Public Service Announcement: Don’t Be a Douchejingle

After just seeing a tweet on the topic, I decided to issue a random public service announcement:

Think, think, THINK before purchasing a dog – or any other pet – this holiday season.

I know we’ve all seen the ridiculous jewelry commercials where the puppy with the red bow around its neck has an engagement ring secured to its collar and trots into the bedroom where its new owner waits unknowingly that her whole life is about to be fucked because she’s going to say yes to some doucheballoon who is really sleeping with her best friends but is creative enough to slam diamonds and fur together for Christmas. FUCK. Anyhow, that commercial is super cute and makes everyone want to go out and purchase a furry bundle of love, but for the love of titties people, THINK FIRST.

If you and/or your significant other/spouse/married lover have never had to take care of another living being before, are you sure you will be able to swing it now? Honestly, if you work 80 hour weeks and your home smells of dried out plants and the stench of rotten milk from 5 weeks ago, pet ownership….not for you.

I speak from experience. I bought my precious little Lobotronics on somewhat of a whim. Granted, I stalked him for 8 days straight at the pet shop before I bought him, but I was in no way prepared for what I was getting into. Having a dog is like having a child. A child that never, ever, EVER becomes potty-trained. Not even when it’s 80 degrees below zero outside and sleeting jizz from the heavens. Also, dogs are attention whores. This part is actually kind of fun, because attention whore translates into snugglebunny on aforementioned nights filled with jizz lightning. But it can be a problem when it comes to having company over.

Take, for example, my ex-boyfriend. I believe he had insecurities rooted in his belief that Lobo was somehow getting more attention than him, and he refused to come over to my place. EVER. Dude literally once ended an argument via email to me with “Lets be real, you don’t want this to really work out because you no my feelings about your dog.” In the end (aside from the lying, insecurities and stubbornness), it came down to either him or the dog. So I did what any rational person would do and chose the smarter, kinder, more loyal return on my investment.

Long story short, not everyone can handle all that pressure and drama and before you know it, Fido ends up sold on craigslist to some redneck looking to try out a new recipe.

So don’t be a douchejingle this holiday season and overcommit yourself. And if you are the doucheballoon with the engagement ring, skip the dog and up the carats. Same result. She’s still gonna hate you in the end.

Will the Real Twitter Guru Please Stand Up

After being on Twitter for a bit and considering myself fairly proficient in this channel of social media, I have made some interesting observations. As of late, there has been a lot of talk over “social media snake oil” and the people out there who are trying to profit off the stupidity of others. What’s even more amusing to me is the other group of people who consider themselves – if not outright verbally claim that they are-”social media gurus.”

Have you seen the verbal sparring going on between these two camps of Twitterites? I’d like to take a moment to point out that we are on TWITTER and that this is, in fact, NOT the second coming of Christ. Everybody take a deep breath and sit the fuck down.

Btw, did you know you can make $100,000 a day on Twitter?! There are people out there who truly have the secret to monetizing social media if you listen to what they say. They also have the secret to becoming famous and losing 25 lbs. Although I’m pretty sure the answer to that is doing a ton of coke. Which is a secret Courtney Love shared with everyone long ago.

I also love the Social Media User Gurus. These people are part of an elite group who refuse to converse with the peons who have less than 10,000  followers. They, too, have found the secret elixir of social media from which all good things come. The only difference is that their elixir is all intellectual and proper. And is a member at the yacht club. In fact, the Twitter gods have chosen them as a vessel for all tweeples.

Meanwhile, both the snake oil profiteers and the SMUG club have blocked me on Twitter. The former, because they know I prefer to purchase my snake oil from Lifetime Movie Network. The latter, because I say FUCK a lot, and, well, they just can’t associate with people like that, lest it tarnish their guru status. Fucking motherfuckers.

To All the Single Ladies…

Considering that it is Friday and I have already FACEinHOLE’d my entire office, I’m banking on the fact that you, too, are looking for something to pass the time. This is why I bring you this glorious video. You will never listen to Single Ladies the same again. You will, however, likely have nightmares about a Beyonce-impersonating clown. NOTHING is scarier than clowns. Correction: NOTHING is scarier than clowns that listen to Beyonce.

Arachnophuck My Life

There was a post I did awhile back after being confronted by a mutant spider in my old apartment in Lisle. It went something along the lines of “Lisle spiders were bred to suck your soul and then crawl around in your skull whereas city spiders are elegant and sophisticated and blah blah blah.” Regardless of the crack I was smoking when I wrote that post, I am here to recant. City spiders are FUCKED.

Now granted, the run-in I had with this city spider was a make-believe one as it turned out to be a dream (unless I come home today to Lobo, skinned and decapitated with tarantula babies scurrying around his canine skull). But the panic induced by this hallucinogenic arachnid seriously almost caused me to delve into cardiac arrest. I swear to you that I lept….LEPT like a goddamn jaguar onto my countertop until I had the nerve to grab a broom (obviously the sanctioned instrument for slaying tarantulas). After 15 minutes spent moving around furniture with various lengthy instruments and Lobo telling me I’d “better put the goddamned broom down and stop acting like a crazy whore” before he called DCFS and the loony bin, I retired back to bed.

But NOT before texting two people and alerting them to the fact that a 7-foot TARANTULA was supposedly loose in my home. One of these people knows I have a little cray-cray in my blood. The other? Well, I could do without this person knowing I have night terrors and/or a severe psychological disorder. Also, if that person is reading this post, I would like you to know that I am completely normal. I’m actually one of the few women in the city who has nothing wrong with them. xoxo

Oh hai! Iz On Da Interwebs….D’lain Ur Blawgs

I’m back! Yup, it’s me – the negligent blog-writer who abandons her readers for weeks at a time. So before you all burn me at the stake, I want to let you know that there is a good reason – and even greater story – behind my absence. Now if only I could get cooperation from SOME PEOPLE, I could share this wondrous adventure with you. It is a story of wonderment and joy…and joyness.

But since that story is on hold, I’m going to toss some completely unrelated photos your way. These photos depict fur and love and SHEDDING. And Lobo’s overwhelming ability to Jedi mind-trick me into anything by simply being cute (and whispering into my soul that if I do not comply, he is going to release 100,000 years of darkness on mankind). But he is just so goddamn adorable.

iz in ur bedz...nappin on sum pill ohz

oh hai! i ken haz klows up plz?

I'm pretty much f*cking adorable and your human reason and demands are powerless against my delectably sweet face. Win.

I Really Effing Hate Gilbert Gottfried

This is....not us.

If you follow me on Twitter, you may or may not have seen a tweet circa 9:15 Saturday night that I was at a wedding….with someone I had met roughly 21 hours earlier. I honestly don’t even know how to begin this story so I’ll rewind back to Friday nearing midnight. I was hammered like a box of nails at Habitat for Humanity. I was out with some friends but, having imbibed copious amounts of beer followed by two Jamesons on the rocks, it was time for me to go home.

I went outside to grab a cab and was accosted  by some Eastern European gentleman. Ok, “accosted” is a strong word, but they were creepy as fuck. I looked around for an escape route but nothing. I noticed a seemingly normal gentleman enjoying a cigarette near the corner of the building and struck up conversation in an effort to get away from Creepy McFuckerson 1 and Creepy McFuckerson 2. This stranger and I conversed for maybe ten minutes and then decided to go back inside for a drink. Because a drink is exactly what I needed. Totally. But since it really wasn’t, I didn’t have one sip. I just sat and listened as this stranger told me about how his brother was getting married the next day and he was the best man and how the bride and groom had met at this very bar and there was a speech to be written and HOLY FUCK dude how did you NOT have a speech written when the wedding was the next day?! That question got lost among the Jameson spins in my head and I decided it was really time for me to go. Before I left, we exchanged numbers because that is what people do when they meet someone they like or want to make out with and have to part ways.

::This is the part where I pass out for 10 hours and wake up feeling like Fran Drescher and Gilbert Gottfried are debating US policy on foreign relations in my head::

The next morning, I get a text from the best man asking if I had written his speech yet. FUCK! Did I really volunteer for that? Our conversation from the night before was a bit (whole fucking lot) hazy and I could only remember bits and pieces. There was the wedding, and his friend from out-of-state, and then something about toys. OH YES! He is SANTA!! I replayed the convo over and over and then I started wondering if Fran Drescher and Gilbert Gottfried really were debating US policy on foreign relations in my head. That’s when I passed out again and woke up some hours later to a text asking if I was going to the wedding.

“LMAO. Totes mcgotes” was my response. Because WHO ASKS A COMPLETE STRANGER TO GO TO YOUR BROTHER’S WEDDING???

Fast forward to the point where I was batshit enough to actually say “yes” to attending this wedding…

He had to be at the venue early with his brother so he was going to have his friend pick me up. His friend who I had never met. In a car full of strangers. Because I had just met my date 17 hours ago. I got into the car and everyone was exceptionally nice and accommodating to me, the girl their friend had picked up off the street the night before. I AM A CLASSY LADY, goddamnit.

We arrived at the wedding and I was introduced to a ton of people I didn’t know. “Uncle Ted! Don’t you remember? It’s Sarah….the syrup farmer from Nantucket!” Or something along those lines. I won’t go through every detail of the wedding other than to say it was a beautiful ceremony and reception and the Best Man’s speech was flawless. FLAWLESS. Everyone I met was unbelievably nice and the stranger that had taken me as his date even had the courtesy to not slice and dice me into tiny pieces and pack me into a cooler in his trunk, which I thought was really gentleman-like and sweet.

P.S. Congratulations Donny and Julie!!!! Er, Dennis and Janice. Right? Damnit.

P.P.S. This guy texted me this morning to see if I wanted to go to a casino in Indiana. At 5 a.m. I am totes mcgotes in love. Like we’re probably gonna get married next week. stfu.

Ho Ho Holy Shit This Movie is Bad: The Box Review

This past Friday, I went to see The Box with a couple of friends. Have you seen the preview for this movie? Looks great! There’s drama and suspense and, of course, the rock-solid acting of Cameron Diaz. Ok, so it didn’t look like it was going home with any Academy Awards but it looked sufficiently creepy to make for a good Flask ‘n Film. Sidenote: if you don’t know what a Flask ‘n Film is, you need to take a good hard look at your life and ask yourself what the f*ck you are doing.

Back to The Box! It was terrible. My box could have written, directed and produced a better movie. In fact, it may have but we’re still researching who owns the rights on that. Aside from the underdeveloped plot and creepy f*cks lurking around with”O face,” let me also point out  how the musical theme was reminiscent of a 4th grade recorder recital.

Brief plot summary:

Woman presses button. Then there’s some business about a frontal lobe lobotomy? Oh wait, hit by a train. And water transports you to a hangar. Perfectly logical. And then there’s nose bleeds, which obviously leads to speaking and hearing disorders followed by a potential library rendition of Thriller. Santa!!

SPOILER ALERT!!!:

This movie is the visual equivalent of word salad.

Lobo Takes On Lake Michigan

The great Lobotronics is mere days away from being a permanent city resident. As a preparatory course on not being a complete dick in the Second City, I brought him down a couple weeks ago to adapt to the atmosphere and attractions. Part of this unique experience was seeing Lake Michigan for the first time and boy was he excited! Or terrified. Or completely f*cking clueless.

Lobo, honey, if you are watching – mommy means this all in fun. Also, she is extremely proud that you are able to chillax without incident at River Shannon for hours on end. As I explained to you in the car ride down, that is a staple of city living. And part of mommy’s self-medicating behavior. Who wants a cookie!!

Eating My Way Through Near North Chicago

Oooh pretty fall picture!

Raise your hands if you’ve ever been on a food tour in Chicago… Shit. I can’t see your hands so this was an epic fail. Ok, well I have and I’m going to tell you about it because I have a blog and that’s what bloggers do, they write about shit and people read it and think “Oh wow, this blogger is all-wise and knowing and actually has great taste in shoes so if she says it, it must be true” and then I take over the world and everyone lives happily ever after. But really, I’m going to tell you about my food tour so strap in and shut up because this tale is epic.

The food tour I went on was done by Chicago Food Planet Food Tours. The tour started off at Ashkenaz Deli next to the Big Bowl on Cedar Street in the Gold Coast. I was skeptical at first – I didn’t know what to expect or how this worked. To be honest, I was expecting a lot of locals. Nay. There were people from all over, from Michigan to Indiana to Kansas. There were some suburbanites from Lake Zurich and anther couple from Uptown, so the blend was nice. Ok, back to food.

We began with delicious Reuben sandwiches at the deli. DELICIOUS. These Reubens were made with pastrami, though you can also make Reubens with corned beef. Did you know that? There’s a difference though! Corned beef and pastrami are both pickled; however, pastrami is then smoked and seasoned. Bam, bitches! Add in the special Russian dressing and you basically have an orgasm in front of 17 strangers. It’s all part of the experience.

The tea was delicious for this cool autumn day.

From there we journeyed onto Tea Gschwendner. I’m not a big tea drinker. To be honest, I usually funnel diet coke down my throat first thing in the morning and then affix some sort of caffeinated IV to my veins around noon. For some reason, I was inspired to drink tea this morning, and as I sit here sipping on the mixture from water and a Lipton tea bag, I wonder why the fuck I decided to eat rocks for breakfast. That’s right, rocks. Because on my food tour, I learned that tea bags are made from the bottom of the barrel tea remnants aka tea dust. This shit is for real, people, so pay attention. All those fancy tea leaves that REAL tea drinkers use, yea – those are top-of-the-barrel. The bags get what’s left at the very bottom, including dirt and rocks and probably some sort of animal feces (Ok, they didn’t say that last part on the tour but my mind is fucked. What do you want). One other point before I move on. To all you green tea snobs, shove it. Black tea is just as healthy for you. Yea, I said it.

The next part of the tour included a nice walk through the Gold Coast, complete with some architectural background and gossip. We buzzed past the original Playboy Mansion as well as the Florsheim Mansion. This place is something to pay attention to as it houses one of Chicago’s largest single malt scotch collections. ONE OF CHICAGO’S LARGEST SINGLE. MALT. SCOTCH. COLLECTIONS. Are you paying attention?

Do you know where cinnamon comes from??

We wound around the Gold Coast and up into Old Town on Wells until we arrived at The Spice House. Now this was an intriguing stop and I don’t even cook. I mean, I use my Calphalon saucepan as a back-up bowl for when I forget to run the dishwasher. But this place was pretty inspirational in piquing my cooking interest. They house any spice you can think of (all ground and blended on-site) and then some and the prices are fabulous. We also got to learn a whole lot about cinnamon and eat bark that tastes like Big Red. Awesome.

Old Town Oil was next on the map. I wasn’t really looking forward to this one. What exactly is so exciting about tasting….oil? Blech. Then the tour guide Jen, who was friggen awesome, whipped up some sort of concoction and shot it back. SHOT. IT. BACK. Oil shooters! Sounds gross….tastes awesome. You’d be surprised at the different combinations you can create and just how tasty they can be. Another quaint yet profound Old Town staple that piqued my interest enough that I considered using my oven for something other than a spare attic.

That is a giant 10 lb bar of chocolate you are looking at, foo.

Fudge Pot. I don’t even know what to say about this place other than that I was surrounded by surreal chocolate shapes and statues and bars. At one point I was standing next to a melting pot containing 90 lbs of melted chocolate. 90 POUNDS!!! Are these people nuts?! The entire tour is worth it, if only for this one stop.

We took a nice little stroll down Wells to get to the next location, which was Catering | Chocolate. You’d think “Wait, two chocolate places in a row??” But no. This was actually a catering business that handles some fairly high-end clients. They’ve catered for names like Bill Clinton and Obama and catering is where they make the majority of their profit. Where they also bring in the dough (you know you loved that pun, stfu) is from their walk-in business at this particular location. We sampled the hummus and it tingled my taste buds from my tongue down to my toes. In other words, I liked it so much that I just used random alliteration like a creepy nut job. You need to try it.

The final stop was Bacino’s Pizzeria on Lincoln, very close to my place. I critically injured the piece of stuffed pizza with spinach we were served and finished it in about 1.34 minutes. Despite its close location to my abode, I had never been. I will be back and they may or may not need the Jaws of Life to unhinge my jaws of death from whatever delicious nom they place in front of me.

I really cannot say enough awesome things about this tour. I was oblivious to the fact that this kind of thing existed until @ChiFoodPlanet DM’d me on Twitter and asked me if I’d be interested in going on a free tour (+guest) and writing about my experience. Why would I turn something like that down? I brought my friend Thomas along for some photography backup and we went. We ate. We cried. Then we ate some more. And in all honesty, I can say that I will be signing up for the other tour they offer in the Bucktown/Wicker Park neighborhoods. It’s more than worth the 42 bucks and you get a healthy helping of history and information about this fabulous city in addition to some really great food.

Ooh ooh ooh! One last thing before I forget – Jen, our food tour guide, was fantastic. She spoke with authority on the history and background of every spot and was an energetic ball of fun. If there’s one thing that can make or break a tour, it’s the guide and ours happened to be magnificent.

Citibank Causes Twoutrage

If you currently hold a Citibank credit card, you have likely received the letter that starts off something like this: “We are making changes to your account terms.”

In other words: “We are stripping you down to nothing, bending you over, and shoving both fists up your ass until our thumbs come out your nose.”

The letter points out that “in order to continue providing credit,” they need to jack their APR to 29.99%, regardless of how responsible you have been with your credit in the past. That means there are people who are jumping from rates like 8.25% to 29.99%. That would be OVER TRIPLE the rate. And for what? So Citibank can get those TARP loans payed back and start shoving their pockets full of our hard-earned cash once again.

I recently came across this article from ABC7 regarding  a specific instance where a woman accepted a temporary promotional rate, only to have her rate jacked up to 29.99% at the end of the promotional period. Upon being contacted by ABC, Citibank noted that the expiration of her promotional rate happened to coincide with a “broader increase in Citibank’s credit card rates.” The following statement was issued:

“We have adjusted pricing and card terms for some customers as part of our regular account reviews. This is an ongoing process to ensure we offer terms, interest rates, credit lines and products based on individual needs and risk profiles. These changes also reflect the dramatically-higher cost of doing business in our industry.”

It’s amusing to me to see how the social media universe is reacting to this and the Twitterverse in particular has been avidly outspoken. Also interesting is the official Citibank representative on Twitter and his responses (or lack thereof) to this outrage.

I recently had an issue with Bank of America regarding a blocked transaction, which eventually was resolved. It was IMPOSSIBLE for me to resolve the situation via their automated customer service line; however, their Twitter rep (@BofA_Help) reached out to me in a personalized manner and made sure that the appropriate individuals were put in contact with me to fix the issue. While I was beyond outraged with the automated C.S. line, I must admit that @BofA_Help was efficient and effective. Bank of America is obviously onto something with how they are choosing to utilize social media.

Citibank, on the other hand, needs to reevaluate how they are addressing customer service issues on social media sites like Twitter. I took a screen shot of some complaints aired on Twitter within a two-hour period yesterday (see below). In looking at how @askciti handled these complaints, his responses are wanting. It appears most people are getting a canned tweet that goes something like: “@personwearepillagingtopayourfatcatexecs   Saw ur tweet, re: the change in terms. If it would help, our cust. serv team may have sum options or can answer ?s 866-565-7030.”

My guess is that they are expecting kudos for being on Twitter at all and actually “responding” to people. It’s a shame that their “responses” are about as helpful as Bank of America’s automated C.S. line – an aimless shot in the dark. If @askciti wanted to provide true value  to customers, they would be conversing with people, not talking at.

Hopefully, Citibank will learn the same hard lesson that other banks are beginning to learn, and that is the fact that social media is giving people a platform with which to speak out – And they’re using it.

One last thing. Does anyone find it disturbing that the Twitter rep for Citi (@askciti) has the word “Punish” in his last name? Coincidence? Fat (cat) chance.

Another source on the topic:

Glendale News Press