOUSLY: it's like I'm eight again. I may never leave the house on Saturday nights again. Posted by Erin at 10:22 PM | Comments (1) | filed under: Random Stupidity Tuesday, November 29, 2005
So Blue
Tonight as I opened the door to get into my car, I managed to thwack the right side of my face, including the corner of my upper lip and cheek, with full force using the corner of said car door. If I wake up tomorrow morning with a face riddled with black-and-blue marks, I'm going to tell people a fight broke out between the forum participants at last night's Gapers Block chick lit panel. Posted by Erin at 06:41 PM | Comments (3) | filed under: Random Stupidity Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Almost The Best Joke Ever
What is brown and sticky?
Posted by Erin at 07:06 PM | Comments (8) | filed under: Random Stupidity Thursday, October 13, 2005
Turn up the thermostat, I want to see you sweat
Today it finally hit me that the summer was officially over. It's tough here in Chicago to believe otherwise, what with the warm weather and baseball action. I can still get away with khakis if I want. In honor of the end of summer, I give you this, the song that encapsulated this summer for me and whenever it plays from now until forever, I'll be reminded of these past few months. It's not an official summer song in that every mainstream radio played it, which they totally didn't, but it's an almost perfect pop song and the fact that the boys are British and well, Brit Pop melts my heart. No one person and no one thing is attached to this song, but more often than not this summer I found it blaring from the speakers of my car on hot nights, on my way to the bars. Bars from which I took cabs home, of course. One of these years, I'll pick a song for the Fall and Winter, but for now. Just this.
Posted by Erin at 08:37 PM | Comments (2) | filed under: Random Stupidity Thursday, September 29, 2005
File Under: "Incredible Waste Of Space"
"We could get over the rudeness, but the evilness, to be the villain, that is not acceptable." Gosh. And to think of all of the cops, firemen, doctors, businesspeople, et. al., that have had to endure such typecasting by Hollywood over the years. It's a wonder they didn't boycott, too! Gah. You people have been eating one pack of in-flight peanuts too many. Posted by Erin at 07:04 AM | Comments (8) | filed under: Random Stupidity , Supastah |
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As promised, here is Glin and her collar. It's not as tacky as it could be - I mean, the lights could be larger - but it's certainly not understated. Glin is not an understated dog. After all, this is a beast who this morning, in one bite, busted open a 
My dear friend, 
This is really neither here nor there. Joy and I saw 