Fat girl problems

Okay, I'm not fat. But right now, the cravings I'm having are those of morbidly obese woman. You see, I gave up sweets for Lent. And I have a huge sweet tooth. I can sit and eat pounds and pounds of chocolate and unless someone takes it away from me, I will probably continue eating it until I pass out. So for the last 30 days, I haven't had one bite of chocolate, cake, candy, cookie, etc. And in 30 minutes, it's Easter. I mean, it's not like the clock is going to strike midnight and I'm going to run into the kitchen, ready to do some major work on the cheesecake my mom and I made. OR AM I??? No. I've made it this far (please don't ask why I even gave up anything for Lent, I honestly have no reason other than I felt the need to) and I'll make it until morning. But once that dessert tray hits the table, everyone needs to get the FUCK out of my way.

The Gatekeeper

In dealing with the incessant hassle of having to answer my company's sales calls (God I'm glad I went to college), I've recently developed a new identity to help me through them. Her name is Becky Kates. She's a post op tranny. Picture Will Ferrell's voice immodulation skit and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. Just a taste of one of my conversations: Me, in my regular voice: Thanks for calling (company name), this is Joanna Cold caller: Hi there, I was hoping to speak with the person in charge of handling your shipping supplies Me, as Becky: This is Becky CC: Yes, hello, are you the person in that handles the shipping supplies? Becky: Depends on who's asking honey CC: Oh. Yes. This is Jennifer B: Well isn't THAT a lovely name CC: Thank you. I was hoping... B: You know I almost chose Jennifer as MY name CC: I'm sorry? B: Not important CC: How much volume would you say you had coming out of there? B: My hair has TONS of volume CC: No, I meant in terms of shipments. Would you say you do mostly UPS? B: So you mean to tell me you're NOT calling to sell me hair products? Case in point: if you ever want to get rid of someone on the phone, or make someone uncomfortable in person for that matter, try lowering your voice a few octaves, draw out your vowels and you've got yourself a winner.

Don't make eye contact

My friend Moni says I get upset over things that don't matter and I should learn to let things go. What she doesn't understand is that I am waging a war against the homeless crackheads of Chicago and I need a little support. I don't know what it is, but I feel like I'm a magnet for them. Winks, catcalls, trying to yank my groceries from my hands...sometimes I want to drop to my knees, pull a Nancy Kerrigan and yell "WHY ME????" There's a homeless newspaper called Streetwise that's handed out by the unemployed and while I wholeheartedly agree with the mission, I have a hard time seeing the same guy on my corner everyday yelling in my face that I should donate and take one. I mean, I know who he is. I know what he's doing. If I wanted a gotdamn paper I'd take a paper. The public transportation system brings me to a whole other level of discomfort and rage. Why do I have to sit on the train and listen to an irate man walking up and down the aisles screaming about how vile we are as humans that we won't give him money for a sandwich? I mean, how hungry is he REALLY? If I wanted a sandwich, I'd say fuck the train, I'm taking my $2.25 and going to McDonald's. Most recently I found myself in a situation that nearly caused me to open my mouth. I say nearly, because deep down there is a deep rooted fear in being retaliated against and the last thing I want is to get spit on. Or beat to a pulp. This guy was bible thumping. Straight yelling about God and reading bible verses. I was on the phone with my mother, whose voice was now completely drowned out. A woman next to me made the mistake of engaging him in conversation. There he stood, two inches away from me rocking back and forth and warbling about how he put his hand on an oven once and it burned and then he did it again and one more time but finally God told him not to touch that stove because it would be hot. Did God also tell him he was a masochist? Throw in some comments about the Cubs and Sox and how God likes one team more than the other and I legit thought I was going to lose my mind. BECAUSE IT'S ONE THING TO PREACH TO PEOPLE AND IT'S ANOTHER THING ENTIRELY WHEN YOU MAKE NO DAMN SENSE. A deep sense of relief came over me (or was it divine intervention?) when the train finally came to my stop, but not before I heard the guy respond to the woman and say that the opinions of Jews and Muslims didn't matter. It's a good thing my Polish foot didn't end up his crazy ass.

Christmas so soon?!

Thought of the day

There's a woman out there, a fourth, actually, who may or may not be using contraceptives when having intercourse with Rush Limbaugh. If that's not enough to make your vagina shrivel up and wilt, I don't know what is.

And the Oscar goes to...

Jennifer Lopez's nipple.

Crackin' Nuts

In an attempt to channel my cultured side, I invited some friends to the Nutcracker Ballet recently. We sat in the back row, compared men's packages, and snuck in wine. Typical.

Eventually we got caught and were advised to drink our wine in the lobby. "Why aren't we allowed to drink wine, and people are allowed to bring their babies in the theatre?" asked my friend Lizzard. The usher ignored us but as I attempted to chug my $5 cup of Pinot Grigio, I thought she had made a very good point.

Inside the theatre parents walked around holding their screaming infants in their arms. Smaller kids were running up and down the aisles. And I was being forced to suffer through this without a drink in my hand. I attempted to keep my comments to myself during the performance, but things took a turn for the worse in the bathroom:

Me: (coming out of the special needs bathroom)
Woman in line holding squirming toddler: Is there a changing table in there?
Me: What? Why would I know that?
Lizzard: (shooting me a dirty look) No, there's no changing table.
Me: How do you know? You weren't in that bathroom. And aren't you on my team?
Woman: That's okay, I can just use the windowsill. (begins to change baby on said windowsill)
Me: (to no one in particular as my friend had left)Why is this happening to me? Why am I being subjected to this? Am I the only one who thinks there's something wrong here? Babies shouldn't be allowed in the ballet.

As we left the theatre we ran into the same usher who had denied us entry with wine. To her I said: "I just want to let you know that while I was forced to remain sober throughout this ordeal, there are women changing babies on windowsills. Maybe you should have some kind of rule against that too."

"Guys, I'm thirsty" I whined as my friends pulled me out of the theatre. Thankfully I was able to quench my thirst with something other than breast milk.