Date rapist of the Opera

Michael and I watched Phantom of the Opera tonight (sidebar: he's worried he's coming off as a "queen" in my posts. Any thoughts on this?). I saw this musical on stage back in 8th grade. At the time, I thought it was brilliant. To be fair, it is a visually stunning musical. But eventually the cheese factor became clear to me. Until tonight, I hadn't seen or heard the musical since the mid 90s. It all came back to me right away though. It's a typical over-the-top Andrew Lloyd Weber style show, but enjoyable nonetheless.

Here's my beef. As far as I can tell, the Phantom is taking advantage of this little Christine. Here's a girl who is under the impression she is receiving free voice lessons from an "angel of music" her dad promised would come to her after his death. How convenient for this pervert living under the opera house! He found himself a delusional dimwit dumb enough to believe this deformed freak is some kind of angel sent from above so she can take the opera world by storm. "Um hey, Christine? I got a message from your father. He said you should give head to the angel of music whenever he wants it. Yup. That's me, your angel of music. Now let's go in my basement and fulfill your father's wishes." To make matters worse, he LOCKS her in her room to keep her away from other men. He's not the phantom of the opera, he's the slave driver of the opera! "Sing for me my angel of music! Sing for me!!" Easy, killer. I'm singing! Didn't you hear my grating voice echoing through this tunnel on our gondola ride to your rape room? As far as I can tell, he gives her roofies when he finally gets her in the basement. I noticed that on her first trip down there, she was stuffed into about 4 layers of panty hose. When she wakes up with a roofie hangover, her scrawny stick legs are bare! That's date rape. Either that or a considerable editing error.
On the other hand... the phantom is hot. I don't think he'd need to weave that web of lies about my dad and an angel of music to get me in that basement.

And frankly, to be fair to the phantom, all this bitch needs to fall in love is a good duet partner. One minute she playing the sing-for-me-my-angel-of-music game with the freak in the basement. The next minute she's up on the roof with the long-hair rich boy going on about sharing each day, each night, each morning (that's ALL you ask me? What else is there devil woman?).

"Hi I'm Tara... and I'm a shopoholic"

If ONLY I had a digital camera. This story would be so much better because the visual of it REALLY drives home the point that I have issues with shopping.

Someone once told me that freezing your credit cards was a guaranteed way to stop the insanity. So, I took my AMEX card (the Blue one, not the Gold one) and froze it. This involved putting water in a sandwich bag and then inserting my credit card in it. I have to say, it looks pretty adorable, kind of like the dice boucing in a cup (see below). Anyway, the idea here is that if my credit cards are frozen I won't be able to make any impulse purchases because I'll have to wait for them to THAW before making said purchases. I should probably put my Nordstrom and Bloomies charge cards in there as well, but I don't want to get carried away here. What if I have an emergency? Anyway, this seemed like a great plan until I realized that there are at least two ways around this, and a third in-a-pinch option:
1. Run the bag under hot water while I put my coat and shoes on.
2. If shopping online, read the credit card number through the bag.
3. The in-a-pinch-option is to crush the ice with an ice pick, ala Basic Instinct, and make a bee line for the Mag Mile.

I have a sneaking feeling that this plan isn't going to work.

http://therealpeterman.blogspot.com/2005/12/real-challenge-here-is-five.html

The real challenge here is the FIVE

I think I saw this on Bone's Blog, and as I am running low on topics (already), I decided to steal this idea. The idea is to write 5 quirky things about yourself. This is no problem for me, since I am a ball of quirks and neuroses.

1. I'm afraid of dark and silence. I sleep with my blinds open just enough so that, if I wake up during the night, there isn't even one moment of darkness. This is a HUGE step up from the days when I slept with the closet ajar with the light on inside of it, which was also a huge step up from the days when I insisted my sister sleep in the same bed with me, even though we each had our own room. I also often fall asleep with NPR on because they play great jazz music at night. And on days when I don't have work the next morning, I sleep on the couch with the TV on.
2. I have the tastebuds of a 7-year-old girl. I haven't tried a new food item since trying guacamole 7 years ago. I've had people offer me cash to try different types of food, and it only strengthens my resolve to turn them down. I can't understand why people take it so personally when I refuse to eat the things they eat. Can anyone explain this to me?
3. When I brush my teeth, I tilt my head- first to the left, then to the right.
4. There's a game called Perudo. I don't feel like explaining the rules of this (drinking) game, but it involves shaking dice around in a cup. And, here's the quirk-- for my money, there is NOTHING cuter than dice bouncing around in a plastic cup. Especially if they are red dice in a black cup or vice versa. Try it; you won't regret it.
5. When I'm stressed out, I like to have someone hold my forehead, creating pressure there, otherwise I won't fall asleep because my crinkled brow (my "worried face") will keep me up all night. When I was with my ex, he used to have to do this all the time, bless his heart. Now that I sleep alone most of the time, I've taken to putting my Ugly Doll, Zero, on my head and holding it there to create pressure. This, needless to say, is a paltry substitute for a warm human hand, but it gets the job done on most days.

Let's not stop there. Honorable mentions go to:
6. I'm terrified of open spaces- lakes, big houses, the ocean (the worst), cornfields, and if I'm all alone, I can't even be in a large ballroom or pool without having a panic attack. Some SUVs even frighten me a little (I'm kind of exaggerating on that last one but I was once in a Ford Excursion all alone and I had to do breathing exercises to calm down)
7. I have Wes Craven style nightmares on a regular basis that involve me being raped, attacked or chased, often by really old wrinkly men. I've gotten so used to it, that I wake up sweating and screaming only half the time.
8. I've been pulled over 12 times (read: I'm a really dangerous driver)
9. I have a considerable weakness for men in uniform, particularly Chicago police officers (see #8)
10.I'm a NeverNude

Does this look like Inner Peace to you?

I have nothing to write about, so I'll write about something that's been bugging me since early September.

As a Chicagoan, I feel I have to keep tabs on Ms. Oprah Winfrey's show. I TiVo it, but I rarely watch it. Frankly, I got tired of showing up to work and hearing all the women I work with saying, "Oh my god! Did you see Oprah yesterday?" Feeling hopelessly left out of these conversations and desperately looking for an "in" with these suburban mommy types, I decided it could only advance my career if I TiVoed Oprah so I could be prepared with my 2 cents when these discussions arise. So Oprah had Jennifer Aniston on for her debut episode for the new season. I think the idea was that Ms. Aniston, after having gone through a particularly public and humiliating divorce, would finally "tell all" about the sticky situation created by "Brangelina" (I think I just made that up). She might cry, right? She might slip and call him a cheating scumbag whore, right? Now THIS is must-see TV right? I've always kind of liked Jennifer Aniston, so when her named popped up on TiVo's synopsis of the Oprah recording, I decided to watch it. As a divorcee myself I was prepared for a good old fashion bitch session. Granted, my divorce wasn't nearly as public, but I certainly know the sting of a failed marriage, even if I might not have been in the same Manolos as Ms. Aniston. I was mistaken, and I grossly overestimated the down-to-earth appeal I thought "Jen" had. This woman sat up there and tried to convince the viewers that she had what she called "inner peace." I think she actually said something about how YOGA gave her INNER PEACE. And here's all I'm saying: This woman was cheated on. Not cheated on like her husband was fucking the secretary and she found a pair of unfamiliar CZ earrings in the glovebox of the Camry. No, it was much worse than that. Her husband, who is widely considered the hottest man in Hollywood, cheated on her with Angelina FUCKING Jolie, who is widely considered the naughtiest, sexiest, freak in Hollywood. To make matters worse, these claims of inner peace come when there are more photos in the tabloids of Aniston and Vince Vaughn smoking, drinking and making out than there are photos of celebrity cellulite! That's not inner peace! That's the definition of a HOT MESS! I would have loved it if she got up there looking a little disheveled- maybe a little drunk, maybe a little strung out. I wanted to see her smoking on Oprah's flashy new set like Dean Martin would have on The Tonight Show when Carson was hosting it. Instead she went up there looking all "at peace" with the unfortunate turn her marriage took. I don't care how much yoga a woman does, the debacle that was her marriage has got to leave a mark. Even if that mark is the hickey your drunk fat boyfriend Vince left on your neck the night before, there damn well better be a mark.

iPod confessions

Below is a list of the songs most frequently played on my iPod, an idea I got from the comment section on Lizzie's Blog. This might get embarrassing. My prediction is that the album/band to the right will be over-represented and that it will be clear from this list that I am a brooding middle aged woman- well, late 20s woman. If you are reading this list and are the type of person to illegally download music (which I AM NOT and I DID NOT use anyone else's list of these items for ideas for songs to illegally download), you should get any song by Built to Spill that you can get your dirty little hands on. They rock. Or you can be an honest consumer of music, like me, and purchase their albums. Built to Spill on Amazon.com

You Were Right: Built to Spill
Car: Built to Spill
Carry the Zero: Built to Spill
This Broken Hear: Funkadelic
I'm On Standby: Granddaddy
Ramp of Death: Stephen Malkmus
Twin Falls: Built to Spill
Fight Test: The Flaming Lips
In the Mouth of the Dessert: Pavement
Underneath the Weeping Willow Tree: Granddaddy
Vague Space: Stephen Malkmus
Strange: Built to Spill
Hold On Hope: Guided By Voices
You're the Good Things: Modest Mouse
Time Trap: Built to Spill
Still Flat: Built to Spill
Baby, I Know What You're Thinking: Mendoza Line
Here it Comes: Modest Mouse
No Other One: Weezer
Singing Sores Make Perfect Sore: Built to Spill
Horse Pills: The Dandy Warhols
Neighborhood #1: Arcade Fire
Fight Song: Appleseed Cast
She said She Said: The Beatles
Thinking of Ways: The Boo Radleys
Love Song: The Cure
Chicago: Sufjan Stevens (my new obsession)

I expect Clap Your Hands Say Yeah to make this list in the coming months. And more Sufjan Stevens. I also just got my hands on the song In a Big Country by Big Country which is a guilty pleasure. I made a New Year's Eve party playlist. It's so good. I listened to it today at the gym on my fancy new iPod, and it actually made working out sort of tolerable.

Step away from the scissors, Dee Dee...

My new 30 gb iPod made its debut at my gym today. It was very exciting. I've had an iPod for a couple years now, but it was time for a new one. So my mom and dad bought me a new one for Christmas. That was pretty much all I got except for a stocking. A stocking to most people is just a few new pairs of socks and maybe a tube of chapstick. But not in my house; my mom stuffs a mean stocking. I got all kinds of new Bobbi Brown makeup and Aveda products. I've been addicted to Aveda for a few months now. I never used to be a person that paid any particular attention to what products she put in her hair. I woke up everyday looking pretty much the same, and I figured my hair was always going to be an ugly frizzy mess regardless of what shampoo or conditioner I used. Then someone gave me a gift card for spa services at my salon. Since I find nothing enjoyable about a complete stranger drizzling oil on my skin and kneading my muscles, I decided not to get a massage, and instead spend the gift card on the Aveda products that they sell at my salon. I bought Shampure shampoo and conditioner. Ever since then, I've been hooked. Every step of my beauty regiment now involves Aveda, which is quite costly but so worth it. Because of that, ever since I started using these products, I actually like my hair. I've hated my hair since I was a kid so this is really great progress for me. I remember begging my mom to let me get a perm when I was about 7-years-old. MY HAIR WAS CURLY, but I thought getting a perm would make my hair better somehow. Frankly, all I wanted to do was look better than Roberta and get a little attention from Frankie and Dominic. Then I went through a phase where I wanted to do everything Madonna did, including writhing around like a whore on a gondola in Venice, pleasuring myself on a stage in front of 60,000 fans, and getting my hair cut really, really short like the cut she sported in the Papa Don't Preach video. Well, my mom couldn't arrange for the 60,000 fans or the gondola, but she did take me to the "beauty shop" (that's what we called in my hometown that was heavily populated by Italians) and allow Dee Dee, my 'beautician', to attempt to make my hair look like the style you see at the top of this post. By the way, if you're picturing that scene in Goodfellas where Ray Liota's Jewish wife goes to the hair salon with all the Italian women, you are on the right track. Anyway, with my ultra thick, curly hair... well, let's just say the Papa Don't Preach look didn't take. I ended up with the beginnings of a pretty considerable mullet. This style rounded out the "Puerto Rican boy" look I inadvertently had back in the early 80s. The puffy mullet commented my perpetually tanned skin and inexplicably deep and raspy quite nicely. Add to that the thick Chicago accent I had at the time, and you had one girl who looked absolutely nothing like Madonna. Actually, now that I think about it, I looked a little like Joe Pesci in My Cousin Vinny. God, that was not a good stage for me. Anyway, I've come a long way since those days. I actually get compliments on my hair now, and not backhanded compliments like, "Wow. You're hair is really.... thick?" And even if I'm not your type of girl, there's no mistaking that I am, in fact, a girl. Not Joe Pesci. Not Al Capone, not the Puerto Rican kid from your 3rd grade class. Just a girl. And until Aveda comes out with a product that can make me look more like Roberta, I'll settle for that.

Family game night with the dagos...

I've spent more time commenting on other people's blogs than writing comment-worthy posts of my own. Above you will see a picture of Millennium Park in Chicago. I have been engaged in an ongoing Chicago v. New York debate with Lizzie. Once a New Yorker as made up her mind about it being better than Chicago, there's no convincing her otherwise, even if she is so obviously wrong. It's okay; I'm used to that. I kind of like being the underdog city anyway. It keeps us grounded.

Christmas was interesting as always. My Italian family is, well, loud. After the Bears game ended, instead of staring at each other around our dining room table for 3 more hours, cutting in half Fannie May candies to find one worth the calories, we decided to try something new this year; we decided to attempt playing Cranium as a family. When I say "as a family" I know most readers picture a few people around a table quietly trying to decipher if their teammate is sculpting a white picket fence or an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie out of the purple clay provided by the makers of Cranium. Those readers would be inaccurate in assuming my family was engaged in any activity even remotely resembling this stereotypical American family game night. Here's how it really went in my family. There were about 13 of us crowded around a small coffee table (admittedly not the ideal number of people nor the ideal surface on which to play such a game), only 3 of whom actually had ever played Cranium. A couple additional people floated in an out of the game, making keeping score particularly challenging. My uncle didn't have his reading glasses on him, but that didn't stop him from trying to be the reader for every turn. Believe it or not, all of these elements would have been tolerable, were it not for the fact that my brother-in-law was on my team, and he had just finished a freshly opened bottle of pinot noir. Our opponents were an assortment of cousins, aunts and uncles, none of whom are familiar with the concept of "inside voices" so there was a lot of yelling, hands flailing and cursing. My brother-in-law and I have a bit of a checkered past, so I should have known our role as teammates would have an ugly ending. When it was our turn, I was charged with spelling 'delicious' backwards. I happen to be quite a good speller, both forwards and backwards (while sitting in traffic, I often challenge myself to spell words backwards- and since I spend a good 2 hours/day in my car, I've become quite proficient in spelling things backwards). However, my weakness has always been in spelling the -ion, -ous and pys- words backwards. I got it wrong and my brother-in-law proceeded to chide me with insults like, "You can't even spell! And you call yourself and English teacher?" This is my biggest pet peeve- this idea that because I am an English teacher, I must know ALL about language. What? Because I am an English teacher, I have to be able to spell EVERY SINGLE WORD in the English language- not just FORWARD but BACKWARD as well? People do this all the time. Do math teachers have to deal with this? Like, when the bill comes at dinner, if it takes the math teacher a few minutes to figure out the exact amount of money owed by each diner, does she hear, "And you call yourself a MATH TEACHER? JEEZ!" How about PE 'teachers.' Or Science teachers? Or are English teachers the only one subjected to this type of ridicule? If I had known this would be my lot, I would have chosen to cut hair for a living, a job at which, frankly, I'd be making more money than I am now. Although, that would make a bad hair day particularly challenging. "And you call yourself a hair stylist? Look at that mop on top of your head!"

I think I have a ghost, and that ghost has a small bladder. Several times/day, my toilet starts running even though no one has used it. Also, I often hear the sound of someone peeing when there is clearly no one peeing my bathroom. Let's hope this ghost doesn't get cute and expect me to spell anything backwards because I'm just touchy enough where I'll have to box its ass if it stumps me.

An Ode to Brian...

I LOVE the idea of stealing ideas from other bloggers. So, in light of that, I will air my grievances here, just as Brian did

1. These jeans keep falling off my ass.
2. Overpriced clothes and shoes are way more overpriced these days.
3. My mom keeps checking the balance on my checking account.
4. 9 episodes of Seinfeld/day on my TiVo are not nearly enough.
5. My hair looks so good these days (this isn't really a grievance; it's just a shameless plug for my great locks)
6. Michael gets more ass than a toilet seat.
7. I saw Stephen Malkmus in concert, and he refused to play even one Pavement song.
8. Michael works with a bunch of homos, one of whom insists on being called Anthony Daniel. Not just Anthony and not just Daniel, but both Anthony and Daniel (p.s. I can say homos because I love the gays and they love me).
9. Are we EVER going to have a president that DOESN'T have a southern accent? EVER??
10.Kai Ryssdal is dead sexy and I'm guessing I can't have him.
11. People in NYC still think it is better than Chicago. Ok, seriously folks, it's not. Let's move on.
12. Jewel doesn't carry Kris pinot grigio.
13. I make about $14/hour and I have a masters degree.
14. I don't see my boyfriend nearly enough.
15. And when I do see him, he refuses to wear his uniform.
16.This is the worst site ever
17. Let's face it; my students are probably getting more action than I am (see #14)
18. That bitch at Benetton.
19. I know the exact wording of the outgoing message on my boyfriend's voicemail.
20. I am a bad decision maker.

A classic seinfeld moment- and a lot of curse words

This might be one of my all-time favorite Elaine moments on Seinfeld. This and the "he took it out" episode. Elaine is investigating Kramer's claim that a mannequin looks exactly like her. She asks the saleslady, whom she calls Natasha, how she can find out who made the mannequin.

E: I'm sorry you can't tell me where the mannequin came from?
N: I told you, I don't know. (in an overdramatic eastern European type accent)
E: Well is there somebody around here I could talk to who WOULD know?
N: Why? (obviously annoyed)
E: Isn't it obvious? This mannequin looks exactly like me! (Natasha rolls her eyes at George) Did you just roll your eyes at him? Because let me tell you something, if anyone should be rolling their eyes it is ME at HIM about YOU.
N: I think you're flattering yourself. That mannequin is wearing an $1200 Gualtier dress.
E: What are you saying- that I'm not good enough for this hideous dress? Listen, Natasha. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing your crummy little Euro trash rags. I'll meet you outside. (E walks out)
N: What is her problem?
G: Eh what can you do?

It reminds me of when Michael and I went shopping the other day. We went into Benetton and Michael spotted a blazer he liked. He called me over to have me look at it. It was one of these "hip" blazers with a hoodie sewn into it. I hate this look. The whole idea of faux layering makes me insane. Just put a blazer over your hoodie damn it. The inspiration for this look probably came from hip young people who live in the city and have to walk to places a lot, so they wear layers. It looks cool on them because it's authentic and it was borne out of necessity. A person who wears a prelayered item, in his/her attempt to look hip, achieves just the opposite and ends up looking so deeply unhip. It's like buying jeans that are already ripped. I am a denim whore, but I will not buy jeans that are already ripped. Get down on your knees and earn those holes- but don't buy them ripped. Anyway, this Ugly Blonde Bimbo Saleslady sees us looking at this blazer/hoodie hybrid and approaches us:
UBBS: Isn't that great? I love that look.
Me: No, it's ugly. I think it's stupid to wear a faux hoodie under a blazer.
UBBS: Really? I bought it for my boyfriend and he loves it.
Michael (trying to diffuse the situation): Yeah, i like it though.
Me: No, it's dumb. Just put a blazer over your hoodie Michael and save some money.
UBBS: You don't like it? You must not be from the city.
ME: Uh, yeah, we're from the city.
She walked away after that. Fucking bitch. What is that supposed to mean? That this ugly blonde bimbo saleslady working at the Benetton in the SUBURBS is so cool that I can't possibly understand her style unless I happen to live in Chicago? She looked like a typical Lincoln Park trixie, and she probably rolled up that morning in a midnight blue VW Jetta with an iPod blaring some shithouse top 40 music. After she was about 5 feet away I told Michael that she was a cunt and we should go back home to our ultra hip home in Bucktown. Where did this woman learn how to sell stuff? Would anyone seriously buy something from someone who basically calls her unhip? Shit no. You'd leave and put a blazer over your hoodie just so that bitch doesn't get commission off your sale.

I got this idea from Brian's Blog I wouldn't mind seeing other people's attempt at this list (see list #7)

1. Seven things to do before I die
2. Seven things I cannot do
3. Seven things that attract me to my spouse/best friend
4. Seven things I say most often
5. Seven books (or series) I love
6. Seven movies I watch over and over again (or would watch over and over if I had the time)
7. Seven people I want to join in, too

Seven things to do before I die:
1. Get out of debt
2. Have a successful marriage
3. Forgive myself
4. Love myself
5. Be a wine and jazz conoisseur
6. Retire
7. Be happy

Seven things that attract me to people I love
1. Loyalty (Brian- ironic?)
2. Willingness to laugh at my jokes
3. Warmth
4. Kevlar/badge/gun/squad car/blue shirt/black pants…(kidding of course)
5. Power
6. A wealth of useless knowledge
7. A good smile

Seven things I say most often
1. That’s retarded (it doesn’t have to be PC right?)
2. I’ve made a huge mistake (or at least I think that often)
3. What’s the date?
4. “I’ll have the pinot grigio please”
5. (I’m leaving this one blank because many of my thoughts are inappropriate)
6. I need a new ____________ (insert overpriced article of clothing or accessory here)
7. “I can’t; I’m broke.”

Seven books or series I love (this one is so hard for me; I’m cheap- I like just about every book I’ve ever read. If I didn’t, I stopped reading)
1. A Farewell to Arms
2. High Fidelity
3. To Kill a Mockingbird
4. Devil in the White City
5. Underworld (not the movie, but the book by Don DeLillo)
6. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
7. Shopgirl (I need to read more Steve Martin)

Seven movies I’d watch over and over (this one is pretty difficult- I am not the type of person who watches movies over and over)
1. Sideways
2. Spinal Tap
3. Moonstruck
4. Election
5. Vacation
6. A Christmas Story
7. Sideways (I’m getting desperate here)

Seven people I want to join, too- many of whom will not
1. CS
2. Lizzie
3. My college girlfriends who don’t even read my blog
4. My BF who doesn’t even know about it
5. My mom (see above)
6. Dana
7. Michael

It's a Christmas Miracle!

I woke up with no hangover whatsoever. Wine is so great for that reason. I can drink lots of it (read: at least a bottle) and wake up feeling like $100, which is roughly $4 more than I feel like the morning after a wine-less night. In short, if drinking pinot grigio and waking up w/o a hangover were an Olympic event, I'd be to it what Mark Spitz was to swimming.
I'm afraid I might sound like a huge lush to anyone reading this blog lately. Remember though, I am on winter break; I don't drink on school nights, unless it's book club night which is only 1 Thursday/month. Michael (roommate) and I celebrated our rock star style recovery from a night of debauchery with a trip to the mall to finish his Xmas shopping. Turns out we ended up spending more money on ourselves than we did on the people on our xmas list. Nothing says Christmas like a new pair of premium denim and hot boots (which were totally marked down) for Tara!
Then the real Christmas miracle happened. I baked. Now, I use the term "bake" very loosely here. Michael went to the store to buy the materials to "bake" Christmas cookies. I'm pretty sure my foremothers didn't have it as easy as we did tonight. He came home with a big box that weighed about 8 lbs. In it, were several large pouches of powdery stuff, to which all we had to add were a few eggs and about a pound butter. Next thing you know, I've "baked" 3 different types of cookies! One was even this checkerboard pattern- sugar cookie and gingerbread cookie- which looked really intricate and fancy. It was really amazing. I put a few on a snowman plate and suddenly I'm Sarah fucking Lee. This baking thing isn't so hard after all!
That said, I am a total failure at being a woman. Technically I am quite good at cooking and baking- even the kind requiring multiple steps and ingredients- but I totally hate doing it, and I pretty much rely on my gay roommate to do any cooking that goes on in our apartment. I'm good at some woman stuff, but not the kinds of things you'd do in the kitchen. Well, I take that back. I've done such things in the kitchen but they're not traditionally supposed to be done there. Anyway, I can't sew, I have no babies, I'm not even sure I want them, I suck at polishing my own nails, I hate romantic comedies and Julia Roberts, and we have a cleaning lady (Michael's idea and dime) so I don't even clean anymore (which I used to be really awesome at). For being raised by a very womanly beautiful woman, I suck. I am a good shopper though, and I walk really well in high heels.
Well, I guess I should technically try to sleep. My roommate and his new beau are sitting on the couch "watching a movie" so I can't sleep out there with the TV on, which is how I prefer to sleep when I don't have to wake up to an alarm going off at 5:00 a.m.
Nite.

Igloo Man

I'm sad today. I can't think of anything to write about that won't make me feel worse than I already do. It might have something to do with being 28-years-old, divorced, broke and dating the coldest human being on the planet. That and the PMS. And I keep making the problem worse by listening to depressing music such as the song below.

I wanna sleep
underneath the weeping willow.
As it cries all night quietly,
It's tears all around me.
I'll sleep there so soundly,
util I'm allowed finally
to wake and be happy again.
To wake and be happy again.

As if that's not sad enough, I keep listening to Karma Police.

Karma police
I've given all I can,
it's not enough,
I've given all I can
but we're still on the payroll.

This is what you get,
this is what you get,
this is what you get,
when you mess with us.

For a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself.
Phew, for a minute there,
I lost myself, I lost myself.

For a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself.
Phew, for a minute there,
I lost myself, I lost myself.

That last part, from "For a minute there..." he just goes nuts. His voice is so intense in every song on this album. It's total suicide rock, but I love it. I wish I could have gotten into even one song that was released after OK Computer.
Well, Michael is on his way home from work. Looks like I might have to open that Santa Margherita tonight.

Maybe my mood will be better tomorrow. Exiting iTunes might be my first step toward not being miserable. Either that or Zoloft. I think the latter requires a prescription.

Good night and good luck...at Toys R Us

Michael and I went to the movies tonight, and as you may have guessed from my title, we saw Good Night and Good Luck. It was so great. I am trying to get it approved to show to my sophomores next semester. They'll probably be bored by it, but I think it is worth showing, especially in our History of Journalism unit, where they learn a bit about Edward R. Murrow. It was interesting. At the end Murrow is shown accepting some type of Lifetime Achievement award. He makes a speech about how if we use television only to entertain, then it is just wires and pictures in a box (I'm paraphrasing here...). He's probably turning over in his grave right now. What an amazing story. If I had more time, I'd like to learn more about jazz and Edward R. Murrow.
I finally did some Christmas shopping today. Rosa and Gianna were first on my list, and that meant a trip to hell, aka Toys 'R Us. The nearest one is on Western Ave. not far from my house. Western is kind of a wasteland. I once heard a stat that Western Ave is one of the longest city streets in the country and the people with it as an address represent a wider range of socio-economic classes and ethnicities than any single street in America. Well, I don't know how accurate that is, but this particular Toys R' Us sure supports that stat. You'll see a 2005 Mercedes Benz S class parked next to a 1996 teal Ford tempo (my first car) on any given day of the week. The owners of these two cars have nothing in common except one important thing: They both have one or more annoying child who will soon be next to ME in line at Toys R Us, screaming, whining and throwing a Diana Ross-sized temper tantrum over some toy or another that he/she didn't get. I'm telling you; I saw a little girl thrashing around in a shopping cart, slapping her mom's hand away as she made feeble attempts to put a hat on the girl because, after all, it is about 15 below out there. So the mom gave up. Her brilliant approach was to just STAND there and let her daughter flip her fucking lid in the shopping cart in front of everyone in the store. Meanwhile, I waited in line 5 feet from this child imagining her in my class someday, throwing this same temper tantrum at my desk over getting an A- on an assignment. No one else seemed the least bit shocked by this display. That's probably because they, being parents, all deal with it everyday. I, being a single person, could not help but be appalled. The child appeared to be possessed by the devil. Her face was red and she was drooling and spitting like a beast. The words "birth control birth control birth control" marched through my head like soldiers on their way to battle. It was awful. I got in and out of there as quickly as possible, but it was easily the most stressful 48 minutes of my day. I am, however, on break now, so the only other minutes of my day that rivaled those in terms of stress level were the 4 that I spent figuring out which scarf to wear- the blue one or the off-white one.
The good news is that, amid all that chaos in Toys R Us, I did manage to buy Rosa's and Gianna's gifts; I even got a little something for Annie's babies, Declan and Junie. Since I have no children, I'm not entirely sure I got anything good; I just know the age on the box roughly matches the age of the recipient. All I need to know is that they won't choke on it. I was amazed at how cheap things are at that place. I bought a ton of gifts for under $100. I'll try not to think about the wages of the people who assembled them.
Well, I'm off to bed now. Good night and good luck....

Fat Ralphie, Buff Gabe and Roberta; or The 3rd grader diaries

So I've discovered that there is a soldier in the US Army reading my blog. He is in Iraq working with Iraqi forces. He puts comments on mine, then I read his, and I think, "Wow. I'm shallow." It kind of makes my blog about sitcoms and sandwiches look pretty useless...
That won't stop me though. I do have deep thoughts, but I usually reserve those for my personal journal- the one I don't publish on the internet for my friends and everyone in the US Armed Forces to read. I've been journaling since I was in 3rd grade. There's nothing like sitting home and thumbing through those old journals. In 3rd grade, I mostly wrote about how both Dominic and Frankie liked Roberta, but no one liked me, except fat Ralphie and Gabe, who was freakishly buff for a 3rd grader. Roberta was my nemesis- my arch-enemy, if you will. She was prettier than me. She could sing. She was smart and rich. I, on the other hand, looked oddly like a Puerto Rican boy because I was always super tan, and I had a mullet. I had to sing with the boys in music class because I had a deep raspy voice for some reason when I was only 9. I was smart but my parents weren't as rich as hers. To be fair to my parents, who were both law-abiding citizens, it's very likely that Roberta's grandpa was affiliated with the mob and her mom probably kept a cash-filled shoebox under her bed, or at least that's what I told myself when Roberta came to school in a cooler outfit from Madigans than the one I had. Her parents were divorced too and she rarely saw her dad, which, now that I look back on it, the fact that I had both parents at home was probably more significant than the fact that she could sing and I couldn't. But, at the time, all that mattered was that Dominic and Frankie liked her, and no one liked me. Those old journals, or as I called them back then, "diaries", are pretty funny to read. I still have a little chip on my should about Roberta. She's probably still hotter than me, and I bet Dominic and Frankie-type guys are always throwing themselves at her feet. Meanwhile, I still get fat Ralphie and buff Gabe types hitting on me. I wonder if she even remembers me. Here I am blogging about her and she probably hasn't even so much as thought about me since the day I moved out of that town in 7th grade. I did run into her once at Nordstrom. She said she was working there part-time, but I like to think she will be working in the Nordstrom shoe department for the rest of her life. Not that the 20% discount isn't probably pretty sweet, but I am a teacher. I'm a role model, god damnit! I make a difference in the world.... or something like that. Plus, I have summers off.
I got to see Rosa and Gianna today (the babies in the Cutie Pies post). Gianna is such a good little girl. The expression on her face in that post is the same one she has all the time. Then there's Rosa. She's a little pain in the ass, but so cute and funny. She has quite a personality. Gianna will too, once Rosa lets her have some of the spotlight. Of course, now my sister is pregnant again, and the new one will be born even before Gianna is 1-year-old. And so develops the middle child complex....
Well, I'm pretty tired. Tara need sleepie....

Heaven is a sandwich

And they deliver. In fact, a turkey with swiss on white is on its way to my house as I write. This is what I love about living in the city. I can have my favorite meal delivered in under 30 minutes for under $15. I suspect they do this in the suburbs, too, but the fact that there are 2 Potbellys within 2 miles of my home means I will never live anywhere but Bucktown.
To me, there is no meal more perfect than a sandwich. I remember I briefly tried the low carb thing (I've tried every diet there is) and I missed nothing more sandwiches. Not my grandma's macaroni on Sundays, not dipping crispy bread in the "gravy" poured over that macaroni, not pizza... just sandwiches. I might have lost a few pounds, but I felt empty inside. It wasn't worth it.

Shiksa-ppeal

That's George Costanza. I watched the episode where Elaine and Jerry try to set George up with Elaine's friend. I saved it to TiVo because it is a classic. I think, based on that episode, that I would be George Costanza's type of girl. I have long, flowing hair, through which he could run his fingers and get them out. There's a pinkish hue in my skin. I'm not by any means to sweet, at least not to the point where he would want to throw up. I'm not sure I'd date George though. Too stocky.
That doesn't mean, however, that I don't LOVE George. He might be the greatest television character of all time. I love a good flawed character, and he is the ultimate flawed character. That's probably why I also like Curb Your Enthusiasm so much. LD is such an idiot, but I love watching him say totally inappropriate things and make idiotic decisions. Sideways is another great film for the fan of the flawed character. Some people hated that movie because they didn't like the two main characters, who were wino, loser infidels. I, conversely, loved them for that exact reason. Who wants to watch a movie about a pretty person making the right decisions all the time. Booo! Do something dumb, god damnit, so I don't feel so badly for always doing dumb stuff myself!
Back to Seinfeld, I go through phases where I am more of an Elaine fan, too. I don't look anything like Elaine, except that my hair is dark and I have "Shiksa-ppeal," but people used to tell me in the late 90's that I look like her. I think it's more my Elaine-esque personality. My grandpa said once that he was watching Seinfeld and "Tara reminds me of that crazy broad Elaine." Gee, thanks Pop. I've been compared to uglier women, such as the ugly girl in My Big Fat Greek Wedding and Riki [expletive deleted] Lake, so I don't mind when people say that, even if they are totally incorrect.

Traffic- (not the band, but the bane of my existence)

This is me on the average day--- sitting in [expletive deleted] traffic. I spend so much time on the Eisenhower expressway that I got a notice from it in the mail the other day saying my rent for the month of December is overdue. This is my 3rd year doing this commute, and it's starting to get to me. Why can't Naperville be in Chicago?

"Winter break" has begun, and I celebrated it by taking boots to the shoe repair and getting my car washed. Woo hoo! I do plan to do a little celebrating tonight, but I have to save money for the inevitable trip to the shopping mall for Christmas gifts. I'm usually quite good at buying meaningful gifts, but these past two Christmases have put me in a considerable quandary. My boyfriend is easily the most difficult person on my list. What the hell do you buy a 38-year-old former Marine, current cop who likes expensive cars, golf and guns and who believes that having clothes in his closet is reason enough never to buy a new article of clothing again? That includes the acid wash tapered ankle levis he still wears. I may have to resort to the tried-and-true gift certificate option. He wants to get a new Mac (yay!) and an iPod, neither of which I can afford to give; I can, however, afford an Apple gift card. I'll throw in a golf shirt and cologne and call it a gift. He bought me new tires for Christmas. Nothing says I love you like a set of new Firestones. Even though they didn't exactly make my heart skip a beat, I sure was loving them about 9 days ago when there were 12.5 inches of snow on the ground and I was sitting in, yes you guessed it, traffic. It's not the most romantic gift, but it was the most welcome gift I've ever received, since the odds of me spending $400 on anything but shoes or denim is HIGHLY unlikely.

Well, I better catch up on the Daily Show and Seinfeld episodes I missed when I stayed with my parents in the 'burbs, which I did to avoid traffic on what was supposed to be another snowy day on Wednesday.

When Not Being Stupid is Not Enough

There aren't a lot of songs on here, but "When Not Being Stupid Is Not Enough" is really good. And what a hilarious title. The song rocks though, much like all Built to Spill's music rocks.
I went to the gym today and saw this same girl I see there every Tuesday. I hate her, with her freakishly-cut calves, tiny waist, tight ponytail and sparkling diamond engagment ring. She always stands on the balcony overlooking the tennis courts and lifts her little 10-lb weights. I putter along on the eliptical and smile at the idea of her losing her balance and tumbling over the edge, landing face first on the tennis courts. It's a sick thought, but it makes the exercising only slightly less awful. Exercising is easily the worst hour or so of my day; that includes the hour I spend in traffic in the morning and after school. When I take kickboxing, I have a whole assortment of people whose faces I picture in my head while the instructor barks "Jab! Cross! Hook! Uppercut Uppercut! Kick!!" I think I could kick some serious ass if I had the opportunity.
I have to catch up on my Seinfeld now. I just TiVoed the one where Elaine finds out Putty is a Jesus freak. I also got the one today where Elaine leaves the naughty message on the Jerry's audio tape. George is so great in that one.

Cutie Pies

Beautiful stranger

Have you ever not seen someone for a really long time, but then you do and even though it's been so long, he looks so familiar that you swear you woke up with him this morning? Like his face is forever imprinted on your brain and in your eyes? I hate that.
I highly recommend the song "Said the Spider to the Fly" by the pAperchase. I don't know anything about this band except that this one song rocks, and I don't really even recall how I ended up with it. The lyrics don't really mean much of anything, but there's something about it. It's just really sad; it's hard to listen to sometimes. There is one line I can decipher. "Good things die... all the time... God bless your heart....Kiss me like you mean goodbye....said the spider to the fly." That's probably not exactly right, but it's something along those lines. It's just clear enough though to make me sad. Go to Amazon and search for it. You can get a free download of the song.
Speaking of indecipherable sad music, I finally got Takk by Sigur Ros. Good christ. This is some sad shit. They aren't even singing in English, but it doesn't take an interpreter to figure out that something very sad happened to the person responsible for this music. Or is it that the listener is sad? Who knows. Either way, I love it.
On a happier note: two episodes of Arrested Development tonight! The first one is new and the next one is a repeat.

Naughty calendar gift idea!

This is one of the items on my Amazon.com wish list.
If anyone out there wants to buy me a gift, this would be an excellent choice.

"Are you sure you want to select this film?"

Last night was a late, late night where the 'nectar of the gods' wasn't as sweet as usual. So instead of another night out on the town with Michael, I decided to stay home tonight; it was time to log some serious hours on the couch where I wouldn't be surrounded by freshmen portfolios. With a light snow falling outside of my cozy apartment (and an adorable xmas tree), a movie was definitely in order. I don't live within walking distance of a Blockbuster, and I sure as hell wasn't going to dig the Prius out from under the now 4.6" of snow, which is now topped of with an inpenetrable blanket of ice and some more snow on top of that. It's complicated, and I was not up for tackling it tonight.

Thank god for Pay-Per-View, right? All I need to do is select a movie, warm up a Lean Cuisine meal (Santa Fe style rice and beans-- note to self: if I ever go to Sante Fe, don't order the rice and beans) and the fun can begin. I looked at the menu of options. Here is what I was faced with:
Herbie: Fully Loaded
Bewitched
Batman Begins
The Interpreter
House of Wax
Kicking and Screaming
various selections in the "girls gone wild" genre (or in AD, Girls With Low Self Esteem)
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.

What to do? What to do? The only truly acceptable option on this list is Batman Begins. He's my favorite superhero. And if any girl is truly honest with herself, she'll tell you he is also her favorite. Hello? A rich guy with a sweet ride and tight black bodysuit- I'll take one of those! Plus that signal? How many guys do you know have a signal? I like how he whispers all the time, too. "I'm Batman." That's hot. I digress... Because he is my favorite superhero, I've seen it already and I wasn't going to pay $6.99 to see a movie I'd already seen once before.

So I did it. I selected Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. It was an honest mistake. I wanted something light- something that wouldn't require me to activate any brain cells. And when I selected this film, my TiVo asked "Are you sure you want to select this film?" This was my chance! My TiVo was offering me an out; "I've seen the kind of stuff you watch, Tara. You'll regret ordering this, Tara." I had an out and I didn't take it. I am ashamed of myself. I felt so dirty. And I took it to the next level while watching it. I was CRYING. Out loud crying, with awkward breathing patterns and tear stains on my pillow. If someone had walked in, he/she would have thought I just received news that someone very close to me was diagnosed with a grave, grave disease. No, not at all. I was just crying while watching movie starring 4 teenage girls. I wish I could say one of them reminded me of myself at that age, but I can't. There was not even a shadow of my former teenage girl self in any of these girls. I have no excuse for watching it, nor do I have any excuse for crying during it and even kind of enjoying it.

I need to go take a shower.

p.s. The Seinfeld is on where Jerry is trying to buy a car from Putty. High five! Classic.

I'm blushing...

Your Seduction Style: Siren / Rake

You possess an unbridled sensuality that appeals to many. The minute you meet anyone, you can make the crave you almost immediately. You give others the chance to lose control with you... spiraling into carnal bliss. A dangerous lover, you both fascinate and scare those you attract.

What Is Your Seduction Style?

Wow.

...Oh Christmas Tree

This is our Christmas tree. We love it. "We" is Michael, my roommate, and I. Michael is gay and he says it's pretty so that's how come I know it's pretty. As we were decorating it, my straight cop BF said he didn't think it was pretty. COME ON!! This photo doesn't even capture the true beauty of this tree. The flash on this camera is such that it could be used to light Wrigley Field in a night game, so you can't see the way the colorful lights twinkle, which contrast nicely against the matte ornaments in various shades of red.

Michael is due home soon. He's single again, and I think that means we'll be "going gay" tonight. Sigh....

I've Made a Huge Mistake

This is my first time on blogspot, and I am pretty sure I will be the only one who ever reads this post. I might be able to convince my latex salesman to read it, but it might not go beyond that.

I took a "sick day" today. Cough cough...

During my sick day, I graded over half of the freshmen portfolios I am storing in my car, which is covered in roughly 4.5 " of snow. An interesting fact: the number of inches of snow resting atop my Toyota Prius right now is the equivalent of the number of hours I spent in my car yesterday 'driving' home from work in the suburbs, which is technically only 36 miles from my home in the city. I've decided to put ' ' around the word driving because I wasn't really driving. It was sort of a combination of sliding, stopping, going, crying, praying and cursing. The only saving grace is that, for once, I had the foresight to use the restroom before getting in my car.

After the commute-from-hell, I was able to skid into a parking spot. This morning, I had to move the car into a new spot (city parking restrictions) and my BF shoveled me a clean spot. Now I refuse to move my car, as I don't want to have to kill the person that takes the spot after I've left it. It's a custom in 'our tribe' here in Chicago to kill anyone who takes a clean parking spot, as they have dishonored the parking code of our people.

Well, time for This American Life, a great radio program on NPR. Normally I don't get time for This American Life because it happens to air on Friday nights, but tonight I am making an exception because the topic is 'lessons we learned from the Mob.' Yes, I'm Italian; No, I'm not affiliated with the Mob.

Word.
Tara