Brief Thoughts on Chicago: Deep Dish and Deep Conversations

To give you an update on my life, Thanksgiving was fantabulous. I don’t even want to go into details about how amazing it was because it was more of a “you had to be there” kinda thing and if I try to poorly describe just how great it was, I would be doing an injustice to myself and my family.

Later that weekend, we had our ten-year high school reunion, which was mediocre, to say the least [or most]. I pretty much spent $50 to hang out with my own friends that I can hang out with for free for run-of-the-mill food, an awful DJ with an even more awful music selection, and subpar company (minus my friends, of course). And I’m not a hater, I swear. It was just that everyone stuck to talking to their own friends, there was really no mixing with different groups of people (which may be partly my own fault as well as that of my peers) and close to zero dancing (strongly correlated to the DJ). This is in no way a reflection of the hard work people put into planning it and I feel bad for giving it such a negative review, but sometimes it’s just a function of the group of people that end up showing up [myself included].

So last weekend, I went to Chicago to visit Jaime. Upon arrival (and after an inevitable flight delay, which cancelled our plans for the night; FYI - I really am not a fan of United, this is the second consecutive inconvenient delay I’ve experienced with them for non-weather related issues), we went straight to Pequods for some deep dish pizza. I know all Northeast Coasters are super annoying about pizza like “Ughh, gross, I hate Chicago deep dish pizza!  I only eat New York pizza. That’s the real thing.” However, as a fellow Northeast Coaster, I admit that I actually really like Chicago deep dish pizza; it doesn’t really fulfill my pizza craving like New York pizza does, but the thick, buttery, breadiness coated with mozzarella, smothered in tomato sauce and dusted off with my favorite toppings just resonates comfort with me. So needless to say, after a miserable flying experience, my dinner made the night a lot better.

We woke up the next morning to run a 5K Santa Run, which was pretty awesome. The weather was beautiful, sunny and in the 50-60s, and the run was at Soldier Field along the lake with 9,000 other people; Oh, and the best part was that we wore Santa outfits while running. The beard was very suffocating to run in, but the rest of the costume was relatively comfortable, albeit a little too warm. We decided to keep the Santa costumes on while doing some Chicago sightseeing. We found a back window to the aquarium to try and see the dolphins and beluga whales from outside without having to pay admission, but little did we know that the window was facing everyone who was watching the dolphin show. So before we knew it, everyone in the audience was pointing at us and waving (not only because we had our faces smashed up to the window like little kids, but also because all four of us had full-on Santa costumes on). And so, we ran away. Our adventures continued onwards to the Bean and a Christmas market before we stopped at a bar with a special of “Buy one drink, get a Jameson shot for free.” And then it was noon. And I was wasted. 

We went to dinner, to the infamous Second City comedy club (where I almost punched some lady behind me for her excessive and uncontrollable hyena-like laugh) and then to a bar. And then I was wasted again.

So I absolutely LOVED Chicago, and can totally see myself living there one day. But the one thing I can’t handle is how often strangers talk to you when you’re walking down the street. The friendliness of Midwesterners is baffling, while unnerving.  I think about thirty-eight people talked to us in a span of three hours to ask about the race, or where we were from, and what we were doing.   If I lived there, I’d probably have to leave half an hour before I planned to go anywhere in order to make up the time from unanticipated, in-transit conversations. So while I might not have an East Coast perspective about New York pizza, I definitely have one about public interactions. Don’t talk to me unless you know me or unless we need something specific from each other – i.e. a lighter, a dollar or directions. The buck stops there. Keep it moving. Thanks.

#HATEBOOK2013

I know I’m going to be redundant here and resurrect my inner Facebook Grinch because I have posted on this topic previously, but if I have to see one more person’s engagement ring on Facebook… or thirty-seven images of their expressionless newborn each day of the week…. or a wedding party/bridal shower/bachelorette party/engagement party/invitation card/anything pertaining to their upcoming wedding… or their child doing his/her “first” of everything (“This is Ava doing her first waving of her right hand wearing her first blue sweater and jeans combination ever”), I might throw myself out of the 10^th floor of my office building.  

I think being a twenty-something or early-thirty-something makes you a part of the worst possible subset of Facebook’s audience because it is the stage of major life changes/career changes/family changes/perpetual bragging of all these changes. And because we are the first generation to have encountered this blasphemy, we were unfortunately, given no forewarning of the misery that was to come. As you all know, I [successfully] deactivated Facebook for several months, until I missed my best friend from college’s bachelorette party because the invite was via Facebook and her sister did not know how else to reach me. For that reason, I’m back on, but I ABSOLUTELY hate it. Like I said, I know I already made a whole post about why I hate Facebook, but the past few weeks have been especially awful. 

First off, the election coverage via Facebook was miserable. If I wanted to watch coverage of the election, I would watch it on television or check out updates on Twitter feeds; I have zero desire to read your uninformed and uneducated speculations.  Politics should not be a Facebook topic. If you want to talk about politics, start a blog and write your heart out about your political beliefs so that way I can choose to read it (but more than likely, choose not to read it). Instead, I now am forced to scan your status update on my newsfeed, realize I subsequently, like you much less, and therefore, have to delete you as a friend when you might, in fact, have been a perfectly good drinking buddy.

Secondly, Twinkies are getting way more publicity than even necessary. How many much more relevant companies have gone out of business since the recession began? Why do hundreds of people on my newsfeed even REMOTELY care about some concoction of an unequivocally unpopular processed food with a questionably too-long shelf life? Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I have even seen anyone purchase or eat a Twinkie. Maybe 1996? There’s a reason they are going out of business. Innovate or throw in the towel.

Thirdly, Sunday football commentating is also unnecessary. I understand you all are avid football fans and have fantasy sports teams and a significant $20 on the line for your team to win, but come on!! WHY must I read seventy-seven people describing the same exact situation all day on Sunday… and then again on Monday… and then again on Thursday, each of which I care NOTHING about?! Guys, if you think I’m being insensitive to your likes, how would you feel if every single female on your newsfeed commented on every single character’s actions on every single episode of Real Housewives… every single season. If I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure after a while, all of you would rather give yourself glaucoma than have to read one more idiotic opinion about who is fighting with who on the Real Housewives.  

Social media, but primarily, Facebook is being heavily abused by you, your family and your friends. It’s up to all of you to stop it. Let’s join together and resurrect a #KONY2012-esque movement for the new year. 

#HATEBOOK2013

Pick-up Lines.

Growing up sucks. On top of moving past the prime stage of my life, and knowing that my looks (and BMI) are pretty much going downhill from here, while my biological clock is relentlessly and expeditiously ticking, I’ve been awakened by the fact that I can no longer bounce back fresh-faced and bright-eyed for work the next morning after drinking four martinis on a Wednesday night and still making it home and in bed by 11:30 PM.

Yes, you heard me. 11:30 PM. I still managed 7 hours of sleep. That doesn’t exactly constitute a rager. Regardless, I’m moving at a sloth-like pace and have put very minimal effort into my appearance this morning, while simultaneously double-fisting a Gatorade and an espresso. Speaking of which, I’m about to utilize my chemical engineering skills to create some electrolyte-induced/caffeinated, dual-purpose hydration drink for the HUGE target consumer market of twenty-eight-year-olds-going-on-fifty. And also because intermittent sips of Gatorade-infused coffee leave a vomitrocious aftertaste.

Anyway, I’m rambling. Mainly, because I have received a plethora of angry gchat messages and I’m trying to assuage my avid readers:

Richa: I miss reading your blog.

Ryan:  it's 8 nov, can you please post again on your blog so i can stalk you? thanks.

Valerie: AMARA!!!! Update your blog!!!!!

Palak: When are you going to update your blog?!

Abigail: I miss your blog!!

I suck. I’m sorry.

So anyway, I was at the bar last week with Kendall celebrating/commiserating the end of our ‘every-other-Friday-off-for-no-real-reason’ schedule. For those of you that don’t know, when our company was bought, that was the first thing the acquirer eliminated from our benefits package. So now I’m back to real world-living like the rest of you guys who work five days a week every week. And it sucks.

Back to the story: we were approached by two guys at Drinkers with the worst pick-up line I have ever heard. Listen to this:

Guy: Is your dad in jail?

Me: Wtf?! Um no?

Guy: Because if I was your dad, I would be.

So my reaction was like, “ummmmmmmmm WHAT!?”  Well, no, first, my reaction was merely a baffled facial expression, followed by shock, followed by thoughts of whether this guy was actually insane… followed by the more coherent “ummmmm WHAT?!”

Shortly after, another guy approached Kendall and told her that her “bone structure was flawless. And [her] jaw-line? Impeccable.”

So while those are very nice compliments, for a seemingly-heterosexual male to drunkenly approach her and comment on her bone structure and jaw-line at as classless of a place as Drinkers, and not any of her other assets, is more than merely questionable.

But one of my all-time favorite male interactions in life happened when this guy asked me what my ethnicity was. I always have a blast with this question, I usually pick a combination of really obscure ethnic mixes that most likely don’t actually exist “my father is from Swaziland and my mother is from Paraguay.” To which I received this HIGHLY entertaining response, “Daaaaaaaaaaamn girl, you are maaaad flavorful. Like a pack of skittles.”

Where do people come UP with this stuff? Honestly, I have to admit, there has to be some intellect behind these innovative interactions. Now if only men could channel this innovative thought-process into something more useful. Like learning to have meaningful conversations.

But then I guess I wouldn’t have anything to blog about?

More Linked-In Idiocy.

So apparently I’ve moved past getting hit on by LinkedIn recruiters…to a much greater idiocy…getting insulted by LinkedIn recruiters.

This morning I received a LinkedIn message from a recruiter asking me to refer engineers to him for a job posting in Philly. However, the message obviously couldn’t be written simply this way.  Rather, here is an excerpt of the beginning of his email:

“Judging by your [LinkedIn] profile I’m not sure if you even have a network of Engineers but here it goes.”

My LinkedIn profile is not very elaborate with a full resume, references, etc., I agree with that. However, what it DOES state is that I went to an engineering school AND work for an engineering company… shockingly, as an engineer.  That is a total of ten years worth of engineering network development. So when I read the ill-informed aforementioned statement from the recruiter, I decided it was time to read no more.

So what do I do? I dignify it with a response.

And the opening line of this response?

“Judging from your lack of social etiquette, it is no wonder you haven't found this candidate on your own.”

‘Nuff said.

The math of my life.

So everyone has been asking me what I’ve been doing with all of my free time now that I’m not in class for three hours after work several times a week and about six additional hours a week of reading/writing papers….

Well, I don’t have a good answer. I really don’t know where my time has gone. It obviously hasn’t been devoted to keeping up with this blog. Maybe I’ve been working out a little more… but I think all I’ve really been doing is consuming more of my hours with going out to dinners and happy hours (that apparently have been lasting more than a few happy hours… and often well-past midnight).

Because I’m a math nerd, I’m going to relay my new extra-curriculars in the form of the following equation:

A little more working out [A Slight Positive for my body/mind since I really haven’t been working out all that much more] + More restaurant dinners [A Negative for my body/finances] + More happy hours [A Negative for my body/mind/finances] = [Net Sum Negative for my body/mind/finances]

And as I am writing this equation out for the first time, I am thinking something has to change because this cannot be sustainable. So I am giving myself exactly one month to continue to be a waste of life… and then back to some form of productivity [which I haven’t yet figured out]. And definitely more blogging. This time for real. Stay tuned.

Fifty Shades of Cheesy.

So I usually jump on book bandwagons because I want to be a part of the reading crowd of teeny boppers that hype up the best-seller shelves at Barnes and Noble (and I need some new conversation-starters slash blog topics). I decided to pick up the Fifty Shades trilogy this past weekend since that appears to be the newest thing in the book-trilogy-turning-movie-trilogy trend... and let me just tell you, it is awful.

As I got through the first few chapters, I began to imagine that this would be what reading a Danielle Steele novel must feel like. The cheesy, over-the-top romantic, love story of a naive, innocent, clumsy [and virgin] female that somehow manages to catch the eye of an experienced, drop-dead gorgeous, intellectual, business-savvy, late-twenties success-story, billionaire CEO. Like come on. Seriously? The plot then turns when you find out that this insanely successful and gorgeous man is into BDSM. And then from that point forth, the two characters just have sex. Again. And again. And again. Like after every two to three pages. To the point that I just started flipping through chapters because it had absolutely nothing to do with the plot of the book and I had lost all interest (I'm not even sure that a meaningful plot exists until the second and third books...sorta?). And then every time they sleep together, he tells her how beautiful she is, how perfect she is, how she's his everything, how he's hers only, etc. etc. EVERY single time. EVERY two to three pages. Like come on - this can't be real.

I mean, at least turn him into a vampire if this is going to be that fictional of a depiction of a relationship - Let's not mask it under the guise of reality to further confuse the already helpless single females out there that this controlling, dominant, yet perfect man will change into a 'hearts-and-flowers' guy all of a sudden for a clumsy, average, naive chick he just met.

On top of that, the author only utilizes the two verbs, "murmuring" and "whispering," when describing the communication between these two main characters. Example: "Anastasia whispered, 'Bye, Mr. Grey.' Christian murmured back, 'Laters baby.'" And the murmuring and whispering continues incessantly throughout the entire trilogy. Can these mo-fos speak in normal voices!? I guess the author is trying to convey the 'sensuality' of their conversations, but I'm not really a romantic, so to me, this just adds to the cheese-factor. Because believe me, if I whispered "Hi Eric" to Eric one day, his response would not be a 'murmur' back. Rather, it would be more along the lines of, "Did you get tonsilitis again? Wtf is wrong with your voice?"

I'm not trying to be a hater, nor trying to be a book snob (because believe me, I read some embarrassing stuff and I am all aboard the Hunger Games hype train). I just think these books are so terribly corny and unrealistic... Although I am interested in seeing who plays Christian Grey in the movie (which I will most likely watch, I'm not going to lie) so I can swoon over him with some murmurs and whispers...

And like I said on Twitter, I'm also going to need one of my friends to find herself a real-life Christian Grey (sans BDSM - unless that's your thing, I guess) so I can be a part of her entourage. Thanks.

Joe: I dont think I want to be associated with your blog. Unlike you, I have political aspirations.

Ugh. This is the SECOND time I have embarrassed myself in a work e-mail. I swear I proofread emails, and yet, I still cannot stop making inappropriate typos!

Today I received an instant message via our work messenger system from one of our product schedulers.

Loren: Read the email you just sent me.

So I open up this email that I wrote to her in response to her question asking if we can process some product at the refinery.

Here was my one-line response:

Yes, we can re-process all three, and you can post them to nudist.

By ‘nudist,’ I meant ‘undist,’ which is a category in this scheduling program that we use. Spell check clearly did not recognize the word ‘undist’ and thought ‘nudist’ would be a more appropriate correction.  I also must not have been paying much attention to the change, as is evident by the fact that this message was in my ‘sent’ mail.

I wrote back to her to say:

Amara: It’s a good thing Paula wasn't copied on that one :-/

(Paula is the manager of the department)

Just as I type this, I hear the entire floor of schedulers cracking up. And then Loren’s response:

Loren: I sent it to her that's why you can hear us all laughing....you made our day!!!

Womp womp.

So I tell Joe this story, which obviously, means I get a response that will make me feel 100 times better. And by ‘better,’ I mean worse.

Joe: hahaha that’s amazing

Joe: you and your Freudian slips

Joe: either that or they toss it up to the fact that they assume English is your second language.

So Joe, for that comment alone and the aforementioned comment in the subject line above, you have now been shouted out in my blog.