Goodbye Year of the Pig

Seeing as I keep a blog, it seems apropos (haha i always wanted to use that word. Lolz!) to submit a commentary on this felicitously entitled "Year of the Pig" (felicitous since I did give myself 15 pounds of bodily lard for Xmas) followed tomorrow with a post about overly idealistic New Year's resolutions that I will definitely keep. Snort*

But I'm not one to sentimentalize. Really 2007 was all about me freaking out and learning that I'm prone to panic attacks. 2008 will probably be much of the same, but I'll spice it up by adding a coke habit. How's that for an upper? Now who says I'm not positive?**

*I'm allowed to snort. It's still the Year of the Pig
**Puneet.

.

It's hard to write stories about your life when you were a shut-in the entire weekend.

In other news: I am definitely lactose-intolerant.

The Wrong Way

Movie by my friend's bro.

Gchatz

2:31 PM me: man
my boss keeps calling me dorothy
she thinks its funny
seriously

Morgan: hahahahaha

me: no.

Morgan: that's pretty much the funniest name you could ever be called

me: its b/c i'm from kansas

Morgan: wow
that's horrible

2:55 PM Morgan: i'm singing the wicked witch theme to myself now

shyyyt

So after forcing all my friends to read my blog, people actually like it and want me to write more. But shit, I don't perform well under pressure and this is making me kinda sorta anxious, despite avoiding the caffeine that gives me panic attacks (the doctor told me to stay away, but he didn't say I couldn't have Sugaaaaa!) , and I'm being stifled by my own (supposed, perceived, possibly non-existent) greatness. And now I have to figure out something to write about and seriously, guys, my life is not that interesting. I just do stupid shit like
1) run into a glass wall
2) set microwave fires
3) pick up stalkers
4) buy organic
So What the eff do I write about? Why would I want to revel in my idiocy, enough people do it for me already anyway. I could record the random ramblings in my head like: who sings all those songs on those fancy modern (lead-encrusted) childrens' toys that go "ABC, C is for Cow, D is for Dick" and do you think that singer wanted to be like, you know, the next Madonna, and is like "fuck, now I'm fucking singing these stupid tard baby songs in a stupid fake momma voice and I can't fucking fund that cocaine addiction no more, better switch lower quality crack for awhile fuuuuuuuuckkk i'll just drink the alcohol out of my perfume right now (but she probably can't afford perfume!)" or about how one of the admins at work is trying to set me up with a guy and I'm doing it for shits and giggles because that is how uninteresting my life is now, but she wants me to change my facebook picture since I look like a rabid beast to a more flattering picture, in case he like, you know STALKS me? Yeah. I guess I could write about that.

Fire in the Taco Bell!

I almost set my office on fire by sticking cookies+paper towel in the microwave and promptly forgetting about them. Apparently, gingersnaps are flammable. Who knew?

Luckily (*snort* what luck?), the large billows of smoke seeping out of the microwave gave me a small hint that something was wrong.

We have yet to tell if there is damage to the microwave. And our lungs. (Hey guys, I have no Workers Comp!...Would this even qualify, since it's kinda my fault?)

Now the entire 17th floor smells like burnt cinnamon and ginger. Or, as Kristen says, "smells like booty." Key phrase is not "entire office smells" but "entire fucking 17th floor." Oh, and our windows are bolted. Otis would appreciate that.

Sad thing is I did the exact same thing yesterday in a different microwave. Sighness.

And don't think that since the fire alarms didn't go off that I'm exaggerating. It's just a ghetto-ass building with a shitty ass security/safety system (More about wandering junkie psycho's later).

*Side-note: Did anyone ever tell you that burnt ginger-snaps from Trader Joes look like pigeon turd? Cuz they do.

Feelin' a bit old today

Want to relive your undergrad experience? Here you go - an email I sent while in the midst of writing my last Philosophy paper (yes, I was an idiot and chose the most unpractical ever and if you read this email, you realize that somehow the whole "Logic" part of Philosophy never really rubbed off on me). And sadly, not much has changed since I've entered the work force.

Oh, and the topic of the paper? The Philosophy of Happiness.

Hey Jennyfer! I had too much TAB energy drink (there was no Red Bull, and the TAB can was pretty) and not enough food. So I'm probably not medically sober at the moment.

I have 25 pages worth of writing to do by tomorrow. I have sat at the library for four hours doing nothing. BUT I refuse to leave, because that would mean I actually really didn't do anything. But if I happen to at least type a paragraph, I can make myself feel better and then go gorge myself with food, taking 2 hours to eat and justifying it with "well even if I have a paper, I still have to eat." (Correction: 3 papers).

So why am I writing you this email, you ask? Because why not, jen? WHY not?

Progress:

6:45 PM: Have typed name and date on paper

Started paper with Beatles lyrics "Happiness is a warm gun"

in hopes that this will bring a smile to the professor, thus propelling me into a higher grade bracket. Blow job would probably work better, but hey! I have...morals? No wait, I'm a feminist. Yeah, I knew there was a something keeping me from using that option.

6:46 PM: typed my progress to Julia over gchat.

6:50 PM: Started this very email to Jen.

6:51 PM: contemplated checking facebook.
6:52 PM: checked facebook

6:55 PM: wrote on SK's wall in response to the fact that he stole the line "I'm so goth, I shit bats." My response: "i'm so brown, i shit curry." for a moment I thought that was clever. Then I realized I actually do shit curry. Ironic? Not so much.

6:59 PM: Realized anorexia is not for me, even if I want my boobs to get smaller. Am going to go get some dinner.

You can see how my life is going....

Love,

Kam

Otis the Elevator: An Introduction

The great thing about my job, although I get paid shit, is the fact that it's in the Loop. So I can run around pretending to be baller, handing out my business card (which, despite my shitty salary, is all-paid and printed with raised lettering...niiiiiiiiice) and talking about working in the high-falutin' fancy Chicago Loop. And when I meet someone from undergrad, they think I'm the shit and I give no reason for them to think otherwise.

But in reality, I work in what our accountant affectionately refers to as the "pocket of (bleep bleep) ghetto," or the last remaining stronghold of shadiness in the Chicago Loop. We have crack dealers and such just chillin' in front of our old-ass building, where two homeless women consistently fight each other for cigarettes (I can set my clock to it). It's a building so old it used to have a different address when the streets were set up differently. An address they never bothered to take OFF the building. Accessorizing this old-ass construction are equally old-ass elevators that have never been updated and are curiously missing their certificates of inspection.

And it's these elevators that add to the daily spice of my life. Including, but not limited too - crashing to the ground, holding suspicious odors, providing billboard space for local gangs, and possibly being haunted. Everyday, I hesitate before getting on those harbingers of death but alas, I work on the 17th floor leaving me no option. But No Worries! "The company [Otis Elevators] pioneered the development of the safety elevator, invented by Otis, which used a special mechanism to lock the elevator car in place should the hoisting ropes fail. Otis made skyscrapers possible by providing safe mechanical transport to upper floors" Yes. Safe.

Ahh, wikipedia. Such a great source of reassuring information.

Oh Dear

I clicked the "next blog" link at the top of this page. And it sent me to "Free Gay Porn"

Why I won't make a good wifie

I thought that 4 cups of milk sounded like a reasonable amount to put into cupcake batter.

Judge for yourself

In case your Friday was too normal

From MissPoppy.com via gawker site jezebel.com
http://jezebel.com/gossip/jokes/-331245.php

" Protect our troops - from the womb to the war. What if the fetus you were going to abort would grow up to be a soldier bringing democracy to a godless dictatorship?
Plastic replica of an 11-12 week old fetus, 3" long, holding a firearm in its precious little hand, with an assortment of other military paraphernalia, encased in a translucent plastic ornament, with a patriotic yellow ribbon on top. Includes a metal ornament hanger. If only a womb were this safe, attractive and reasonably priced!
Show that you support the "culture of life" by buying and proudly displaying one of these patriotic unborn Americans.
Also available in a "Brown" model "

Perky People

Sometimes you're having one of those days when everything is going wrong and you just want to punch a bunny. So you keep your mouth shut so you don't say something inordinately bitchy, even for yourself. But then there's that one PERSON that is in a way too good fucking mood and they're whistling and shit. That was Jeremy today. And I wanted to smack him. But then he made me laugh.

The end.

फिर भी दिल है हिन्दुस्तानी

Dear nonexistent readers,

I am earnestly attempting to make this an actual blog, rather than having it end up being another one of my regularly occurring fleeting fancies. But you see, dear invisible friends, I have no apartment, no money, and two wisdom teeth slicing their way through my gums. So I've been distracted. But look out for future blogs! You will discover that I am 3 things: fobbish, incredibly stupid/spacey, and kinda bitchy. I hope the first two turn out to be false, and the last one - I never delude myself into thinking otherwise.

Don't die of anticipation!

P.S. did you know you can transliterate on this blog? In Hindi only. As if they know I'm brown. Damn spyware. मेरा धमाक घूम गया है।