How Not to Move Out of a Large US City that Contains the Sears Tower & Several Other Important Buildings

• Do Not get 24-hour access to store your belongings at the downtown Chicago office building of the job you just quit.
  

• Do Not surreptitiously get 24-hour access to the building from the admin* that the Executive Director cannot stand.
  

• Do Not wait until 1am the day of your flight to your new home (Washington, DC) to move your boxes into said building.

• Perhaps rethink your decision to take your two male brown friends (one who looks like this** and one who looks like this . Clearly the second one is an undercover hacker.) to a building in downtown Chicago, near the Sears Tower, at 1 in the morning.

• Perhaps rethink your decision to use your ID card that clearly states what time you were in the building with shady looking friends.

• DO think before propping the door open lest it set off a pesky alarm.

• DO prevent brown male #2 with you from trying to hack the computer system to turn the alarm off.

• DO keep #2 out of the eye of the camera right ABOVE the computer system that is unsuccessful at turning the alarm off (but successful at flashing your picture from your supposed-to-be-deactivated ID badge).

• Perhaps rethink your decision to leave three unmarked boxes into said building at 1 am, after setting the alarm off.

• Definitely have a shady looking hairy Sikh girl in a getaway car nearby.

• Also, remember to hide your one-way ticket to DC when the police come to question you.

• and last one: PRAY with all your might that NOTHING disastrous happens in downtown Chicago the next day.

*curiously, she was fired shortly afterwards
**okay so his beard isn't as big.

Censorship

From unnamed blog at 12:45 AM:

Kamdizzle said...

FAIL.

Same blog, ten minutes later:

Kamdizzle said...

This post has been removed by a blog administrator.

I'M BACK with power power

JUST TO SPITE ASHU.

The End

The Working Girl is retiring! This blog, that is. This is because the most interesting thing that has happened to me at my new job is today on my way walking to work the garbage man hit on me.* Really, garbage man? Really? Yeah, I know you're sitting up high and driving some big-ass wheels, but really?

So, in conclusion, for the last month my life has been relatively normal and sane and drama-free. And in a knock-on-wood superstition, I'm retiring this blog with hopes that it will stay that way.

*He said "Whass Up Girl." No, he was not black. You racist fuck.

Day 0

Tomorrow is my first day of work at a REAL job that isn't paid by a government stipend that is in reality, below minimum wage. Let's hope it turns out like my first day at last non-job, where my boss kindly gave me a tour of the office and then showed me the bathroom, where she proceeded to give me "training" whilst shitting*. Yes. Let's hope.

*disclaimer: my boss was awesome. Who shits while they talk? Only fucking cool people**, hell yeah.
**I'm obviously not cool enough to pull this off***.
***Just had to make that clear.

Occasionally

Occasionally, I err on the side of pleasure and have too much of a good thing. Today I decided to OD on allergy meds and had this brilliant idea for a post detailing how much I loved the world because of all the wonderful beautiful things I saw happen in the last two days but what kind of sucks is that I can't remember any of them (what does this say about me?) except 2 which are still kind of nice:

Yesterday, a baby left her toy on a bus and a young lady jumped off a stop early and ran down the block to hand it back to the mom.
Today, the lady who owns the snack-shop at my Metra stop said I could pay her tomorrow when I realized I had no cash. She has never met me before.

I think thats about it so far. Also, the sun decided to shine today. Yipee!

Mizzaralia

I told a couple friends that I would help them organize this "Nothing But Nets" malaria event for a competition, but I ended up doing shit. Part of the event was to create a short video and I was the "subject" since I got malaria in Mali. I think Ash decided to get back at my lack of participation by making me look and sound like a complete douche. So this aired on TBS or something.



P.S. She made me do this when I had the flu.

P.P.S. I'm totally talking out of my ass the entire time

Malaria

Destroying Your Childhood

Shauvik is this crazy Indian who lives in St. Louis and will soon have to leave the States to marry a nice Bengali girl on his parent's goat farm. They will be a joint family, yes yes. He also destroys any concept of goodness I have, starting with my childhood. But at least he makes me laugh while he does it. And now I will proceed to destroy the childhood of whoever reads this blog. Here's a video, courtesy of this crazy foreigner.

Industries that Will Fail if Teleportation Is Invented

According to Ashu:

1. Shipping
2. Airlines
3. Trucking (shouldn't this go with shipping? Dumbass)
4. Hotels (why? where else am I going to have my clandestine affairs?)
5. Real Estate Agents (ok still don't get this one).
6. Automobile
7. Aeronautical Engineers (I'm sure we can find some use for them)
8. Travel Agents
9. Space Travel
10. Sci-Fi writers (they'll just think of something new to write about, k)

And my own special contribution:

11. The Otis Elevator Company

Instance #1 of Why I Probably Will Go To Hell

I won't provide many details of my second job other than it involves minuscule cubicles and entire sessions of phone calls. It may or may not be a job as a phone sex operator (this is not the reason I'm going to hell).

For some reason, the office we work out of attracts canines of all kinds. Last week, one of the newer call-girls (haha I think that would qualify as a pun) was sitting in the corner at the cubicle next to me. Let me give you a cursory impression of this girl: Tall, well kempt long hair, flip-flops, expensive bags, and shorts that say "PINK" on the bum. Kind of makes you wonder why she's working there. She was casually chatting about her love life or god knows what to the girl on her other side when I noticed a fluffy bunny in her bag. "Okay," I think, "every girl needs to feel safe." I mean, I carry my Stunzilla*, she carries a stuffed bunny. I get back to my phone calls, faking enthusiasm for the person on the other end of the line, and I notice something from the corner of my eye. Fluffy bunny is moving! What! Fluffy bunny is poking head out of purse! Wait, that is tiny little dog, and that is a dog-carrier. What.The.Fuck. She pushes his head back into the tote, ZIPS it up, and shoves the bag under her desk. My immediate thoughts are "Woman, I am JUDGING YOU! I normally don't judge that quickly, but you! I am judging you!"

Look, this bag was barely the size of the animal. He sat in there for the entire shift. At one point I thought she took him back home during our break, but maybe she just let him piss in the women's room or something. I decide, maybe this ONE time, she couldn't make it home to drop him off before work. But really? Still judging.

Next time she comes to work, I see the tote again. I can't resist and I start flipping out to the preson next to me about said doggy. This is when I learn the puppy is actually a seizure dog she carries around. Do you know what a seizure dog is? I don't. Apparently, she has some medical condition and carries the dog around for safety/health reasons. And she has made it clear she is on her way to medical school; perhaps trying to emphasize that a life changing moment/disorder has changed her path to the one of health. Of course, my immediate response when learning that it was a seizure dog was "Are you sure she's not lying?" I even looked to see if she had medical ID tags on.

I'm probably going to hell.

*A stun gun. Named Stunzilla. Because it is So large.

Metra Etiquette: Yes, People Can Hear Your Entire Phone Convo, Dumbass

I don't care that you have a huuuuuuge crush on that girl in your Econ 101 class and that you absolutely have to have this utterly insipid conversation with her about how she likes to compare everything to cheese and you try to cover up the banality of your conversational skills by using words you think smart people use, like "quite" and "however" because that is not the way you get into a girl's pants, at least not a self-respecting girl with taste. So please don't ruin the brief nap I have between my two jobs with your LOUD ass wannabe-fratboy-but-didn't-quite-have-enough-testosterone voice, because I DON'T CARE.

Otis Holds A Surprise On The Inside!

Today I got coffee for my boss because they sweetened her iced tea when she first bought it. Oh and they put too much ice. In her iced tea. So on my way to buy an unsweetened, black, venti, lightly-iced Iced Tea from Starbucks, I grabbed some carrots and hummus and ran onto Otis the Elevator. There I ran into a nice older Haitian man from an office above as I was chewing these delightful goodies of the earth. He laughed at my silliness (I think that was the image I was projecting) and asked in his lovely accent if there was a party going on in our office. I replied "Oh no, we're just eating all the time." This prompted him to offer me some sage advice in that utterly lovely accent of his, as he looked me up in down in my somewhat cleavage-revealing (on accident, I can't help it!) dress, "Do not eat too much. You will get fat. Ho ho ho ho!"

Thank you Jesus.

On another note, I have a strong tendency to flirt with Starbucks boy baristas.

Utter Brilliance: Zombie Strippers

Courtesy of Jezebel

What A Pisser

Did you notice how I've subtly changed my blog from worthless (but amusing!) content to overtly sexual youtube videos and the occasional comic? I was going to say semi-sexual youtube vids, but they are so not semi. nom nom nom.

But alas, the current situation requires me to update you on critical state of Otis the Elevator. No longer can I hide behind other people's witticisms and sexiness to cover up the lack of mine. But now I can reinvigorate my hobby of using words like: apropos! New fun word: portmanteau.

Poor Otis, his condition has been deteriorating since I first spoke of my daily companion. Unlike choo-choo trains, Otis can't find inspiration from "I think I can." He just falls and dies.

A little while back I strolled in after a satisfying lunch, minding my own business. But then I was jarred from my reverie of tasting the remnants of yumness in my teeth when I noticed the maintenance man conversing on the walkie-talkie (portmanteau!!!) and the security guard with a look of concern on his face.

Our maintenance man is a Popeye-esque kinda guy, complete with a white pant-shirt combo and bulging muscles indicating how his time is spent outside of work. Today he had the two doors of the first car forcibly pried open (probably using his bulging manly man muscles instead of a crow bar) like the legs of his first (and last) lover. The only words I caught when he reached for his walkie-talkie were, "yeah the cars came crashing down again."*****
Before I could even react, I was quickly ushered into the last car by the security guard. ALL.BY.MYSELF.

At this point, I should mention that 1. my imagination is not under control and 2. I do believe in ghosts. Do NOT put me in an elevator BY MYSELF when I hear that the other ones just died. Not only did the car I was put into smell like gasoline, it skipped past floors 3, 5, and 11. Which are probably haunted. Like the elevators. Did you know this building was made in 1912? It's definitely haunted. What a pisser.

*****Otis made skyscrapers possible by using a special mechanism to lock the elevator in place should the hoisting ropes fail.

Ma Vie

By Randall Monroe

Oh Brazil

I don't think this video needs any commentary other than "I think I'm in the wrong country right now"

Little Bro

From ballersingh@...

To: Big Sister

Kaki dede I have guitar hero 2 but no guitar what do i do?

Ballin'

Barack O'Bollywood Part II

ahh. he looks like my grandfather (minus the beard)! A man after my heart. Also, he can pronounce Pakistan and Iran. He is a Rolo! Black on the outside, brown on the inside. Yum.

Happy V-Day! V as in VAG!

In regular bitter Kdizzle style, I should be bashing Valentine's Day. But, aha! I do not give up on my New Years Resolutions that easily, my dear friends. I'm !bursting! with positivity today, a positivity most likely generated by the overdose of chocolate and sweet tarts and whatever shit people gave me to push me up another damn bra size.

Oh loved ones, I need not one day to show my gushy mushy emotions for you; every day is a day of love. Don't you feel the humanity moving inside you? Or have you not felt anything/anybody moving in you for awhile? If so and you're sick of it, you can totally hit it with my host-brother from Mali who seems to have taken quite a liking to me and sends me des lettres d'amour in French telling me that I'm the BEST sister he's ever had. And those of you who get hot for heated men, he also sends me angry French letters telling me I have shredded him in my claws. Are those claws manicured, brotha?

Anywhooo, to commemorate Vaginatines Day (because really, it's all about havin' teh sexes), I'm decorating my blog with video valentines, giving you ladies and gentlequeens a visual mind-fuck. Work it, baby!


First, my should-be husband and baby-daddy Pharrell.




And don't worry, I won't forget my brown man. Here's some Shah Rukh Khan. Pay attention the water scene. Sigh.



Last but definitely not least, America's baby-daddy Barack (yes this has been posted before, but isn't V-day totally appropriate for this?)

Floating Appendix

Glossary

CTA: n. (see tee ay) Chicago Transit Asswhority

fraishus roshis: adj. (fresh uss rowsh iss) A general term for "I am fucking awesome." Entered Singh/Chirrimar lingo circa 1989, with Bindi Singh's declaration that she, in fact, is "fraishus roshis."

heavenly chambers: n. pl. (pu see) vaginae

joyful juice: n. (joi full joos) Do you really need a fucking glossary to figure this out? Dumbass.

Mali: n. (Ma lee) A country in West Africa. Go look at a map. Such as. Children. for them. therefore. such as.

sand-nigger: br0wn ppl who rid3 KAMels in teh s4nd and w34r towels on thurr hedz

WTF: adj. (dowel yu tee eff) 1. what.the.fuck. 2. apt description for Kdizzle's life

Manic! Panic!

Why the the post about Ashu generated more interest than Barack O'Bollywood, I dunno. Makes me think I should get new friends or something ok surriously JUST KIDDING please don't stop reading my blog now. I gave myself a brief hiatus (of 3 days) before posting because it was so warming to the heart to see my desi Barak's face first thing when I loaded my blog. But now we'll move on to life as usual. What is life as usual? PANIC ATTACKS!

The thing about panic attacks is that they speed up your heart rate, so if you get one at like, say 11:30 pm, you're basically screwed for sleeping on time. And let's say you have to get up early in the morning. Then you start getting anxious about all the shit you have to take care of the next day, including, but not limited to: waking up, looking human (but not like bag-lady human), making it to work before your boss notices that you are indeed late again, phone calls, and you know breathing. But you realize that you won't remember to do of this shit because you'll be too fucking tired from the lack of sleep because of said panic, so you start getting even more anxious, triggering yet another panic attack. Thus the cycle continues for the rest of the night, leaving you bloodshot, irascible, and manic the next day.

Just sayin'. Not like this happened last night or anything. Go Barack! w00t w00t!

Super Tuesday - VOTE BARACK!

BARACK O'BOLLYWOOD

मेरा दिलबर बराक ओबामा

Actually, it's sand-nigger

Dear Random Lady Bum on the corner of Adams and State,

Don't ever call me a nigger again.

Maybe you saw pity in my eyes and it infuriated you to see a colored person have those feelings for you. And maybe I should thank you because you've launched me into a period of introspection that is still continuing*. If I see you again, I will definitely stop and give you some change.

Kam

*that means trust me, I'll write more on this subject.

CTA Etiquette

Dear Random Harried Lady on the El this Morning:

WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU SIT NEXT TO ME WHEN THE ENTIRE FUCKING CAR IS EMPTY? WOULD YOU PEE IN A URINAL RIGHT NEXT TO A MAN WHEN THE REST OF THE BATHROOM IS AVAILABLE?

Sincerely,

K-dizzle.

Gchatz

me: i'm not really as obsessive as i come off online

Shauvik: like me

me: its just funnier than talking about

my regular life which is like

"hey guess what, i went to the gym today

and i farted while i was on the elliptical

but no one heard because everyone has ipods"

Shauvik: hahahahaha

nice, i always do the silent but deadly ones.

P.S. I didn't change his name ON PURPOSE.

Fucking Hormones

I'm cold. Do you think it's because its almost FREEZING in Chicago? NO! It's because there are one too many women going through "The Change" in my office , therefore they think it is perfectly reasonable to TURN ON THE FUCKING AIR CONDITIONER in the middle of a Chicago winter (plus this random hippie man with long hair, who has hot sweats daily. And who is probably a woman. And who also reminded me that I COME FROM THE LAND OF THE INDIA in case I forgot. Way TO NOT live up to stereotypes)

Bizwas

I am Known by Many Names

This guy at work just called me Kim. I've been working there for 4 1/2 months...

Also, our staff only has 17 people.

Biswas

Agni Parixa (अगिन परीक्षा)

I woke up today and picked a nice warm spot on the Purple Express, happy to be making it to work relatively on time. Then the crazy man decided that he would sit next to me, sensing some crazy-person kinship, and proceeded to talk crazy-talk while expecting crazy-talk answers, which I half-heartedly gave. Then I did the cool rich-bitch-kid thing and stuck my ipod buds in my ear and looked out the window. He kinda fell asleep on me. And then he got up at La Salle and it turned out his entire buttox had been exposed to the soft fabric of the el seat for the entire ride. Oh, and he wears diapers. But I don't think he secures them properly.

Then I went to lunch at Subway and ordered a $2.97 Veggie sandwich from the nice lady that wears green eyeshadow to match her green Subway T-shirt.

I Swear I'm Having A Good Day Today

A-hole #1 (possibly: family member, older family friend, med student, law student, person with high-powered job with set career path):

"So, uhh, what are you doing with your life?"

Me (possibly: A-hole #2):

"I'm paying my bills fucker." (key word missing is "barely")

fraishus roshis bitches

No, I don't want to:

1. be a doctor

2. get my masters for some medical-related field since I'm not going to be a doctor (b/c obviously I must have just done shit on my MCATS or something)

3. go to law school

4. be an ibanker

5. or "at least, get married to a doctor"

6. Stop selling crack on the side

What I really want to do is buy a yacht, declare it as an independent country, sail around the world with California or Seattle as my initial launch and make up my own language which will be an amalgam of Spanish, Punjabi, Bambara and the words I made up with my sisters when I was 5. Like, fraishus roshis - definition: I am awesome-er than you.

Postgrad Hobbies

Now that I've graduated from college, it's time for me to pursue those hipsteresque hobbies that a soul-sucking university curriculum prevented me from engaging in. Like, knitting! Or rediscovering my long-lost love for art through MS Paint. This work is a series of portraits, inspired by Andy Warhol. The entire piece itself is entitled "Ashu, Stop Fucking Making Shit with MS Paint."

Ashu, Stop Fucking Making Shit with MS Paint

Each portrait is named respectively: "Ashu", "Ashu with Rajasthani mustache", "Ashu on crack", and my personal favorite, "Ashu on crack with Rajasthani mustache."

Making it in Mali: Paris to Bamako

So my internal monologue as recorded by my Mali Journal is really not that interesting. But I'm posting it up anyway. And now you all know that tough bitchy girl attitude is totally a front.

Feb 2, 2006

omg this place is f-ing crazy

I love it.

Smells kinda like India – not as pungent though & a different kind of sweat (yeah weird, whatev)

On our flight from Paris to Bamako, there was this entourage of around 10 policemen escorting a criminal – I didn’t get a good look at the criminal, but one of the policemen was hott [Kam 2008: of course that was what I focusing on during an epic trip to Africa] they moved our group up from the back b/c the criminal (or maybe 3 criminals?) was there. Not safe for a gaggle of young gals to be so close. Apparently, he was bound in some kind of strait-jacket.

The airport was small & dingy – getting our luggage meant getting pushed & shoved by many many ppl.

We started speaking French right away. Yeah. Mine <-- not so good.

Had to go up 4 flights! of stairs w/ my luggage @ the hotel. We all shoved into a van & 1 car. Desi-style man.

Ok,

Au Revoir (I have to wake up at 5:30 AM & it’s 1AM)

One Nomad Civilized

As of May 31st, 2007, I have officially surfed six couches (and I don't even know how to swim!), excluding that brief period which could be called subletting or could be called squatting. Whichever you prefer. Today marks the last day of my life as a serial pillow surfer and the first day of my adoption into an Anglo-Saxonish (who knows these days?) family. No more lonely nights reading forgotten books on friends' coffee tables where vaginae are called Heavenly Chambers and semen is called Joyful Juice. People - an era is ending.

Tomorrow I move in with the O'Connor's**, a family of good-hearted people who are taking me in as their own. And charging me $0.

So I guess I'm still couch-surfing. But in a more permanent location and now sleeping on a bed. Ahh, the good life. And I will have an exchange-student buddy from Palestine. Exciting. Perhaps I will introduce her to the American literary phenomenon known as written porn, glossy illustrations included. On Sale, $7.99 (Canada $12.99).


*Side-note: Now you all know a perfect way to kill me. Great.
**Names have been changed. What inspired O'Connor? Why, Sandra Day, of course!

Finally, Some Direction in Life

Bring back the red-blooded bitch

Once women knew how to deliver a good, honest dig, says Julie Burchill, but now great bitching has been replaced by half-hearted hand-wringing and hypocrisy

The Guardian
Julie Burchill

One of my favourite films ever is The Women, the 1939 comedy by George Cukor. A sparkling cyanide soda-pop of a confection, it is remarkable for two things - the absence of men from the 130 speaking roles and the extraordinarily high quality of the bitchy repartee. "Good grief, I hate to tell you, dear, but your skin makes the Rocky Mountains look like chiffon velvet!" "If you throw a lamb chop into a hot oven, what's gonna keep it from gettin' done?" "He could crack a coconut with those knees ... if he could get them together."

Over the past decade there has been the occasional buzz about a proposed remake, the most recent allegedly featuring Meg Ryan and Lisa Kudrow. Well, if it does finally happen they can start polishing up that Golden Raspberry Award right now. Because the standard of bitching in the time that has passed since the original will surely render it about as sparkling as a bottle of Tizer with the top left off.

Read the rest here: Bring Back the Red Blooded Bitch

Confession

Posts marked as 9:00 am were probably written at more like, 3am.

Making it in Mali: Departure

Like a prom queen or a star quarterback's desperate attempts to relive the glory days of high school by getting drunk at underage parties, I've decided to grasp at my memories of Mali through this blog. About the email below: Apparently, I thought it would be utterly hizzalarious to randomly insert nonsensical words, which for some reason all reference food (minus the HONDA - what is up with that, yo?)

HellO everybody

I just wanted to say bye bye before I leave the motherland (I'm leaving Tuesday) and make sure that everyone knows that as of January 27, 20 CHICKEN 06, I am still alive. And yes, I know many of you detest these bulk emails but there is, apparently, only one internet cafe TOM!ATO!! in Bamako, and I am poor, so this is the best way to reach all of you. If I can, I will try to send out individual emails.

Much to your delight, (or chagrin, depending on what type of masochism you aim for), my emails BEEF will most likely be short. and most likely sent out inconsistently. CELERY IS GOOD. Sorry! Can't help it. So please email me the updates of Evanstonia and any other cities you HONDA are in, and also, please don't perform any major life blunders until I come back and am able to screw it up for you further.

Ciao!

Kansas

Obama won the Iowa Caucus and KU won the Orange Bowl tonight. What do they all have in common? Kansas! Because Kansas produces winners like me.

Hello Year of the Rat

Again, it seems apropos to commemorate the Great 2008! with a new post. And perhaps this dawn of the rat foreshadows a significant turn from previous years. It is a shrewd animal all about survival (and spreading fatal diseases, but that's another story for another year), whereas the pig is all about sloth, gluttony, rolling around in mud and smoking up some ganja. Ganja whuuut?

And so my year begins with an end to my couch surfing, anti-social tendencies, and possibly an end to my ubiquitous negativity all in the name of the adapting surviving rat. In that vein of change and positivity, I've decided to be more genuine and sincere* and explain what this blog is about:

Nothing.

Heehaw, y'all, I'm juss kiddin'**.

Mostly, it's about all the shit that goes down, since I seem to find myself in, shall we say, "interesting," situations. I have a sneaking suspicion that these convoluted situations have something to do with my attempts at becoming an adult. (Side-story: it's ego-boosting to know that your ex-boyfriend*** hasn't really bothered with the whole adult thing, despite being in med school. Proof: he calls you on New Year's Eve as a prank - the EXACT same prank he pulled the New Year's Eve 2006 - and says he, "wants you," as his Beavis & Butthead friends guffaw in the background. It's also nice to validate one's brutal dumping of aforementioned ex, in case one happened to have any lingering doubts.) I also have a suspicion that my attempts at becoming a fully-functioning adult are constantly sabotaged by my memories of Mali, as I have lost all semblance of life-direction and realistic goals since returning. So this blog is a record of Post-Mali life, which I assume will eventually merge with Post-Grad life.

And in case you're wondering why the fuck you should give a rat's ass (heehaw, pun totally intended), consider these posts as words of wisdom as you take a stab at being mature - perhaps you can avoid similar life-hiccups. Remember me when you microwave cookies and say "oh yes, Kamdizzle's poignant essay on the dangers of microwave technology has now made me wary of these new-fangled ways of cooking. I'll do the more American thing and cook some raw meat over a spit-fire on my back porch. Because I'm American. Yes. I mean, "YEAGHHHHHrghhh!"


*I'm lying.
**No, I'm not.
***I'm so fucking mature, I'm not going to say his name. He will remain anonymous. Fucker.