In my dreams...

Ok, Ok. I know it looks like I haven't been keeping up with my end of the bargain (see: entertaining the three people who actually read this), but I have a good excuse.

See, what happened was I won a few thousand dollars in the lottery. And instead of paying off my bills like any normal person would do, I cashed in the cha-ching and bought myself a ticket to the Bahamas for a week. Just me, unlimited amounts of alcohol, relaxation and a tan. In fact, I just woke up from a nap in which I had the wierdest dream where discovered that I am a compulsive liar. Oh, wait. That wasn't a dream...

So, the real story is somehwat less exciting (see: work-related). I picked up another client to freelance for, so I've been spending my extra time working on some new business ventures. This is AWESOME for me, but for you, probably not so much.

Just so you know, I'm around.

Gifts with no receipts...

It’s been a while, but I’ll give it a try…

Once, a boy gave me a piggy bank full of pennies. 365 pennies. A penny for each day we had spent together. A single cent for each memory we shared.
I spent those pennies like my dying wish, and crashed the piggy bank on a rocky road.

Once, a boy gave me his heart. It wasn’t very big, but it was a tight fit, and I liked how cozy it made me feel. Eventually, his heart grew and grew and there was room for more girls than just me.
I eventually got pushed out of his heart, and fell into a puddle on a rainy day.

Once, a boy gave me a thousand promises and a puzzle to put together a little at a time. The promises made butterflies appear in my stomach- just a couple at first, and then more and more, and more until eventually, a single monarch escaped my icy breath. It wasn’t long before the other butterflies followed suit, and took the promises with them.
It’s been five years and I still haven’t finished the puzzle; I hold onto the last piece just so it’s not over.

I wish I didn’t spend those pennies…

I'm a cheap date.

As I was reviewing (see: stalking) Facebook profiles today, I realized that there are only a handful of non-materialistic girls left out there in this world. Own a Coach purse? You're out. Have jewelry that you can't buy on those turny-things at Kohl's for half-off? You're a gold-digger (hehe). Have now, or ever, considered it your lifelong goal to be a trophy wife? You're done (I mean, if you're life was made into a television show, I'd watch it).

So, I have decided to list why I am not materialistic, superficial, or said gold-digger. This may also mean that I'm a two-bit hillbilly, but I'm OK with that, too. Let me note, however, that these choices are not because I don't have money; I simply don't see the point in wasting it on things that won't matter in five years. Life is about the adventure, the journey. Not about who wore it best, or how much it cost. Let's continue, shall we?

1. I have never taken a ride in a limo. Don't get me wrong, I've been asked by bachelor parties and Nsync one time when I was at the B-Bash (that's a whole different story), but these pristine cheeks have never parked in a limo.


2. I could care less about my cell phone. No, really. I don't have a BlackBerry or iPhone, and I don't want one. I feel like they take away from the quality of life (see: my parents still pay my phone bill so I'll take the free stuff over those $90 a month dealies). I only get a new one when I drop a phone in a toilet or in a snowdrift. Don't laugh. It could happen to you. Seriously.


3. My idea of a good time is cheap beer and karaoke. Oh, and if the beer is really cheap, I need a burrito or something caloric and cheesy at the end of the night (see: to prevent upchucking said cheap beer). Feel free to substitute cheap beer and karaoke with 2-buck-chuck and reality television and I'm still smilin'.


4. The only thing designer I own is the bottle of Armani Code I just bought yesterday. And, in my defense, it took me approximately six years and a college degree to stomach the purchase and not feel guilty about it (see: I spent a half hour in my car afterwards wondering if the smart choice would be to return it).

Here's a little Eye Candy for ya...

I thought you'd like to see what I got for Christmas, so I put it all on. Don't judge me. No, really.

I think it's time for rehab...

I have a BIG problem. It's so big, in fact, that it's going to take a wishing well full of pennies to get me over it. I'm in a hole, i'm stuck in a rut, and I can't dig myself out or rev my engine to escape it.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm addicted to television. If you know me at all, you'll know that this is really nothing that new. I've always had a slight dependence on the 'ole boob tube. Nothing crazy, just a hit here or there to stop the shakes.

But now, NOW, I have hit an all time low. I have to wake up in the morning to catch Reba and miscellaneous music videos. I have to come home on my lunch break to catch MTV's True Life or Wife Swap. I rush out the door at 5:00 to make sure I can make it home in time to catch re-runs of Grey's Anatomy and House Hunters.

And to make matters worse, I have about 5,000 channels. I used to only have a couple, and it was much more conducive to my lifestyle. But, my lovely boyfriend thought it'd be a great idea to get a gazillion channels when we upgraded to a flat-screen. "But Babe, it's HD!" But, Babe! now has her ass glued to the couch for a good 6-8 hours a day.

When did this start, you ask? Well, ever since I graduated from college 6 months ago, I have been faced with a ridiculous amount of free time that I never had before. So, I soon learned to fill that time with what's most important in my life- the lifestyles of the rich and the famous. What used to be a small reliance has developed into a full-blown addiction that may require Dr. Drew's assistance and a brief stay at the Pasadena rehabilitation facility.

The first step is realizing you have a problem though, right? So, I'm recognizing it. I, Amanda, have a serious, NO-JOKE, size-large, monstrous, disgusting addiction to television (specializing in reality programs). I am now going to slowly wing myself off the drug. I know what you're thinking, but I can't go cold turkey. I'm not strong enough for that. I just need to cut back. So, for this week, one hour a day of television must be replaced with one hour of reading.

I'll keep you posted...

Corrupt politicians...What else is new?

Why Chicago is going down the shitter.
Now, I may be taking out all of my angst for Chicago politics on Huberman, but...I'm ok with that. Let me explain. Huberman, the chief of Chicago Public Schools, has taxpayers forking out $1,800 a month on his "private travel." I don't know about other taxpayers, but I could care less how this sponge gets around town. Hell, he can take a bus or the El like I had to, or walk down unshoveled sidewalks in a foot of snow, like I had to. Let me also point out that it's not like he is making tiddly-winks for a salary here, either. The man makes $230,000 a year! He could easily afford his own car, or taxi, or take the Metra down to Springfield like everyone else! The Chicago Public schools are cutting important programs like music and art classes, and this asshole is taking taxpayer money, $21,600 of it annually, for his liesure!
The real problem is that it's not just one poltician reverse-Robin Hooding himself, it's all of them. They are taking our money, our HARD-EARNED money, and making a mockery of us all. The Chicago Public Schools need all the help they can get. Huberman should be donating to these kids, not taking their futures away from them. If you'll excuse me, I have to go throw-up now...

The Short List.

My life has been one crazy-ass roller-coaster ride of ups and downs, twists and turns and gyrating insanity. But with all the things I've done, or attempted to do, there's still a few things that I haven't gotten around to just yet...
In keeping with familiar lingo, I guess we could term this collection the "Bucket List," but just so you know, I'm not a big fan of cliches. So, don't get used to it...
1. Change a flat tire.
2. See the Eifel Tower and the Louvre.
3. Drive a race car.
4. Publish a book.
5. Spend a week completely by myself.
6. Move out of Illinois.
7. Own a truck.
8. Start a bookstore.
9. Visit a vineyard.
10. Live and love.

A Tribute to Jersey Shore...

When the infamous MTV wonder Jersey Shore commenced, I thought it was going to bomb. I thought it had the potential to be the worst show on television...in history. Now, after dedicating an hour each week to the nonsensical ramblings of twenty-somethings from Jersey, I have truly experienced love.

Before you judge me, let me digress. This show is like a trainwreck- it's so ridiculous that you can't help but tune in each week to see whose hair got higher, which guidette hooks up with which fist-pumping guido and what drunken ramblings Snookie will fall into and result in a punch to her overly-tanned mug. Each episode brings me deeper under its spell, and I shutter to think what I will do with my Thursday nights when the show completes its season. In case your new to the Jersey Shore sensation, or if you just feel like reliving it, let me break down each Shore-idian for you:
Let's go with the obvious one first- "The Situation." I hate this guy. No, really. I hate him so much I actually want to see him fail at everything he does. And there's nothing that he fails more at than "hooking up" with innocent prey. His quotes are definitely the best of all the characters, though. "It's not a matter of when we hook up, it's just when I decide..." Hes easy to cringe at and hard to like, but he does have some endearing qualities. i.e., his ability to name his abs "The Situation."
And then, there's Snooks. Snooks is the kind of girl that didn't get enough hugs as a child. Her bump-it 'do and tree-stump legs make her stand at about 3'5", on a tall day. I've seen that girl's underwear, and lack of underwear, more than I've seen my own. But she is kind of cute, in that smoosh-her-in-your-pocket kind of way. If she goes tanning one more time, I think her skin may actually start to CHIP off.
Ronnie and Sammi, what a match made in heaven. Ronnie is that hard to stomach, and the two together are actually quite adorable. Sammi, or the "sweetest bitch you'll ever meet," is a real treat. Somedays, shes a little whirlwind of spunk. And others, shes downright crazy. I'm anxious to see if this duo will last beyond the Jersey Shore.
JWOW is...? She might not be half bad if she took those damn blonde-extensions out of her weave, stopped wearing sweatpants with Uggs in the middle of the summer with her undies incessantly hanging out and learned how to dance like a normal human being. That's one bitch I'd want on my side, though, I'll tell you what...
Pauly, or as I like to call him, the Hair Gel King, has been taken under the wing of "The Situation." He's his wingman, and is always stuck with the broken-down friends of "The Situation's" hook-ups. Pauly, get some balls, dude. Stand up for yourself and take the hot one for once.
Last but not least, there's Vinny. (Who?) He's a pretty uneventful character, but it seems like the longer he hangs with his housemates, the more Guido he's getting.

To be an Alumni, or not to be...

Here I am. January 2nd and I'm staying true to my resolution...pretty impressive! I've also made it kind of an unspoken promise to myself to increase my presence on the Web over the next few months. In doing so, I have joined about a thousand networks and groups over the past couple days. I'm not picky; if it has a lot of members and the words "job opportunities" somewhere in the description, I sign myself up. I'm going somewhere with this- I promise.

So, my first natural selection for groups involved my alumni status from DePaul University. This process should have been easy; it should have been trouble-free. However, I ran into a situation that irked me. Maybe irked isn't a strong enough word- it'd be more like PISSED me the HELL off.

ALUMNI is a term that should be reserved for those students who actually graduated from said institution. It's a word that connotates an earned education. Included under this umbrella is late nights studying/partying, countless trimester hours and the big one...$100,000 in tuition. Now I'm not a rich girl, so that's why I get hung-up on the fact that I had to pay one-hundred grand for school; it's not something I take lightly. So you can imagine my sentiments when I see people falsely claiming alumni status.

I guess technically, by American dictionary definition, anybody who attended an institution is an alumni, despite the duration. However, it is my personal one-hundred thousand dollar opinion that alumni should be reserved for those who actually graduated from said institution. It's not fair for you to go for three weeks and drop out and now suddenly your an alumni- that's not how it works. The school doesn't recognize it, so you shouldn't recognize yourself as such.

I'm familiar with how this works. In fact, I did the 'ole one month trial at Northern Illinois University. Let's just say, it didn't work out, and that's totally fine. I don't reference it on any resume's, alumni associations or job applications- it's like it never happened.

The bottom line, ladies and gentlemen, is that I worked hard and paid an arm and a leg for my education. Did you? Then get out of my alumni association!