accepting our oddities

I want to just put something completely random out there. (I mean, this blog is called Daily Randonimity...)

So, I've been thinking...every one of us has some sort of weird habit or routine or whatnot, that, more often than not, we keep to ourselves---only to be exposed to those who are extremely close to us. (And even then, it usually comes up by accident...)

Since turning 28, I've felt like really taking an inventory of my life---and owning up to every thing about myself: the good, the bad, and the downright odd. I think that's because I've discovered that I have a lot to well, discover about myself still. But the first step is to really look at the whole picture. I mean, sometimes I can absolutely loathe myself (typically about 3-5 days in a row, per month...) and other times I embrace myself. Not physically embrace, but you know, I think about what makes me like and unlike others and I try to appreciate it all.

But for the most part, I fall somewhere in the middle...one day I'm loving the way my butt looks in my favorite pair of jeans, or the way I took something overwhelming and turned it into something pretty darn good...while at the same time I'm hating my oily forehead and its never-ending crop of new pimples, or the way I stutter and trip over my words when I talk (which is, oddly enough, one of the reasons I adore the written word so very much).

But I'm digressing.

So, I've realized (and perhaps some of you have too...) I have this...well...I have a slight vocal tick. No really. It's like a little hum or vocal sigh that I don't typically notice. It's actually pretty funny (especially when I catch myself doing it).

Jeff calls it "beeping" which is a pretty good description of the sound. But it's something I can't really control. It just happens.

For the most part, nobody ever brings it up. I'm pretty sure it's because they don't want to hurt my feelings or have no idea how to approach it. But really? It's not a big deal. It's just a part of who I am---and it's involuntary...so there isn't much I could do about it anyway.

But anyways, after 28 years, I've decided to stop feeling self conscious about it, and instead I'm just going to accept it as a quirky Tiff-ism. Inner-randonimity if you will.

And I'll tell you what...it's pretty darn freeing...

*Beep*

oh mr. coffee...

A few months ago, our old coffee maker decided to spaz out on us at work. I had noticed that we had Mrs. Tea sitting on the shelf in a very lonely condition, so I suggested that we replace our broken coffee maker (which was not a Mr. Coffee...) with a Mr. Coffee.

I felt that the previous situation was mildly adulterous.

So, our office manager went out and, upon my suggestion, picked up our new coffee maker: a genuine Mr. Coffee.

Unfortunately, though the thing makes a nice cup of java, the carafe is prone to spills. Doesn't matter how you hold the thing, or how slowly you pour; inevitably, while preparing a cup of coffee or filling up the machine, you will create a large puddle on the counter top.

I recently went in the kitchen to find that my coworker, Chris, had aptly renamed and relabeled the machine: Mr. Spilly.

I should add that shortly after we brought in Mr. Spilly, we threw out Mrs. Tea. This could be the reason for his unsavory behavior...but I digress.

i'm a mush

I was getting something out of the closet the other day at Jeff's house, when I noticed his clothes just chillin' on their hangers.

I took a step back and looked at the collared shirts, and the slacks, and the pajama pants on the top shelf. (I usually manage to steal a pair or two of those pj pants for a few months before he even notices they're missing. Now, his socks? I steal a pair of those and it's like he's got some kind of damn radar! But I digress...)

But looking at all of his clothes, I just got all mushy and sentimental, like, "This is all of my baby's stuff. All organized and pressed, just hanging there, waiting to be worn."

Maybe it's weird, but when he's at work and I'm home alone, sometimes I walk to the closet and take a quick peek at his shirts. I guess it just comforts me a little.

That and he's got this one shirt that has these flaming mutant pineapples on it--which totally makes me laugh.

mini golf

A few weekends ago, Jeff and I took Max to Skokie for some mini-golf. The theme of their 18-hole putt-putt course has something to do with interesting places around the world. The 17th hole just happened to be Africa.

Unfortunately, in this particular hole, you had to hit the ball into a hippo's mouth, but right in the way was a gigantic plaster elephant.

Luckily, my son Max (above), has no problem doing what it takes to make par for the course. I'm just glad that it wasn't a real elephant...after a heavy lunch.

Also:




What the hell city is this?

In other words, when did the Statue of Liberty move to Chicago?

Oh, Skokie...*shakes head*

again with the blast from the past...

I don't know what it is about this week but, damn have I been nostalgic. And it's not like on-purpose nostalgia. It's more like, things pop into my head or something comes up and BAM! I'm back 3, maybe 5, or even 10 - 15 years ago.

It happened again today. See that video up there? Michael Penn's "No Myth." Brilliant song. Well, I was listening to Last.fm again today, and all of a sudden it came on. And in an instant, there I was as the Roller Dome skating rink in north Hammond, holding hands with my very first boyfriend--we'll call him M.

Ah, puppy love. I mean, at the time it felt genuine. I was only 14, so in my adolescent mind M was 'The One." I imagined our lives together: house, white picket fence, a dog, and 2.5 strawberry-blonde-headed children. (I have always wanted to be a redhead, so the fact that M had a reddish tint to his coif pretty much sealed the deal for me back then.)

But when "No Myth" came on, for a moment, the memory of M and the Summer of 1995 (Holy cripes...13 years ago? Really? Wow. Hold on, I need to regroup for a minute.)...

...as I was saying, when "No Myth" came on today, it brought back that memory of me and M at the roller rink way back in 1995. This song was playing during a couple's skate when M skated me to a dark corner, and I had my first kiss under a shower of lights from the disco ball.

Of course, I make it sound so poetic now. In reality I had a mouth full of Bazooka bubble gum and I had no idea how to kiss.

Like, at all.
And the place smelled like hot dogs and nachos.

Anyways, M and I spent that entire summer together, making out on my front porch swing, (This was before the city decided to install landing-strip-intensity street lights on my street, making secret make-out sessions on the front porch virtually impossible.), talking on the phone for hours, and celebrating our month-a-versaries. Yes, I got flowers once a month every month for an entire summer.

But all this nostalgia I'm feeling, I guess it's not so much about missing M. I mean, he was sweet, but it's not about missing M at all. I think it's the innocence that I miss. When it was all foreign to me,and my heart (among other things) was experiencing all of these new feelings, and it didn't have any bad relationship experiences to reference yet. That naiveté is priceless, and when we are going through it, we don't notice it. And really, that's kind of sad.

I wish I could have found a way to bottle that precious innocence up and could have saved some of it, so that I could daub some on like fine perfume every now and again. Just let it wash over me like those orbs of white light from the Roller Dome's mirror ball back in 1995, all sparkly and new.

cranberry bogs and ska music

So, for some odd reason I decided to Google an album that I had about 10 or 11 years ago called "Ska Down her Way: Women of Ska."

I remember adoring this album back in my "ska-kid" days.

I spent countless evenings lying on my bedroom floor--my combat boots with the checkered laces tossed carelessly near the bed, my silver bomber jacket with sewn-on patches from all my favorite bands draped over my desk chair--singing along to that album.

And for some reason, it popped into my head to look up that album again. I found it on Amazon...although it's now out-of-print and only available through sellers willing to part with it. Luckily, many of the tracks can be heard in-full on Last.fm.

But listening to those old tracks again, with their island-y, poppy, trumpet-y melodies, I got to thinking about how much I still love that music. At Fat Cat on Thursday nights, our softball team usually gets together after games for some food and chit chat. We've always sat outside, but on occasion I've ventured inside to use the facilities, and I've noticed that they play a whole lot of ska music. I mean good stuff, old stuff, classic pure root-of-all-that-is-skafully-wonderful, unabashed ska.

And you know what I want right now? Like really bad? Especially since last.fm works like a radio station and is pumping some mad-awesome ska into my headphones right this very minute? (And it's based on what artists I like. For example, if I put in "Agent 99," which is an awesome ska band, Last.fm will continually stream related artists. And right now, they're playing one of the best Chicago soul, reggae, ska bands---ever: Deal's Gone Bad. This. Is. Fantastic!) But I'm digressing...here's what I want:

I want to sing in a ska band.

Not gonna happen, I know. But it's going on my list of weird things that I want to try at least once. It's one step below "Walk in a cranberry bog" and one step above "Visit a llama farm." Okay, maybe it's tied with the llama farm.

I could, possibly combine the two I guess. You know, visit a llama farm with a ska band and put on a show?

Actually, that *might* be cooler in a cranberry bog.

What to do? What to do?!

dollar store bargains part 1

A while back I talked about a trip to about a million different dollar stores in Chicago. This past weekend, I took a walk up to one of my favorites at Foster and Lincoln. It was Jeff's birthday this past week, and nothing says "I love you!" like random trinkets from the dollar store. I've decided to show you what I've bought...so far...and why I enjoy the dollar store so very, very much. So, with that...let's begin:

First:


My First Cute Puzzle. In the same line as "My First Happy Puzzle," "My First Sad Puzzle," "My First Ugly Puzzle," and "My First Trauma-Inducing, Will Require Therapy Later in Life," puzzles.
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This clown is scary as hell. But take an even closer look (if you can stand it)...



"Sleep Happy?" Are you F*@$ing kidding me? There's no sleeping period as I lie awake in bed, worrying that this evil MFer will come and eat my face.

And I'm an adult.

I can't imagine a child taking comfort knowing that freakin' Pennywise is watching him from the outlet by the closet...
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This one about gave me a star-attack...




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Now, I don't even really know what this thing is. Some sort of spinning musical light. Woo hoo.




The real fun lies in the the fantabulous packaging. Let's take a closer look...shall we?



It says:
"Magical Light. Design for the children.
Best quality for your selection.
Welcome to choose our product."

Me: Um...Thank you?





32 Grow the music! Alright!





Um...I'm assuming that this is a unisex toy? Either that, or it could cause seizures AND make you question your sexuality.





Forbidden finger? Moving parts gap? Uh.....I'm confused. Maybe if I look at the more detailed warning section...




This didn't help me AT ALL.
Where's a damn custodian when I need one?
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Ah yes...a construction action figure playset! Woot! Hey, wait? Is that a sticker that says "2" Action Figures? Why yes it is...because if you peel up the sticker you'll find that apparently there used to be 4.

Damn lay-offs...




Is it just me, or do these construction workers look like rejects from Village People auditions?




And apparently, they're made out of cheese...
But what else is in this playset?


Surely something awesometastic to make all of my construction daydreams come true...



Hammer...Check!
Jackhammer...(Freaking cool) and Check!
Wheelbarrow...Check!


Hey...wait a minute. What the...



An axe? Really? For what?




Oh..a malfunction.
It all makes perfect sense now.

Wait...malfunction? Arg...what's "malfunctioning?"





Um...the malfunctioning culprit is either a rock...
or a giant turd.
Neither of which explain the need for an axe...the wheelbarrow, yes.
But definitely not the axe.

What else?



A flag. Nice. But, where the hell is it from?


Holy sh*t on a shingle. What the hell is this?



"Warning: Firefighter!"
Is he trapped in there?!
Use the jackhammer to get him outta there!
Wait...this explains the axe...
Are these guys construction workers, or serial killers?!


Or perhaps they're part of a militia?


Camo green sand bags...



...barbed-wire trench fence?

Hey wait a minute...


"Press Show of Orientation Go"
Great advertising. Really. This sign is so DIS-orienting that you need to visit the all-powerful Press Show of Orientation to get your head on straight again.
It does beg the question however: What the hell does a press show have to do with a malfunctioning turd and the Village People militia?
And also, what did that poor firefighter do to end up in a barrel over all this?
I know:
Code of flammable stifle the forbidden finger to violate the custodian. (In other words, they probably failed the fire safety inspection.)


Really, though...what can I say? I mean, especially when you put it all together:



It's the 4 -- whoops, I mean 2 action figure Construction/Village People/Waste Removal/Serial Killer/Militia Set.

Wow.

The lesson: I'd be less worried about lead poisoning and more concerned about the mental trauma caused by this CF of a playset...
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Proof that our children are growing up too fast:





A newborn with a cell phone? Really? Why?



Ohhhhhhh....yeah. That makes complete sense now...

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And finally, something I didn't intend to buy, but had to because the store owner was staring at me too much for me to simply snap a picture. (Plus, it was only a buck...so why not.):



Sweet Love Douche. Sweet freaking Love? Really? Are you kidding me?

Sheesh.

Well, at least it's "Complete." Wouldn't want some cheap, incomplete douche, now would we?
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Ah, the joys of the Dollar Store. I tell ya, this stuff just doesn't get old.

If you happen to have any dollar store finds, email them to me: tsvitko@gmail.com

I'd be happy to post them in upcoming Dollar Store Bargain posts.

girls' night out

It was my friend Sarah's 27th birthday, so to celebrate the girls all went out to the Office for some drinks. darts, and shit-shooting. It was the first Indiana girls' night I've been involved with (aside from Pioneer Tap Wednesdays) for a long, looooong time.

But it was fun. And after a few hours, the inevitable face roulette and rollercoaster pics were taken. Here are mine:

Face Roulette






"Act Like You're on a Rollercoaster!"






Yeah..it was a pretty fun night. And it took my mind off of a lot of life-adjustment related crap.

holy frozen novelties, batman!

When I opened the freezer and found this...


















...I knew it was gonna be a good day.

attack of the ceramic clown from cyberspace

Just before I left my last job, I decided to leave this as the desktop for the new assistant...whenever they find one.

My old boss ended up taking his clowns home...so it was the least I could do.

shotskis!

A few weeks ago, Jeff and I went to support our friends from Blewt at a fundraiser for their trip to Comedy Central in LA.

A good time was had by all...

...well, unless you count the after effects of Jack Daniels consumed out of a 4-foot ski...

There was also talk of a hula hooping performance...but much booze was consumed, and karaoke sung...two songs were even sung by a vagina puppet...no, I'm not kidding.

So who knows. I will let you know if and when the hoop and I take to the Blewt stage.

introducing: charles leonard

This is Charles Leonard at my old desk, at my old job.

He now sits on my new desk, at my new job.

I think he likes it a lot.

i'm f'in funny...

Went to Pioneer with the girls the other night. Angela recapped her Memorial Day camping trip.

Angela: I got hopped up on McDonald's Iced Coffee, so I was crazy the whole ride. And Danny brought his Michael Meyers Halloween mask.

Me: What did you do with it?

Angela: I put it on at the stop lights, rolled down the window and stared at people.

Me: You nut. What did they do?

Angela: Most of them laughed, but a few rolled their eyes.

Me: Lame.

Angela: Yeah, I know. I was like, "What? I'm fuckin' funny, dammit!"

So I took a picture of Angela, showing me what she looks like when she yells, "I'm fuckin' funny, dammit." But without the Michael Meyers mask.