Thursday, August 31, 2006

My New Place...A Special HNT

Since I've had so many requests for pictures of the new place, I've decided to show you all a part of me that no one (well, except Mona) has ever home. That's about as personal as it gets, eh?

The kitchen...

Where the blogging magic happens...

And the best part...what I get to look at every night.
Not bad. Not bad at all.

I'd show you the bedroom, but I didn't make the bed. Sorry. I know you're all disappointed. Have a happy Thursday, everyone!



P.S. Happy Birthday, Dad! I love you!

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

I'm Alive...But Just Barely

It's done. Well, for the most part, anyways. There's still some pictures left to hang, and a few other odds and ends to take care of, but this bitch of a move is finally near it's completion. I ache in parts that I never knew I had, but I guess lugging boxes up to the third floor will do that to you.

I'm exhausted, but sitting here on my couch now, staring out the windows at the lit-up Chicago skyline, I know it was totally worth it. I love this place, and for the first time in God knows how long, I feel completely at home. I've worked hard for it, and for once, I can honestly say I deserve every bit of happiness this space has thus far provided.

So, who's up for a house-warming party?



p.s. Thanks to Andre and the guys at Aaron Brothers Movers. You rock. I don't know how I would have done it without you. At 33, I'm well past the point of plying my friends with beer and pizza as payment for carting the heavy shit.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Must've Been Smokin' the Crack Pipe

Can someone please tell me why I insisted on getting a bigger place? This moving shit sucks. I just needed to get that off my chest. Back on Tuesday, unless I die of exhaustion first.



Monday, August 21, 2006

And the Winner Is...Plus Other Crap

Thanks to everyone who voted on the costume selection. The "Aye, Matey's" have it (sorry, I couldn't resist the pun). This is the one I'll be getting. The party isn't until October, but I promise to take pictures just as soon as it arrives.

Anyhoo, there's a whole lotta stuff going on at the moment here in Trixieland. I'm moving in to a new apartment next Monday, so I'm going to take a break from blogging until that following Tuesday. Hopefully, things will have calmed down enough by then for me to give you all the attention you deserve.

Have a wonderful week everyone, and if any of you out there are actually crazy enough to want to help me pack, please, drop me a line. Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to get many responses to this?



Thursday, August 17, 2006

Please Help Me HNT

I need your help. I'm going to a pirate-themed party, and I can't decide which costume to get. I've narrowed it down to the two below. Here's where you come in. I'll buy which ever one gets the most votes, and of course, I'll post a picture of me in the winning costume for an HNT following the party. Deal?

I LOVE this one, but I hate the hat. Sorry. The hat's out.

I like the hat on this one, and the dress is a bit sexier.

Results will be counted and announced on Friday morning! Thanks!



Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Really, With The Boobs? Really?*

*Yes, Stacy Ballis, I'm openly stealing a portion of that catch phrase from you. Hope you're not upset. Imitation, after all, is the sincerest form of flattery.

I've written about my periods here before. They hurt, worse and worse each month, and obviously, August won't be an exception. All day long at work, the only thing I could do (between trips to the bathroom because I thought I would puke) was sit in my chair, doubled over, praying for death to take me swiftly. Apparently, though, the Reaper is enjoying bearing witness to my pain, 'cuz I'm still here, and my ovaries are thump-thump-thumping away. Bastard.

I've been noticing a new trend lately, too. My boobs hurt so much that it feels as if they've been used as punching bags. No "funbags" here, I'm afraid. It's probably a good thing that I'm single at the moment. If anyone came near them, I'd be forced to chop off their hands. Yes. They hurt that much. I've taken five Advil so far, but they haven't even made a dent.

I've decided to drink a half a bottle of Jameson tonight, and pass out until tomorrow. It may not take the pain away, but maybe in the morning my attention will be shifted to a pounding head instead. Anything is better than what I feel like now.

All of this in the name of procreation. Oy. If you know me at all, then you know there's some irony there.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

They've Got To Be Kidding Me

While doing my usual morning perusal of blogs and news on the net, I came across an article from the Washington Post that outlines the Transportation Security Administration's new regulations concerning carry-on baggage. The complete story can be found here.

Like most of you, I'm sure, I'm not very concerned about the inconvenience of being unable to bring liquids on a plane, or checking my luggage, even though I've had bags that have ended up in both Newfoundland and Copenhagen. Better safe than sorry, right? But what I am concerned with are the facts and figures that this Post piece presented regarding the TSA's budget. Here are a few excerpts:

"The TSA, which has a budget of $6.2 billion and has seen its number of screeners drop to 43,000 from 55,000 in 2002, is one of the last lines of defense in the country's efforts to battle terrorism, particularly attacks directed at airplanes."

"The TSA should have banned liquids long ago or pushed more aggressively to develop technology to detect them because the threat from such explosives has been well-established for at least a decade, critics argue. They also wonder why the Department of Homeland Security, of which the TSA is a part, has seen its research and development budgets slashed from $110 billion in 2003 to $44 billion this year."

I did a little research of my own, and found that there are a little over 300 of what would be considered "major" airports in the US, of which, a little more than 100 are considered "International." So let's do the basic math here, folks. 43,000 divided by 300 gives us an average of 143.33 screeners per airport. Now, of course, there's probably more security in cities like New York, LA & Chicago, and less in say, Oshkosh. But seriously, ARE THEY KIDDING ME? This doesn't exactly inspire a whole lot of confidence in the TSA's efforts to keep the skies "friendly," not that I had much in them to begin with.

And where did all the other $66 billion in the research and development budget go? Well, I think we all know the answer to that question. So let me see if I understand this correctly. We're fighting a war in Iraq under the guise of "freedom and democracy" for their people, while here in the States, a mother has to take a drink of her own pumped breast milk before boarding an airplane? Something is seriously rotten in the State of the United.

I, for one, can't wait until January 20th, 2009.

Monday, August 14, 2006


Ok, so, I've had something on my mind for a while. I have this idea for a new website, and I think it could be a whole hell of a lot of fun. However, before I even consider starting it, I need to do a bit of research. Here's where you come in...

Without getting in to too many details that may give it away, I'm looking for someone who can answer a few questions regarding the legality of taking photographs of the general public. If you're a photographer, or even better, an attorney with working knowledge of how NOT to get sued by posting candid pictures on the web, please e-mail me personally at



Thursday, August 10, 2006

Computer Geek HNT #2

You can see the sister HNT to this here...

And you can buy ones just like them here.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Lucky Girl

I had a rough day at work today. Not rough as in "this totally sucks," just rough as in "man, how am I going to get all this done?". At the point of a near stress-out, my boss (whose timing is always impeccable) walked in front of my desk with a stupid grin on his face, waved at me and then moved in a manner that suggested he was walking down a flight of stairs. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, and his act of goofiness reminded me just how lucky I am to have my job. Even at the craziest of times, I've still got it better than 99% of the people I know.

I decided to write a list of all the things I love about my job. I thought I'd post it for all of you, not to make you jealous, but to let you know that if you hate your job, there really ARE better opportunities out there. Here they are, in no particular order:

Twelve Reasons Trixie Loves Her Job:

1. Daily Starbuck's runs are considered a necessity, not a luxury.

2. It's part of my job description to keep the office stocked with the following at all times for general consumption:
a) Assorted chocolate candies (must include Kit Kat & Trix bars)
b) Assorted Munchies (microwave popcorn, Macadamia nuts, etc.)
c) A large bottle of Grey Goose Vodka in the freezer, and a bottle of Patron Silver tequila, with appropriate mixers
d) Assorted bottles of beer in the fridge
e) Assorted bottles of wine

3. On a regular basis, my boss rides his bike throughout the office, quoting 40 Year-Old Virgin lines.

4. We order lunch in every day. The company pays.

5. I can wear a baseball hat & jeans.

6. 4 weeks paid vacation, baby, plus all federal (and some Jewish) holidays off.

7. I can scream "FUCK" out loud, and no one cares.

8. I can scream "FUCKING ASSHOLE" out loud, and no one cares.

9. If I tell my boss I have cramps, he leaves me alone for the entire day.

10. I recently received a 10% raise. Who gives out 10% raises anymore?

11. If I go out drinking with the boss' wife, SHE tells HIM that I won't be getting in to work until later the next day.

12. They enable me to feed my office supply addiction. I buy whatever I want, when I want. You should see my collection of Post-It notes.

So you see, I've got it pretty damned good. Obviously, they'll have to drag me, kicking and screaming, from this job. But if I ever do have to leave it, who wants first shot at it?

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Yeah, I'm Going There.

Last night, on the way back from O’Hare, I had a hellish train ride that prompted this post. Now, before I say anything else, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. I am not now, nor will I ever be a racist. The color of a person’s skin, or the nation they come from, has absolutely no bearing on my impression of them, but this really did happen to me, and I’m not going to change it so that someone(s) won’t be offended.

I do, however, have to admit to discriminating against certain types of people based on their words and actions, and I make no apology for it. I have absolutely no tolerance for ignorance and rude behavior, especially when it comes in the form of someone’s complete lack of concern for those around them. Two things happened on that train ride home that had me reeling, and quite honestly, it kept me up thinking for most of the night.

Before I continue, though, I want to explain to you how I feel about the words “black” and “white” when describing a person, because I’m going to use them rather frequently. First, I am completely ok with being called “a white woman,” because, well, I am. Actually, I’m pinkish, but it’s the common term to use when describing a person of the Caucasian persuasion. However, I have a very hard time calling someone “black” because apparently, it isn’t PC anymore. I’m supposed to say “African American,” but I have a hard time with that too.

Let’s face it; whether your family’s ancestry is Chinese, Dutch or Nigerian, if you’re born in the US, as well as multiple generations of your family, you’re an American. Let me put it another way. If a black man went to France and someone asked him where he came from, he’d say America. He wouldn’t say America, by way of Africa, just as I wouldn’t say America, by way of Poland and Italy. Why is there such a need to qualify it?

Now back to the train ride and my issues…

When you catch a late flight in to O’Hare and hop on the El to get home, the train is usually packed. Travelers on their way home are joined by airport employees who have just finished their shift for the day. Sitting behind me were two young black women, both airport employees, speaking, nay, yelling at the top of their voices. Here’s a portion of their conversation, verbatim:

“Shit, girl, my motherfuckin’ boyfriend got his ass locked up again last night.”

“Damn. What that crazy ni**er do this time?”

Everyone on the train was looking at them. Some rolled their eyes, and some shook their heads. There was a family with three children sitting across from me, and I could see the father’s face turn red with anger. So I did what no one else was willing to do. I politely said, “Ladies, there are kids on the train. Would you please tone down the profanities?” My statement was promptly met with, “Why don’t you mind your own fucking business, bitch?”

After that exchange, I remained in my seat, forced to listen the two women behind me loudly saying things like “Who does that crazy white bitch think she is?” and “That cracker-ass bitch better keep her fucking mouth shut or I’ll kick her ass.” I refused to move, not willing to let them see how upset they’d made me. No one came to my defense, not even the pissed off father. He actually looked scared. When it was time for me to get off the train, I left to the sound of the women laughing and saying, “Yeah, you better run, bitch, before we get off this train and fuck you up.”

To say I was shaking at that point would be an understatement, but it wasn’t out of fear. I knew they wouldn’t do anything to me in front of all of those people. It was pure anger and disgust that had my adrenaline pumping. Amazing, isn’t it? All of that simply because I had the gall to ask them to do what common decency states as appropriate public behavior.

These women couldn’t care less who heard them, and even less if people were offended by them. Why is the blatant harassment of people still socially acceptable? Worse, why would someone, whose race is constantly fighting off negative stereotypes, actually behave in the very manner that created the stereotypes in the first place? Help me here, people, because I’m utterly baffled.

The other thing that bothers me is the blatant use of the “N” word. Now, we’ve already established the fact that I’m white, and being so, I cannot possibly imagine how that word makes a black person feel when it’s directed toward them. But why is it ok for black people to call each other that?

I grew up in a neighborhood where being white made me a minority. My group of friends covered nearly a full spectrum of skin colors, and none of us gave a rat’s ass where the others’ families came from. Two of the boys in our group of friends, Shay and Gerard were black, not that any of us really noticed. We all just loved being together.

I clearly remember being at Gerard’s house for dinner one night, when after a silly argument, Gerard said to Shay, “Ni**er, please!” His mother heard it, flew across the room, and slapped him so hard across the face that you could see the imprint of her hand.

It didn’t matter to her that it was said in jest. It was derogatory, plain and simple, and she let him know it. So why, in this day and age of supposed enlightenment, is this ugly word still being used, and by the people whose ancestors fought so hard to have removed from our nation’s vocabulary?

Can someone please explain this to me, because I really don’t understand any of it? What is it going to take for all of us to be respectful and kind to one another? Is it really that hard?

Thursday, August 03, 2006

A Brown-ish HNT

My new brown Chucks, baby. F'ing adorable.