Feeling Like a Boob

So after reading about how to do therapy from a textbook for the past 3 weeks, today we had to test out our skills with a fellow student in front of the class. It's totally nerve-wracking, awkward, and superficial, as most role-playing tends to be. Needless to say, my performance was a horrendous failure. Even though it only lasted 5 minutes, by the end I was convinced that I will never be a therapist and was ready to pack my bags. Ugh.

The only good thing was that the prof wanted me to describe how I felt while being the therapist. I got the class laughing at my candor [I used the words horrifying, abject fear, and embarrassing] so perhaps I will have a promising career at Second City instead.

The funny thing was this girl in the class tried to make me feel better by identifying what she thought were my strengths. This is what she said:

"I think you have a really great therapist voice - very reassuring and calm. I get the feeling that you're really great with kids and will work with young children as a therapist."

Do's and Don'ts of Babysitting

I can't make a real post right now because I'm too busy play Klax [courtesy of "g"] which is the awesomest game ever. The music really pumps my nads. Anyway, I will instead direct you to this hilarious page of what not to do when babysitting. I think someone must have watched me take care of the niece and nephew and decided to compile everything I did in a handbook. Who knew you don't put wet babies in driers?

This apartment won't get any cleaner, so I better take pictures now

I haven't yet finished hanging things and such but here is your exclusive peak at my apartment. It's not that exciting. But do notice the comfy futon that folds out into a bed for guests. Be forewarned though - even after scrubbing my bathroom from top to bottom I thought, "I still wouldn't shower in there". Also, I still need drapes to block out the Lake of Cold Death.

Getting Older

So I'm 26, and I'm trying to grow up. I'm officially an adult now.

* I have my own sassy apartment in Chicago.
* I am pursuing a doctoral degree.
* I care about politics and international affairs.
* I read National Geographic and Skeptical Inquirer and books by Oliver Sacks.

And yet, I still think about and enjoy things like this.

Did I mention that I hate BIll O'Reilly?

Watch this video clip of homeless veterans watching Bill O'Reilly deny there are homeless veterans. Apparently now O'Reilly is admitting there are homeless veterans but it's their fault because they're drug addicts. I'm going to burst into flames from rage now.

Old photos

You might have noticed that I love old photographs, particularly from the turn of the century. Well, I was checking out Wil Wheaton's blog [because you also may have noticed that I love TNG] and he has some links to old pictures put on Flickr by the Library of Congress. Some are black and white photos of news events in the 1910s and the other set are colour photos from the 1930s and 1940s which are stunning. If you have a few seconds, check them out. They are so choice, I highly recommend them.

Bill O'Reilly really chaps my ass

Ever since I was challenged over dinner one night about the merits of Bill O'Reilly I have paid a bit more attention to the garbage being spewed out of his FACE. I just read this brief article about homeless veterans and how our good friend Bill was criticizing John Edwards for bringing this issue up because apparently, according to Bill, it's not that serious of a problem. Edwards claims there are approximately 200,000 homeless vets out there, and O'Reilly says there aren't that many. Click here to read Edwards' response which I thought was great and could be applied to pretty much every issue facing America today. I should also add that the US Department of Veteran Affairs puts the number of homeless vets at 195,000. So I guess O'Reilly was right about something. Good job, thanks for clarifying the issue for us.

There's nothing more anyone can say about O'Reilly that hasn't been said. I am just continually amazed that he has viewers, some of whom live in my building. I have already unleashed the [controlled, non-physically threatening] fury on a few people. I have 4 years to clean up America... I have much work to do.

Static Electricity Blues

Dudes,

I have a major problem with static electricity in my apartment. Everything I touch - my laptop, lamps, phones, and even water elicits a painful shock. I actually wear rubber gloves a lot when I'm cooking or needing to turn something on to prevent the sparks from flying. It has been suggested to me that a humidifier may remedy the problem. Has anyone else encountered the evils of this scourge and discovered any ways of overcoming it?

True Story [sadly, they all are]

So I come home from a long day of class and open an envelope sent to me from ComEd which is my utilities provider. There are two pages. The first letter welcomed me to ComEd and assured that I was a valued customer and if I have any questions, contact these people. Fine.

The next page was a notice of discontinuation of service because I had failed to pay my bill!! It provided a list of community agencies that I could contact about financial aid and warned me that my utilities would be cut off in 24-48 hours! They must smell student off of me.

I just stepped in a big pile of sassy

Quick post - my landlord came over this morning to collect some of her ugly things that were left in my apartment. They are pictured in a previous post. She's from the Czech Republic so I was expecting her to look outrageous and I wasn't disappointed:

* Classic purpley-red dyed poofy hair
* Way too much bright make-up
* Skin tight blue pants
* Hot pink snake skin boots with heels
* A see-through light gray shirt showing gigantic cleavage straining to escape a black bra

I should add that this lady has got to be at least 60. I hope I look half that good when I get to her age.

Adventures in Futility

So, today I tried to open a chequing account at the local bank. I was told that I need to get something called an "individual tax identification number". It's used for tax purposes for people who are not eligible for social security. Basically, it's a way to track people's financial activities; more recently it has been used for non-citizens who want to have an interest-bearing bank account. Apparently, the use of this number is enforced by the Patriot Act in order to "help the government fight the funding of terrorism and money laundering activities". Getting one involves providing many forms of identification, filling out a lot of paperwork, then waiting 6-8 weeks to get the number [which is so convenient for me as I have to pay rent in American dollars by February 1...]. So, they're really making it difficult for suspicious people like me to get bank accounts. How difficult? Check out this brilliance:

1. I can't get a bank account without an individual tax identification number.
2. I can't get an individual tax identification number without already having a bank account.

Update:

It turns out that smaller banks tend to have this increased security, but larger banks don't care. So I get a bank account. However, I should add that yesterday in a mall I had to show my driver's license to a security guard before getting on an elevator to go to the food court. I asked why and he said that the elevator also goes to private offices. So I asked how my driver's license would prove I wasn't going to those restricted areas. He then told me to take the escalator instead. Apparently, those don't require identification even though they were both going to the same place.

Thank-you for Being a Friend..

So, my apartment is still in shambles but is mostly unpacked. However, it's in a great neighbourhood with everything within walking distance. The bad news is, my landlord recently redid the apartment and left a few items for my use...it looks like it was decorated by the Golden Girls circa 1985:










As well, it's a very small bachelor [called an "economy studio"] and it's a bit like living in Wee World. Everything, particularly the "kitchen" is micro-sized so some things don't fit:




As for the mysterious pair of ripped and slightly soiled underwear, all I know is that they were found in my living room/bedroom/kitchen on the floor with no explanation :(



Anyway, I'll post a picture when it's not looking so heino and no longer smells like old lady.

Skelena Bazentine goes to Chicago...eventually

This post may be a review for some of you but in case you missed it, I had an interesting start to the new year...

JANUARY 1

My mom and I got in a car accident on the highway during a blizzard in Michigan. We skidded on some ice, spun around a few times, and bounced off some guard rails over a bridge while crossing 3 lanes of traffic. Once we stopped, another truck was skidding towards us so we had to run out of the way down the highway and over the guard rails to prevent getting smooshed. A police officer came to our rescue and took us to the hospital to get checked out. Nothing was broken, but some of my furniture wasn't so lucky. Some kobasa and cheese was missing and were presumed dead. The truck was totaled - the front end was totally smashed, it wouldn't start, the back door was busted and the sides actually wrenched away from the bottom. Luckily this was all covered by insurance so we crashed at a local Ramada which had, amazingly, a jungle theme. I felt like I was home.

JANUARY 2

We got a new truck and I called my apartment manager to let her know I would be arriving late. She refused to speak to me directly but told the doorwoman that I was not allowed to move in after 5pm. However, I did not have anyone to help me move before 5pm and due to the accident, I was unable to turn/look to my right. I used my best Adult Calm Rational Voice to explain why there needed to be an exception made, but no dice. [Soul being crushed...]. So I emailed a bunch of moving companies and hoped they emailed me tomorrow. Oh well, at least I'll have 3 hours to move in when I get there!

We made it about 40 miles down the road [still in Michigan] when my mom realized she left my laptop at the hotel... So we turned around and started to head back when we promptly got caught in another snowstorm. We managed to get the laptop and then crashed at a local sketch motel. As we were unloading some things from the truck, we locked the keys inside. We actually did that. After paying a U-Haul dude to open the door, we went to bed. [Anger rising...].

JANUARY 3

We actually made it to my apartment! The building manager via the doorman [still refusing to talk to me, she was on "vacation"] was a bitch and gave me a hard time about being late (!!) . Then I was told I had TWO hours to move in, not three. When I said that I was promised 3 hours, it was like talking to Burt Reynolds on Celebrity Jeopardy:

"You said I had 3 hours to move in..."
"No I didn't"
"Yes, you DID"
"Well, that's your opinion"

The movers called me at the apartment to say they wouldn't be there for 2.5 hours. Oh, and no one knew where my mail key was, and my landlord lied to me about having a storage unit for all my crap. When I got to my apartment, it was filled with old lady jazz like wicker lamps and RIPPED UNDERWEAR [more details in next post]. Since the manager still refused to talk to me, I sat in the truck and, I don't mind telling you, started crying.

At this point, the doorwoman took pity on me and said I could have all the time I wanted. The movers eventually arrived, all my stuff was put together, and I got my paws on my mail key [however, all my mail was not there because I failed to register my mailbox so that's another battle yet to be fought]. So I am alive, well, and things are starting to come up Bazentine.

I'll try to make my next post not as long, I'd be amazed if any of you made it to the end of this.