Maybe This Is Supposed To Be A Sign

I received a call from Wells Fargo today regarding questionable charges on my Visa. Every time this has happened in the past, I have found out that my card has been stolen. (See: If You Can't Use My Visa Correctly, Don't Use It At All)

Sidenote. An hour prior to this call, my lunchtime convo with iguessironycanbecoolmaybe went something like this:
Me: Oh man, I like this. But I can’t. I really need to stop buying things.
iguessironycanbecoolmaybe: Rules were made to be broken? No. Sorry. You’re right. You can’t. You’re not buying it.
Me: Loud sigh. You’re right. I’m not buying anything
iguessironycanbecoolmaybe: Oh wow, this is so you. You want?
Me: Omg. That’s amazing. Ok when it’s this cheap, it’s doesn’t really count.

And then I went back to the office and purchased a pair of thigh-high boots from TopShop. (On sale! With a Student Advantage Card discount! And free shipping!)

Moving along. I called Wells Fargo. They needed me to verify charges. First charge. Hm. Verified. Second charge. Yup. Verified. Third charge. Wait. Where was that? Was that me? More information, please. Ohhh. Right. Yup. Verified. Fourth charge. Uhhh let me think. Oh yeah. Verified. Fifth charge. Definitely me. Verified.

“Thank you for verifying these charges. If you need further assistance, please call the customer care number on the back of your card. Goodbye.”

Oh, you’re welcome!

I get it, Jesus.

Life is Confusing

En route to my Sketch Writing class at Second City, I decided to grab a coconut water from the convenience store on the corner. I turned into the entrance and came to an abrupt halt in front of the door. The door was closed.

Inner monologue:
What?! It's closed?! How is it closed at 10:30 in the morning?! Ugh, I really want a coconut water dieeee. What time does it open? (Eyes search frantically for a sign posting the store hours.) Wait, it opens at 9. It's 10:30. I don't understand... Ohhhh. It is open. Thank God!

This inner monologue took me approximately 15 seconds to get through, all the while standing directly in front of the obviously non-automatic door. That must have been fun for all the people inside. If I hadn't been distracted by the 18,000 advertisements covering the glass, I might have seen those people and saved myself some crucial time slash embarrassment. (Probably not.)

Moral of the story: If the door is closed, it does not necessarily mean that the store itself is closed.

In unrelated news, please sign my petition to convert all convenience store doors to those of the automatic variety.

That's all.

Neighborhood Whore Watch

There are few constants in my life. One of these is my unceasing fear that I will be murdered. When I was a small child, one of my chores was to bring the trashcans back up to the house from the street. I would check the backyard for strangers and proceed quickly to the end of the driveway - ears pricked and peripheral vision in full effect. Once I got near the trashcans, I would run up to them and kick them. Why would I kick them? To find out if someone was hiding in them, waiting to kill me. Duh.

I check beneath my car and in my back seat before getting behind the wheel... I check behind the shower curtain whenever I enter a bathroom... I have been known to walk home with 911 already dialed into my Blackberry, just in case. In short, I don't need any more information to convince me that rapists and murderers walk our same streets. Regardless, two weeks ago, I received information from ithinkironyisSOfunny, informing me that one of these rapist-murderer types was walking the streets two blocks from my home. (Yes, the information informed me. Shocking, I know.) Right. Better keep that mace cocked and ready to go.

Apparently, ithinkironyisSOfunny isn't the only person who thinks I need an extra warning or two.

I was walking down Robertson, late Saturday morning, when a middle-aged woman waved to get my attention. Thinking she needed directions, or something of the sort, I paused and removed my headphones.

Random Woman: "A good girlfriend of mine just told me there's a rapist around here. He just raped someone last week!"
Me: "OMG, I heard about that!! So scary!"
Random Woman: "Oh. Well. Because you're dressed a little...." (Full, slow-motion down and up scan of my general person)

And then she walked away.

Cool. Thanks. It's always nice to know your neighbors care.

My "I'm Asking To Get Raped" outfit can be seen (sort of) in the photo above. I'm on the right. (Duh.) Also, I hate people.

All the World's a Stage?

Yesterday afternoon, I was privy to an electric altercation between an obnoxious hillbilly and a drunken hippie. Where does one see such a sight? On a US Airways flight, of course! As I watched these two disparate characters converse, I was struck with sudden inspiration.

The flight, up to that point, had been completely devoid of in-flight entertainment. The woman next to me remarked on the lack of televisions, and I nodded, adding a conspiratorial "I hate US Airways." To be fair, I hate all airlines that are not Jet Blue, Virgin or Alaska. Jet Blue gives you endless amounts of animal crackers, Virgin provides you with Colbert Report and Real Housewives, and Alaska serves up complimentary wine. This kind of entertainment was unavailable on this particular flight from Seattle to Phoenix.

Thank God a couple class-less souls decided to take action. Wherein lay the aforementioned inspiration? Well, when the incident occurred, I had an almost uncontrollable desire to ask the flight attendants if the altercation was staged.

I get it. In-flight programming, wi-fi, free snacks and booze... Those things are hardly cost-efficient. You know what is cost efficient? An actor. Actors do ridiculous things for a free lunch and always-promised-but-ne'er-received copy. If you offer them a free flight, they will literally do anything you ask them to do. Literally. Anything. In fact, there are so many attention-hungry souls in this great nation, that they would probably do it for peanuts. Honey roasted peanuts, to be specific.

Think it over airlines; this idea has wings.

Get it? Like how usually the saying is that something has legs, but we're talking about airplanes, so I said it has wings?

...

What started as a random act of raucous banter could one day become Shakespeare in the Sky. Hopefully my agent will be able to get me in the room.

Sometimes I Should Be Less Animated

ithinkironyisSOfunny and I went to the Alice + Olivia Shoe Soirée at Palihouse last night.

Feel free to click to enlarge. Yup.

I make that face a lot. I should stop doing that.

Icebreakers Are Hard

See that bow around my neck? Ask me how many dudes took it upon themselves to give me some variation of "It looks like you're a gift for me!"

...

...

The really awesome ones followed that up with a comment on my height. Swoon.

Etiquette Corner

There are certain rules that are followed in polite society. One of those rules is not being a pretentious a-hole.

I am a huge fan of grammar. I can be really obnoxious in my love for grammatically correct turns of phrases. There is a difference between being obnoxious and being a dick.

Example:

We all know that the proper response to "How are you?" is "I'm well, thank you." For whatever reason, it has been ingrained into our society to reply with the grammatically incorrect "I'm good." I don't know how this happened... but it did. And it stuck. And it often comes out of very smart people's mouths. Now, if you are very conscious of this epidemic and carefully answer "I'm well" every time, then this is where the aforementioned rules of polite society come into play.

If you are the initial responder in the how are you repartee, go ahead - assert your wellness with full confidence. If you are the second responder, and your conversation-mate has already tossed out an instinctual "good", please quell your desire to shove your superiority in his face with a 'well'. It's rude. You're literally calling him stupid to his face. If this is you intention, then by all means, get after it; however, if you are not trying to be an ass, suck it up and give the standard American response. People will like you more.

You're welcome.