Girl talk

Meghan: I really like your ring.
Me:Thanks! You know, I don't know where I got this ring. You would think a ring THIS big, I would recall getting it, but I don't. I mean...maybe it was a gift...
Meghan: Maybe you stole it.
Me: Right! Maybe I just lifted it as a rebellious teen.
Nicole: Perhaps you made it.
Me: Yeah. I mean, perhaps it was forged in the fires of Mount Doom. Who's to say?
Meghan: That ring may have evil powers.
Me: It must be destroyed.

Today's Thoughts

#1- Am I overly thrilled by the fact that there's a town in California called "Oxnard"? Um...define "overly"...

#2- To the girl who burst from some other dimension and ran directly in front of my car at the 4-way stop without giving me so much as a glance: Bright purple jacket? Nice choice. Otherwise, you would have been turned into a speed bump by a white Ford Focus today. As a pedestrian you do have the right of way, but you still have to proceed with caution and pay attention. Having the right of way does not make you invincible.

Unless...wait! Now I'm thinking about how you seemed to appear out of thin air. Bitch, do you have powers?!

#3- Speaking of 4-way stops, here's a thing most of Chicago seems to not know! When approaching an intersection with a stop sign it is absolutely necessary to stop when the car in front of you does because, well, you don't have much of a choice. However, and here is where some of you seem to be getting confused, when the car ahead of you goes and you pull forward to the stop sign, you still have to stop. "Again?!" Yes, again. See, the car in front of you stopping does not also count as your stop at the intersection. That's not how this works. Know how I know that? Because a stop sign, oddly enough, is not a traffic light, therefore the process is not the same. I hope this helps you not kill me and/or yourself during the morning commute. (Consider this my good deed for the day.)

#4- Ladies wearing flats without socks in 50-degree weather: Hoes, it is still nippy out. I know you're eager to show a little skin after the brutality that is Winter, but your time will come. Also, my socks and oxfords indicate that you are definitely not any better or cooler than I am. What have you got to prove anyway? Warmer weather is coming, I promise. Relax a bit.

#5- To the customers who try to memorize their credit card numbers then recite them while placing orders: Folks, I've said it before, I'll say it again, this shit is not necessary at all. It is printed across the plastic for a reason, and you are causing yourself much more frustration than you believe by trying to attempt this feat of lunatic daring. I will not think less of you if you are holding the card in front of you and reading it into the phone. In fact, I won't know the damn difference, because I can't see you through said phone. Also, I don't give a shit. Memorize something more useful in this situation like, for instance, which show you want to see or which night you'll be attending. (Though, even that could be written on a Post-It or something. It's cool.)

In the Area of Things That Aren't Important

Today, we explore the marriage of strangers.



I, myself, have never been married. At certain points in my life I have contemplated what it may feel like to be wed. I've even geeked out over the sight of wedding dresses, though I attribute that to my love of clothing more so than a deep-rooted desire to have a fairytale romance. One thing I cannot fathom is how people who are married (or close to being) suddenly feel that the entire universe is just as excited about these nuptials as the bride and groom themselves.

I do not mean to attack my own gender, but nine times out of ten , it is the bride who is guilty of committing the social crime of announcing wedded bliss at the top of her lungs, inappropriately, as if she's really sticking it to the people of the world that she, in fact, does have someone who loves her. Forever. When, truth be told, all she is doing is proving my own hypothesis: the majority of weddings happen purely for selfish reasons, not for love. Hence, the ever-present, ridiculously high divorce rate.


So, what's all this bitching about? It doesn't stem from a slew of broken hearts or a life of unrequited loves. Nor does it come from a lifelong search for my perfect soul mate. No, my disdain towards mouthy brides derives from a very unlikely source: working in retail.


For the last little while I've been selling tickets for a living. More often than not a woman will approach the will call window for her tickets, and the conversation will proceed something like this:

Her: I've got six tickets under Gallagher.
Me: Gallagher?
Her: Yes.
Me: There are no tickets under that name. Is there someone else in the party who may have used their last name?
Her: Oh. No. I mean...you could try Sprouse.
Me: Are you Stephanie?
Her: Yes.
Me: Yep, they're right here. Stephanie Sprouse.
Her: Oh, my God! That's my maiden name. I couldn't remember if I put them in my maiden name or my married name. I guess I still have them under my maiden name.

Okay, we get it. You're married. Do you still want these tickets or do you no longer identify with the woman you were before you donned that white dress and walked down the aisle to your Prince Charming in front of your family, your friends, and a few acquaintances you don't really like you just invited them for the gifts? Am I supposed to take this as my cue to congratulate you? Because the story as to why you can't keep your crap straight long enough to determine which last name you used to book your tickets is not as important as you taking said tickets and going into the theater to enjoy the show, so I can hand out tickets to the 299 other people who are attending the performance tonight.

We may both be women so therefore, I know the pain you feel once monthly. I get cramps, bloating, fatigue, and an extreme thirst for chocolate. But we are not sisters. I am not a squealy girl. And, therefore, I am not ecstatic over your post wedding amnesia and euphoria. You are a stranger to me and, where I do wish you well as a human being, I simply do not take that much interest in your love life.

Please, stop being obnoxious.