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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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"

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 "