The Honking Game

This morning, I decided that Starbucks was a necessity to get through my Monday morning. Hello Grande Hazelnut Latte to the rescue. Thankfully, there’s a Starbucks across the street from where I work, so I can get there and back in less than 7 minutes. As I walked out of the Starbucks, I see that I had 6 seconds left of my turn to cross the street, so I ran across while clutching onto my red cup. Seriously, those stoppers have saved burns on my hand SO many times!!


I turned around to see that there was still a second left to cross, so I knew it wasn’t just a honk from an impatient taxi driver since the light was still red. I turned back around to walk up to work and I heard the honk again! I checked my pocket thinking that my badge fell out of my pocket. Nope. Still in my pocket. I turned around to see an older truck driver waving and smiling at my “Hi!! Hi Miss” then sped off.


Maybe because I haven’t drank of my coffee yet and slept very poorly the night before, I am slightly more irritated with this than I should be. I just don’t get it. What do you really get out of honking at someone?

-Did I drop something that you were trying to get me to see?
-Do you know me?
-Was I crossing when I should have waited?

If you answered “no” to these, then why am I getting honked at? Because you think I’m pretty? What does that do for you? Do you really think that ANY girl you honk at randomly is just going to hop on into the passenger seat and plant a wet one on you? No. No that is NOT going to happen.

I get really annoyed when my friends tell me, “well, you should take it as a compliment because they thought you were pretty.” Maybe I’m the crazy then, but honking at me is NOT a compliment. Honking is associated with rude or wrongful behavior. I honk when:

-someone cuts me off.
-someone is swerving.
-someone doesn’t go when the light turns green.
-someone is running late and still inside their house, and I want them to hurry up.
-animals are in the middle of the road and won’t move. Geese are the worst!!

How then can I associate honking at me as a compliment?

… and don’t even get me started on whistling.

End to rant of the day.


You Are Not Entitled

Unequal Terms
Did you know today is Blog Action Day? Join bloggers from around the world and write a post about what inequality means to you. Have you ever encountered it in your daily life?
(Don’t forget to tag your post with “Inequality” — or #inequality on Twitter — so that other participants might find it.)
Sharing is caring.
The Daily Post.


You are not entitled. You should not be self-righteous. You are no better than the rest of us. I wrote a blog post yesterday titled “For English, Press 1,” and it received some negative feedback. I do not understand why–I specifically stated that I was in no way saying that people needed to learn English. Nor was I saying that people should be forced to learn another language. I simply stated that I do not understand why people get their undies in a bundle when they need to press 1 for English, because really, who cares? It takes two seconds to press a number to get routed to where you need to be. I guess two seconds is a huuuuuuge inconvenience to some people… 

Well, that generated a wonderful  conversation. (please note the sarcasm) A photo was posted on Facebook saying “I should not be forced to learn another language to accommodate illegals.”

Okay, let’s break that down:

1. No one is forcing you to learn another language to accommodate illegals. The majority of the people in America know English (either as their first or second language), so THEY are the ones who are forced to learn English. Not the other way around. America might not have an official language, but it is difficult to dispute the fact that speaking English is to your advantage in most cases.

2. Just because someone doesn’t speak English, doesn’t mean that they are illegal!!! That assumption is so far beyond ignorance that I refuse to stoop to someone’s naive level to explain this.

Every ounce of me tried to resist posting something in response because I figured I would get some backlash from the person who posted it. So I simply asked, “wait, who is forcing you to learn another language?” His response, “I don’t want to have to press 1 for English.”  Wait, what? How do those two even correlate? Someone clearly did not learn how to write an argumentative paper… I responded saying how it isn’t much of an inconvenience to take two seconds to push a button to get routed to the correct person, and that just because someone doesn’t speak English, doesn’t mean they are illegal. I was waiting to get into this petty argument, but he responded with “I agree.” Hold up, what?? Why was this posted on Facebook to begin with then? For the sake of an argument? Well done, sir! 

I was relieved. And very thankful that nothing more was said.

Until another Facebook notification popped up:

Woah! Well, here we go. How can someone be so hostile at 7:30 in the morning? And already with the caps? There’s no need for yelling! (This should be noted that this was NOT the person from the above paragraph. I have left his name out of this post.)

Wait, I’m “fucked in the head” and “a bitch”  because I am supporting someone’s right to have a call in another language??? You’d think I was supporting the KKK with that sort of reaction… Goodness. This guy seems a little extreme.

This is the worst argument in history. This guy can’t even find a topic to write about. And he definitely cannot spell… How am I the bitch again?

Maria clearly ended that conversation.

After reading through these comments again, I came to an assumption as to why no one helped him when he was in Mexico… When I was in there, I never had an issue with people refusing to help me because I didn’t speak Spanish. We usually ended up having a fun game of charades to understand each other. Must be because I’m not rude and expect them to speak English. Makes sense why no one wants to help this guy. I sure don’t. Language barrier or not, people do not like to help rude people. I would rather struggle to help someone who didn’t speak English, but who still respected me and put forth efforts to try and communicate than someone who spoke my own language and was rude.

But back to the issue at large: inequality. There’s so many ways in which I could write about inequality, but I’m going to focus on the one aspect of inequality otherwise I’d end up writing a book. No one treats anyone like equals anymore. People feel entitled because of what language they speak or what degrees they have. In the case above with Joe – he clearly feels superior to anyone who doesn’t speak English. That isn’t treating anyone with respect. And just because of a language barrier? And then to start name calling simply because someone disagreed with him?

I don’t think I will ever understand people with such a close-minded view of the world.

A Day of Almosts

I’ve never been a fan of almosts or close calls or whatever else you would like to call it.

640am: Josh and I were a few blocks away from the Metra station, but all we can see are flashing red and blue lights everywhere. Great. As someone who rides the Metra daily, it is hard to not think, “well, someone just jumped in front of that train…” I’ve hard many horror stories from people getting stuck on the train for HOURS because someone did that. Yes, that really does happen. As Josh and I inch closer to the station, we see a huge accident right in front of where the turn is to get into the station. I opened my window and asked the officer standing outside, “Hey, is there a way to get into the train station?” He replied, “Nope. No train today.”


Freaked Out Mode activated. We were stopped at a light right across from the station. I asked another cop, “hey can i run over to the station or is it closed?” “No it’s open, ma’am. Do what you need to do.” As we were stopped at the red light, I ran out and onto the platform just a minute before the train arrived.

I almost missed the train.
7:09am: I received a text

MSG: Chase Fraud – Did you make a charge-pre-auth for $1.00 at a computer services company on 10/9/2014, card ending in XXXX? If YES, reply 1. If NO, reply 2.


Freaked Out Mode Reactivated. I called the Chase fraud number and spoke to a lady for a good twenty minutes. Confirming my identity and her explaining that someone had my card numbers. Lovely. Great. Just what I need. Thankfully, it was on a credit card that I got through Amazon and the ONLY thing that ever gets charged on it is my Prime membership, which is once a year, and this is not my main credit card. WEW. The lady I spoke with at Chase told me they declined the payment, most likely because the expiration date was wrong, but I’ll be getting a new card in the mail now.


But I was almost a victim of CC fraud.

9:20am – As I’m walking out of the gym, I noticed the sparkle from the front desk lady’s hand. ADD activated. But then, I realized MY ring wasn’t on my finger. Oh good lord, this is bad. This is really bad. My ring was my grandmother’s that my grandfather bought her while they were vacationing in Greece. This ring means a lot to me, especially because both of my grandparents have passed away. The ring gives me this great comfort that my grandparents will always be very close to my heart.


So I ran back up the stairs, back to the locker room, opened the locker I was using. And there it was. Sitting right where I left it. I had to sit down on the bench for a minute. I slipped the ring back on my finger and just stared at it. I was about to cry until I realize that I was late for work. Thank god for long legs.

I almost lost the most sentimental and irreplaceable item I own.

And this was all before 9:30am! How early is too early to want NEED a glass of wine?!?!

This post brought to you by: The Daily Post: Ready, Set, Done.

Howl At The Moon

“Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness.” — Allen Ginsberg

Do you follow Ginsberg’s advice — in your writing and/or in your everyday life?

-From The Daily Post

I wish I could exclaim, “YES! Of course I let the madness wander.” But I don’t. Not publicly anyway. Not in life. Not in my writing. Why? Well, there’s certain lines of professionalism that I will not cross just to “let it go.” (Cue Frozen.)

To the world, I let the madness go to an extent: If there’s something that I want, I will go out and try my hardest to get it. If I set goals for my self, nothing will stop me from doing that. If I’m scared to try something new, I’ll do it anyway.

I think the most honest way to answer this question today is:

If it doesn’t affect my relationships (friends, family, and the bf), my job or my morals, then yes, I will absolutely follow my inner moonlight and let the madness go.

Privately, though, that’s a whole other story that requires a completely different response. Publicly, I filter myself. It’s necessary to do that in order to survive. However, I think sometimes we need to be able to let the madness go in our heads. We need to let it go in our minds and delve into the depths of our deepest fears. Not everyone has nightmares that haunt them. Or memories that they try to suppress. The ones that understand what it means to try and bury the madness in your head are the only ones who can truly understand what it feels like when the madness takes over.

You can hide it from the outside world, but you can never hide it from yourself.

Ready. Set. Done: Trivial Thoughts

Today’s post brought to you by The Daily Post: Ready. Set. Done.

Our weekly free-write is back: take ten minutes — no pauses! — to write about anything, unfiltered and unedited. You can then publish the post as-is, or edit a bit first — your call.

Writing without thinking? I swear they did this on purpose because of what my last post was! Not fair!

So I’m on the metra home. Living in Kenosha and working in Chicago really isn’t all that bad. I enjoy the commute. I get to decompress after working non stop (usually reading lunch at my desk because I’m just THAT busy. #PositiveProblems) and the. I can write blog posts. Or my favorite: people watch!

People are crazy. And weird. We have strange habits. Most people are awkward on the Metra. I think it’s because you are bound to sit by someone you don’t know. And that person will undoubtedly be super stinky and sweaty because they clearly misjudged the time it took to get to the Metra, so he/she had to run. Yup. Happening as I write this.

But that’s okay. His zone is only one away. Yes, I know every stop on this line and what stop belongs to what zone. I’m the very last stop so I see all the passes. I mean, what else am I going to do during an hour and fifteen minutes train ride?

Oh, right… Write blog posts!

I’ve been really struggling with blog posts over the last few months. I know I have a lot to say… I’m just… Lazy. Yeah, that’s a good way to put it. Great, now I’m just going to go on a rant of me being lazy. Nope.

Topic avoided.

I’m currently listening to Orianthi. She rocks. Literally. See what I did there???

I’m actually typing this relatively quickly for only using my phone. It’s ridiculous how attached we are to our devices. But I get it. I am on a lot of social media. I like interacting with people. I like learning about new lifestyles and different countries, traditions or customs, point of views. I’ve always been an open minded person. I really like hearing everyone’s opinions and thoughts on things.

Okay, this dude is super stinky. My mind can’t stay on one thought right now. But my time is almost up anyway. So I guess I am going to close this post shortly.

This was the first time I’ve done the free writing. And it’s very fun to read everyone else’s randomness and without editing.

Forgive my Grammer and spelling. I’m on a phone. And I’m not editing this.



To Think (Too Much)

Today’s thoughts brought to you by: The Daily Post: Verbal Communication.

To be, to have, to think, to move — which of these verbs is the one you feel most connected to? Or is there another verb that characterizes you better?

To think. Without a doubt describes me the best. In fact, I should really pick, “over-analyze.” I over-analyze EVERYTHING. For the most part, it is for my own good.

“Am I sober enough to be making this decision?”
“Is what I’m upset about really worth it?”
–> “Will this be worth being mad about by this time next year?”
“Do I NEED to purchase X, or should I really be saving money.”
“Do I really really want this tattoo?”

These are good things to think about. Things that everyone should stop and think about – especially with getting angry. Nine times out of ten times I save myself from losing friends and embarrassment due to my temper. I have learned to control that — this could be an entire new blog post!

The doen to over-analyzing: taking up too much time and energy. I spend a lot of time thinking. I have the time due to my commuting hours. Roughly 3 hours of my day. Sitting. Thinking. Going over past interactions.

“Well what if I said (this) instead?”
“Why did (name) say that? Is he/she mad? I must have said something wrong. I’m a bad friend.”
“Why didn’t (name) get back to me? They must be ignoring me. I should call them out on it. He/she can be all over FB but not text me back? Really?”
“Seriously, why did I pick these nail polish colors? Can you even see my design? It probably looks dumb anyway – I can’t match colors well. Why do I spend so much time picking out polish and carefully painting them only to hate it two days later?”

Conversations replay in my head. Over and over and over. I try distracting myself from these intrusive thoughts by memorizing song lyrics to my favorite artists.

See, you all knew there was a reason that I know so many song lyrics to bust out at random times!

I should be able to refocus my thoughts to writing more blog posts, reading the books I have on my list, or learning to knit like I said I would.

I’m even thinking too much about this blog post…

Daily Prompt: The Sincerest Form of Flattery | Papers


I decided to do a photograph for today via the Daily Prompt: “Copies.”


Here in these binders, you will find every paper, story, poem, story outline, or one liners I thought were important. It’s entertaining, yet strangely satisfying knowing that I’ve developed some skills, to look back and reread ones I wrote — probably frantically — back in high-school and wonder how I thought any of that material was worth writing about. At some point, I hope to revisit the material, that is, if I can get over the paltry ramblings. 

Wine will be a must. 

These are some other entries you should check out. It is a mixture of writing and photos. Enjoy!
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Sometimes The Beauty Of One Is Enought
A Nice Place To Write (Short Fiction)
With Desired Effects…

Weekly Writing Challenge: Backwards

This post is long overdue. It was a writing prompt from THREE weeks back. Yes, three. I managed to write only one phase at a time. I couldn’t’ go back and edit, so please excuse my many grammar mistakes, especially with tense.
This writing prompt (see here) challenged us to write a story backwards. I wanted to go out on a limb and write something very close to me. Enjoy.

Phase 4: Her End
A vegetable. She laid there in the hospital bed. So quiet. Peaceful. But her heart was numb. The oxygen tube wedged between her teeth distorted her smile. It had moved her teeth. That infuriated me. That’s not how she looks. But she was beautiful to me. We held her hands, squeezing harder in hopes she’d wake up, even though we knew better. She couldn’t come back. She was already gone. I imagined her looking down on us being pissed that we kept her on life support even though in her living will she stated otherwise. DNR. Do Not Resuscitate. But we did it anyway. We needed to be sure. As the oxygen machine stopped pushing oxygen into the tube, my Gramps clenched her hand, leaned over, kissed her on the forehead and whispered, “I’ll see you soon. I love you.” and she was gone. In that moment, I knew he did love her.

Phase 2: Recovery
Our ritual of visiting my Grama slowly became easier and easier. It’s never easy seeing someone you loved in the hospital. She was doing better though. Day by day. A very slow recovery, but a recovery nonetheless. My Mom and I would sit in her room, put on House and listen to her complain about the hospital food. “it’s so dry!!” She’d try to whisper in that loud whisper where everyone could still hear, but pretended not to. She wasn’t a subtle lady. But really, who enjoys hospital food?
She’d been laughing and doing much better, even though she talked in circles. But that would never go away. Dementia set in. That is not reversible. But at least she still had her humor. Conversations with her frustrated most people, myself included from time to time. Although, after a while, I’d just sit back and be thankful that she was alive and doing better.
“So what are you doing tonight, Pumpkin?” That was my nickname. I don’t recall when that started.
“Going to the movies. Should be a fun time.”
“Oh! Who are you going with?” She leaned closer to me as if her room was bugged by the FBI, since, you know, going to a movie is top secret.
“Just a couple of girlfriends.”
“How fun. What are you girls going to do?”
“We’re going to the movies.” I tried to hide any frustrations. She didn’t know. It wasn’t her fault.“
“What day are you going? Sounds like fun.”
“We’re going tonight.”
“Are you going with that boy you are seeing?” She winked.
“No, Grams, I’m going with my girlfriends.”
Typical conversations included recounting details numerous times in five different ways. We never ran out of anything to talk about, though. Talking in circles became normal; formulating thoughts outside the hospital room sounded strange. Linear conversations? What was that?

Phase 3: Reality
I couldn’t be happier that my Grams was going to be able to return home at the end of the week. My Gramps visited her every day. Relief sank in when I knew he would not be driving every day to see her.
My grandparents never once said “I love you” to each other. I never saw them hug or hold hands. I never saw any affection between the two. I often wondered if they still loved each other. They even slept in separate rooms. But “love” was not a concept I truly understood. I was only a month into my 20th year of life, but “love” never made sense to me. My Mom divorced my father when I was seven. I did not have a basis to really understand love between two people. I knew My Gramps had to love my Grams, though, as he somehow managed to drive accident free to the hospital. Every day. Every single day.
My Mom and I decided to stop in and see her one afternoon before heading out to finish our errands. We walked into the room: Gramps sitting in the corner chair reading the newspaper, the nurse taking my Grams’ vitals, and the TV blaring….
“Laverne?” The nurse yelled. My eyes froze at her hand pushing on my Gram’s chest.
“LAVERNE!” No response.
I stood there. Frozen. My Mom clenched my hand. “Get them out. Get them out.” the nurse yelled about us. The crash cart blurred by me into my Gram’s room. Nurses and doctors ran into her room. I only saw streaks of blue and white and grey running next to me.
The images in my mind reminded me of House. Many of those episodes look the same. Except House isn’t a real doctor. He couldn’t come to be an asshole, but save my Grama. He was fake. And this was not. It was real. And she wasn’t ever coming back.

Phase 1: The Beginning
I have a story to tell. One that I haven’t been able to tell in eight years without crying through. This is not a love story of husband and wife, but rather, the truth about why it’s hard for me to watch medical shows, walk into hospitals, see Grandparents taken for granted, and celebrate Christmas. I wish I could say this is a piece of fiction. But it is not. This is just a little piece of me.


Here are some other bloggers who participated in this challenge. I liked their posts and decided to share:

Weekly Photo Challenge: An Unusual POV



This week’s photo challenge (found here) required an unusual POV. Photography is, and never will be, my strong suit. Today however, appears to be quite the opposite. I promise this was nothing but an accident. A coworker needed to make a trip to Chase – a trip I make almost daily, as the gym I work out at is across the street. It was like any other trip I’ve made: running across the street trying not to get hit by buses or taxis. My mother would kill me if she knew how unsafe I was crossing roads. Apparently, I learned nothing as a child. I waited for her in the waiting area, looked out the window and…. LIGHT BULB… snapped this photo. I would really like to know what I looked like on the security camera: crouching down and awkwardly adjusting in my chair. I’m sure I made someone laugh. I’m a wee bit proud if it, I must say. Although, admittedly, black and white makes everything look better. But that’s just my opinion.
Happy Friday.

Check out my fellow bloggers. I love their posts:

Weekly Photo Challenge: Colour | Blame It On The Alcohol



Blame It On The Alcohol

Everyone who knows me, knows I love wine. And while this brand is not a brand I ever buy, the colors caught my attention. Color my world in wine, please! It’s no wonder that people are attracted to the alcohol section of grocery stores. The vibrant colors lure us in. “Buy me! Buy me!”

Do you have the willpower to resist?