When in Doubt, Ask for Help and DON’T Back Out of the Parking Garage

So, you may have noticed that I’ve been slacking on the awesome recently. I mean…I shared an e-mail from my boyfriend, a ridiculous picture of myself, and a ranty rant about dress codes last week.  I was beginning to think that I was losing my touch.

But then…Like magic…All of a sudden out of nowhere I have 15 new stories to tell you. But today I will only tell you one. Because I have to save some of this goodness for a rainy day. Or a brain block day. Or a writer’s block day. Or my memoirs. One of those.

So today I’m going to tell you about last night’s adventure.

I met up with a girlfriend of mine for dinner after work. We had a general location in mind, but not an actual restaurant. We were off to Rosemont (a mere blocks away from O’Hare, where I briefly daydreamed of jumping on a plane to New Orleans.) I arrived with the intentions of finding a place for us to dine, and then I would tell her where to meet me. Really, guys, this SEEMED like a logical plan. Considering I didn’t know the area all that well and everything in the area on Yelp seemed super pricy.

Finally, I made my way to an area I used to sort of know a little bit. There was a movie theater and a parking garage the last time I was there, but now it’s full of restaurants and such. Fab! I thought. We’ll eat at one of these places. So I pulled into the parking garage without a second thought.

Until I got to the second level. $13? That’s fucking crazy. But there were 3 lanes. One didn’t have a ticket dispenser. So I followed that one to the third level. Where I was met with a ticket dispenser. $13? Fuck that shit. Fuck that a lot.™

Except that there was a sign that read, “No refunds.”

So what’s a girl to do when she’s on the 3rd level of a very coned off area of a parking garage?

Back the fuck up.

Literally. I backed up. All the way down around the corner to the second level. Then I inched my way toward the original ramp…the one lane, steep-as-shit, one way ramp.

And some cars starting to come up, so I pulled forward a bit to let them through.

When it looked all clear, I thought…OK. Let’s do this thing. And I started backing down slowly on the ramp. Until a car starting pulling up. SHIT! I put the car back into drive and maneuvered my way back up to the second level. I pulled far enough out of the way to let the guy through, but he must have seen my distressed look, so he rolled down his window to get my attention.

And I looked over and this teenage boy, who couldn’t have been more than 19 looks at me with pity and asks if I need help. I told him my dilemma (not that I had backed down from the 3rd level though. That shit was embarrassing) and he said that I just needed to take a ticket and pull through to the exit. What the what? Really? Why didn’t I think of that? And then he told me to double check with the guy in charge by pushing the…wait for it…HELP button.

After following both sets of instructions and confirming that I wouldn’t get charged by the annoyed parking garage guy who answered my call for help…I made my way safely out of the parking lot and into a free parking space.

And for the record, guys, my pal had equally as much difficulty getting to the restaurant…As she past the correct exit, got off the interstate too far north, and kept driving north until I asked her whether the sun was on her left or right and then insisted she turn around immediately.

But we had a delightful meal and a really cool Irish pub. And then I almost accidentally went back into the parking garage. I swear I’m not a complete flake. Usually.

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Because YOU Asked For It: The Fan Pants

I was having a  little bit of writer’s block this morning…so I posed the question to my pals in the social media world…what the hell should I write about today? And what I got back was brilliance. Today’s post is brought to you by the wonderful world of Facebook, Twitter, and my fucking awesome fashion choices in life. Among other things.

Katie says, “Write about the fan pants!”

Unfortunately, when Katie made that suggestion, she opened a can of worms that will likely take up the majority of the blog post. I can’t help it. We were fashion victims and didn’t even know it. Gather round Blog Friends, and listen to the tale of Bradley. You can backtrack to when I first met Katie (who I very briefly referred to on this blog as Penny…but then she outed herself in her first guest post about Cinderblocks) at Bradley…or you can just join in the fun here.

Katie and I were VERY different people. She was an angry bookworm who wore grunge tee-shirts and wide leg jeans…I was a peppy social butterfly who wore flared jeans with “party shirts.” I listened to pop music; she listened to 90’s and classic rock. She was a Mac. I was a PC. But somehow, we shared a brain. It was like she knew me before she knew me. She understood me. And even when she was secretly (or openly) judging me, she still loved me.

Katie is family. Katie is my butter-churning sister from a past life. Katie and I have had an on-going battle royale fight discussion about our differences in opinion when it came to fashion…She wore Jar Jar Binks boxer shorts with these hideous doggie socks (all. the. time.) I wore fan pants.

Secretly Judging Your WardrobeJar Jar Binks Boxer Shorts

Annnnnyways, what are fan pants? You ask…

Fan pants were a flared pair of denim jeans (my favorite for quite some time) that had pleats in the flares. I’ve always had a thing for jeans that are a little bit different than other jeans. When I was five, I stopped wearing jeans (FOR SEVEN YEARS) because I outgrew my favorite pair of jeans (that were splashed with bright colored paint) and couldn’t find an adequate replacement.

Sweet pants

Me and the sweet ass pants. Making things happen (and looking exceptionally skinny!)

So after plotting out the post about these pants, I came up with a plan. First, I decided that I would try to find them on the internet because the internet knows EVERYTHING. Unfortunately, the place catalog that I ordered the fan pants from more than a decade ago (Shut it. Shut the fuck up now. Stop judging me for being old.) is now out of business and their website is gone. But I did come across an AMAZING blog post about that company…Girlfriends LA anyone? There, I found the following catalog images…

Girlfriends LA Catalog  Bathing Suit

I had like…everything on this page.

Girlfriends LA Bag

See, there’s the bag hiding in this picture of me after graduating from high school…in Florida…

Girlfriends LA bathing suit 2

There’s the bathing suit…in Florida…BEFORE graduating from high school. I was a lucky girl to go twice in one year!

Girlfriends LA Bathing suit

There’s that bathing suit in Florida again. Check out the HUGE headphones.

Girlfriends LA Catalog Sweater

I had the long black sweater

At which point, I decided that it was time to dig through my photo box. And by box I mean giant tub ‘o pictures…

Memory box

This is as far as I got before I gave up and decided that you’re getting enough awesome for one day.

This is the best I could do with the fan pants. There was a better picture of the pants, but I didn’t think you would want to see Shawn til Dawn’s thonged-ass over them…

The fan pants

It’s an angle thing. I wasn’t ACTUALLY that disproportionate…

Alpha Phi Omega Burke Family

Same picture…WAY more proportionate.

And this is also where I found all sorts of glorious pictures of Katie and I. But I’ll only show you this one. And it’s really to make up for the less than flattering picture that I captioned above. But you know, that’s what happens when you secretly judge me.

College girls in party shirts

This was the same year. After we took Katie shopping for “party shirts”

OK, there were definitely more ideas, but I think that this post is quite long enough. Tomorrow I will be posting responses/answers to the rest of your suggestions and questions.

So what else do you want to know about me? Ask me anything and I’ll respond tomorrow!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Strange Thoughts I Think Regularly

I think that this is what they call writer’s block in Chrissy’s World. I typically have my posts pre-written and ready the night before…and now…not so much. And then I can’t think of what to write, even though I have had 47.2 blog post ideas to write about over the course of the week.

So I started thinking to myself,self, what’s up? You think all the time…and you can’t think of what to write. Wait. You think a lot of stupid shit, sometimes. This could make an excellent blog post.

Done.

Random Thought Process

When I say something completely random, Brian often asks me where the hell it came from. So I repeat the entire thought process back to him and he’s all like, “Oh. That makes perfect sense…now.” Because it didn’t until I explained what I was thinking. The same thing goes for when I’m Googling random shit on the internet of my fancy phone. This explains why I Google things like: skunk predators, rhythm method, and salmon burgers. (All this week).

But I also have recurring thoughts

We all know I’ve got a little hypochondriac in me. I’ve often thought and probably said a time or two…If I think that I’m a hypochondriac, does that mean that I am?

Along the same lines, I start to wonder about x,y, or z on my body, and think, what if it’s cancer? What if I have MS? What if I have that shaking disease that Michael J Fox has (At this point, I would Google “Michael J Fox disease” and come up with Parkinson’s)? I go through lists of symptoms in my head and Google the results…According to Google, I am almost always on death’s door. But as Katie mentioned, I would kick Death’s ass in a Scrabble match…so maybe I’d be okay.

I used to have a lot of problems with driving. I was a bad driver. Now, I’m a much better driver. When I say that I’m a shitty driver, Brian says, “No, you’re not. You’re a really good, cautious driver. You may have been a bad driver in the past, but not since I’ve known you.” One of the reasons that I am likely such a better driver has to do with the thought process I have whilst driving.I will often envision the potential accidents, problems, etc that could happen, and how I would react to them. I think about hitting the car in front of me, getting rear-ended, or even getting attacked by an evil deer (More on that later).

Actually, long before I was an adequate driver, I used to think about the excuses that I could come up with when I was driving fast. I’m sorry officer, my boyfriend just broke up with me. My best friend just moved to *insert other state here.* My mom is sick. My grandfather just passed away. I just lost my job… I would think about the excuses, so that I was ready for anything. Except when I wasn’t. And that’s when I got pulled over. The officer doesn’t want to hear, “I’m on my way to traffic safety school and it’s my mom’s birthday,” or “I was just running to the liquor store,” or “Sorry, officer, I’m drunk and going from one bar to another.

There was one time, in which I got pulled over for making an illegal right turn on a red light…The officer asked if I knew why he pulled me over. I told him, “No, officer I don’t.” He said that I made an illegal turn on red. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” He looked at my license and asked, “So how long have you lived in Glen Ellyn?” I was 5 blocks from my parents house… “Pretty much my whole life…” So he asked, “And you didn’t know there was no turn on red there?” My response was priceless. I was going for ignorant and ditzy…”I’m not very observant…” The officer took it as snarky and insolent. Whoops. Ticket.

I often start thinking something ridiculous, weird, dirty, or judgy. And then I’ll think to myself, self, what if someone here can hear your thoughts? Just because you can’t read minds doesn’t mean it’s not possible. What if they can hear every thought in your brain. They know you just checked out that guy’s package. They know you just make a really mean comment about that girl’s outfit. They hear you thinking about how you really want to pick your nose. They know. They know and hear and see all. You can’t hide from this shit. They’re judging younow.

Do you ever have strange thoughts?

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!