Day 153: Never Have I Ever... Went To Work As A Man

Halloween is my favorite holiday. It's the only day of the year where you can be whomever you want and look as ridiculous as possible, and it's OK.

My family has always celebrated Halloween by organizing a huge haunted house. So whenever I'm home, I dress up and am either in the coffin, hung in the tree, or a car accident victim in the van. Regardless of where I am, the goal is the same: to scare the crap out of children dressed as Spongebob, princesses, and clowns.

But I haven't been home for Halloween in a number of years, and haven't dressed up since I've been gone. So when the other members of my department at work came up with a group Halloween costume idea for our work costume contest, I jumped at the chance to dress up again. Never have I ever went to work as a man (and discovered that when I imitate a man's voice, it comes out British for some reason), but I had a ton of fun doing so.

We originally decided to get a total of six people to dress up as Clue characters so we could embody all of them and each have a different weapon. That idea eventually evolved into "killing" one of our colleagues and acting out a written-out skit with an inspector about who did it. This was after we decided that setting our colleague on fire was going a bit too far.

Here's our script in its entirety because I thought it was hilarious:

Halloween Costume Contest Extravaganza

Future Tony Award Nominated Scene

Bev (Costume contest organizer): And please give a warm welcome to our next group.

[Lights flicker, Tony goes from being a spectator in the audience to being dead on the floor. Someone screams. Brian walks up dressed as an inspector of the cross-dressing Clouseau variety. He inspects the body and lifts Corpse Tony’s arm.]

 

Inspector Brian: This man is dead! Who did this? [Pointing at random people in the audience.] Was it you? Was it you? Or ... was it Ms. Scarlett with the rope?


Ms. Scarlett (Jessica): Why, Inspector, I’m outraged that you would even consider me capable of such an insidious deed!! This rope is merely an accessory. You aren’t really questioning a lady’s choice in fashion, or are you....... Mr. Lady Coat??


Inspector Brian: I got this from you when I raided your closet, Ms. Scarlett. You better hope someone else’s story holds even less water than that one. Who killed poor Tony Tills, and how? Was it Colonel Mustard with the wrench?


Colonel Mustard (Erika): I may have hunted large wildebeests and velociraptors, but never man. Tony is a peaceful fella, we used to pump iron in the gym, write poetry together, and recently we toasted marshmallows out by his lake. I have no reason to kill such an obliging and eleemosynary bloke.


Inspector Brian: Making up words won’t help you, Colonel Mustard. A man is dead! And who wanted it that way...? Could the murderer have been Mrs. White--first name Betty--with the knife?


Mrs. White (Garnet): Tony might have had a lot of demands when I first started, something about cleaning up hundreds of bugs... But it wasn’t me! I was just washing dishes when you rounded us up, that’s why I have this knife!


Inspector Brian: Tell me something, Mrs. White. Are your pants on fire?


Mrs. White: I’m not wearing any pants...


Inspector Brian: Oh never mind. Only time will tell who in this room is guilty of murder. Was it Mr. Green with the candlestick?


Mr. Green (Larissa): What, poppycock! Tony and I were great friends; we used to trim our mustaches together. Until he shaved his... But, I have witnesses: the illustrious Misters Lincoln and Washington if you catch my drift.


Inspector Brian: $6, Mr. Green? Really? Every man has his price but clearly you can’t afford mine unless you have a Mr. Hamilton with you as well. Mrs. Peacock, we all know you wanted Tony’s office. Was it you with the revolver?


Mrs. Peacock (Heather): Haha me? Now Inspector, that’s just totes cray-cray! There is no possible way I shot him with my Colt Anaconda .44 Magnum large frame double-action revolver. Where is the gun wound? Besides, I was crying under my desk, because once again I must fix those blasted Social Studies Power quizzes.  


Inspector Brian: Hmm, a likely story, Mrs. Peacock. I hope you look as dazzling in an orange jumpsuit. Or is someone else the killer? Could it be Professor Plum with the lead pipe?


Professor Plum (Erin):  No!...It couldnt’ve have been me, I can barely lift this lead pipe. I hated all his work on digital products, yes. I’ll never let go of my books, but it wasn’t me!


Inspector Brian:  Your alibi is as weak as you are Professor Plum. All this evidence is very compelling and I’d have to say--wait, what is this?


[Brian lifts Tony’s hand, examines his fingers, opens his eyes to peer into them. Brian turns to the suspects.]


Inspector Brian: Ladies and gentleman, I have incontrovertible proof that this man was not murdered! [Suspects gasp in unison.]


Inspector Brian (turning to audience): As pitifully fallacious as these alibis have proven, it appears none of you is the killer. Not even you, Mrs. Peacock. As I said, this man was not murdered. Judging by his glazed eyes, five o’clock shadow, and worn finger pads, it’s clear that this man was worked to death! Case closed!


Tony: Does this mean I get the afternoon off?

While we did not win a Tony award, we did win second place in the costume contest and with that $75 to blow at happy hour next week. Score!

Happy Halloween!

Day 152: Shakespeare's High School Poetry... On Knockout Blows

An Allegory is a narrative having a second meaning beneath the surface. It's a story or poem with two meanings - one literal and one symbolic. The underlying meaning of this poem isn't that hard to figure out, but I love the symbolism anyway.


TKO

The bell signals yet another round.
In spite of the bruises,
cuts, and
trickling blood,
I am forced to my unsteady feet
from the corner of the ring.
Invisible trauma to my head
and torso
is where the direct blows,
grazes, and
sneaky, yet
intentional below-the-belt hits
cause the most damage.
The bruises will disappear.
The cuts will scab over.
And trickling blood will be
washed away along with the
sweat on my hands
trapped inside the dark cave of my
padded red gloves.
But the internal damage
Will eventually lead to my
TKO.

Day 151: A Picture Is Worth 1,000 Words... On A Clear-Cut Winner in the Strongman's Competition

"Well helllllllllooooo Mr. Pen! ... Oh, and hey Mr. Sword."

Last week's cliche: Glasgow smile

Day 150: Stop. Focus. Click... On Psychedelic Beans

I visited the bean the first time I ever saw Chicago, but never walked underneath it.

I'm glad I did this time.

Day 149: Remember the Time... My Friends Would Have Just Gone With Me

I was recently told about the restaurant Paddy Longs, which is a Chicago-area beer and bacon pub. No, it's not an Irish pub or a Bar & Grill. It's advertised as a beer and bacon pub. Awesome.

Immediately after being told about this magical place, which features a bacon tasting platter, my foodie colleague who I've hung out with several times in the past happened to be walking by.

"Hey! Paddy Longs. Bacon tasting. We're going," I said excitedly.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"Who cares? It has a bacon tasting platter," I emphasized in case he misunderstood me. "And beer for you. Let's go!"

"Let me check it out," he replied.

"Wait, what?" I said, dumbfounded. "We are going to check it out. When we go."

"I'll let you know," he said, walking away.

"What, you don't trust me?" I said, confused.

"No," he said, laughing and continuing to walk away, leaving me immediately fiercely missing my friends in New York.

Hanging out with my friends was so much easier in New York. First of all, I had friends in New York. Here, the only friends I have are colleague-friends who have other friends they generally hang out with after work or on weekends.

Second, most of my New York friends were available to hang out, either at the drop of a hat or with plans in the future. Here, many of my colleague-friends are married or have kids and rarely can get away to do something fun. 

In New York, I'd make plans with friends after one of us said something along the lines of "Hey, I want to check this place out. Are you free to come?" I would never have done research about the place before agreeing to go because regardless of whether the place sucked or not, I'd be with my friend and we would make it fun.

One friend in particular would not only always be up for something fun, but would also be up for not-so-fun activities, no matter how much notice I'd give. But regardless of what we were doing, I'd have fun every single time we'd hang out. I miss that. A lot. And I miss my crazy fun-loving friends in New York a lot.

So when my colleague came back to me later that afternoon saying he'd looked up Paddy Longs online, checked out the prices, called the place to see just what types of bacon were on the bacon platter, and then decided he'd go with me when he was free later in the month, I had completely changed my mind about wanting to go.

A friend wouldn't have to do all sorts of research before agreeing to hang out. A friend wouldn't not have time for me until later in the month. A friend would have just said, "OK! Let's go!"

I miss my friends.

Day 148: If I Ruled Lichtenstein... What's A Scorekeeper?

I can be the queen of trash talk. But I do it for fun, as I am not seriously competitive. (Yeah I'm that person who cheers whenever either team does something awesome during a rivalry game.) I generally can't even back up my talk, and I'm OK with that. It's just for fun.

But my friendly banter comes to a screeching halt when a friendly game or competition turns too serious. When I know that it truly matters whether the people I'm playing with win or lose, I shut down, and it sometimes is no longer fun for me.

I told my colleague, Brian, to make sure that he was on my team for Bridge whenever we play with another colleague of ours at lunch because I'm not very good at the complicated card game yet, and knew I would irritate this colleague with my rookie mistakes.

And I was glad I asked someone to sub in for me during Monopoly, another lunchtime game with a different group, because I heard later that it took a competitive turn and tempers ran high. I honestly was glad that Erin, who subbed in for me by wearing a name tag that said "Erika", bankrupted me so I wouldn't have to play again because I don't need that sort of unnecessary stress.

Besides, when I win, that means someone else loses, and that doesn't make me feel good to think about that.

Therefore, in Lichtenstein, one of the most popular games will be one that I plan to invent that does not involve keeping score. It's going to be just for fun, like the time my NYC basketball team played 3-on-3 in the park until it got too dark to see the ball. We never tallied up the buckets. This invented game will most likely be basketball without a scoreboard or any game that's played without a scoresheet or point system.

There's a reason we "play" games. They're fun. In Lichtenstein, I promise to take measures to keep it that way.

Day 147: What Did Batman Say To Robin...

This backpack says "Ask me how I got in" in whiteout across it. What is this girl going to say if you ask her that?

You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but this girl is a freshman at Harvard. The reason you would never guess this is because she is wearing a dirty old tank top, too-short jeans, and has a bunch of random-looking folded papers and granola wrappers in her see-through book bag.

The fact that the words "Ask me" are written three times on this book bag illustrates how desperate she is to tell her story about how she used her story of growing up dirt poor as a tool to get into the most elite school in the country. She wants to tell people that it is possible if you persevere to get in to your dream school.

But no one needs to ask her how she got in. The Mardi Gras beads say it all.

Day 146: Never Have I Ever... Om-ed At Work

The concept of meditation is completely foreign to me. It has thus far been impossible for me to completely clear my mind and just focus on breathing and relaxation. I want to, but my mind doesn't work that way.

But that's no going to stop me from continuing to try whenever I get the chance because it's something I do want to achieve.

The head of my department walked by my boss's office where my colleague, boss, and I were having our first status update meeting, then apparently backtracked to peer in at us a second time through the window.

None of us saw this, however, because we were all sitting cross-legged on the floor of her office concentrating on our deep breathing with our eyes closed trying to meditate. It was hard to relax - I was at work about to partake in a meeting where we discuss all the projects we're working on and their upcoming deadlines, after all - but I tried.

Never have I ever meditated at the office, but if more people tried it, I'm sure there'd be much less work-related stress.

Day 145: Shakespeare's High School Poetry... On Invisible Bruising

An imagery poem is one that allows a writer to draw his or her readers into the poetic experiences by touching on the images and senses they already know. Imagery intensifies the impact of a poet's work.

I thought it was best to write this type of poem when I was surging with emotions because I wanted to capture them on paper. I think it speaks for itself.


Watch To See

Hit me.
Close fist my jaw,
Either eye,
My nose.
And watch the blood coagulate
In bright-speckled patterns
Across the off-white wall.
Hit me.
Rip out my hair and
Wrench me by the arm
Leaving four long, thin bruises
Parallel to a single, thicker print.
Watch my eyes scream for flight.
Hit me.
Snap my bones and
Choke my air
And watch my lips
White knuckle for life.
Feel my arms flail
Before my body shudders
And gives up.
Hit me.
My gut already pulsates the pain.
Besides,
I promise you
It will hurt much less
Than the invisible bruising
You deal to me now.

Day 144: A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words... On Smiling Just When You're Happy

I didn't even know what this week's cliche was until I Googled it, and then it totally creeped me out. The photo below depicts the same thing, but in a much prettier and less cringe worthy way.

Last week's cliche: Blonde bombshell.

Day 143: Stop. Focus. Click... On Getting Ready For The Feast

Because I live in an apartment, I own exactly no land. Therefore, I have to do my gardening in pots. I've never tried to grow vegetables in a pot, so for some reason I decided to try and grow cucumbers. I was pleasantly surprised at how fast the plants grew, and was salivating over thoughts of daily, fresh cucumber salad.

But then I saw my plants yielding nothing more than the puny "cucumbers" depicted above which are about the size of my pinky fingernail. However, I did get an actual cucumber that I was looking forward to trying. Unfortunately, my dog thought the same thing (she knows that any food on the floor that's not on a plate is "her" food). That's why my one cucumber is a big gnawed on.

Still looking forward to having a very mini cucumber salad, though.

Day 142: Remember the Time... You Can't Tell Me What To Drink

There are several staples that are always at my desk at work: My stress ball squishy toys, a plethora of pencils and pens in all different colors, and Dr. Pepper.

However, after seeing a new commercial on TV, I have been rethinking that last item on principle. I recently was appalled to see an overtly macho Dr. Pepper commercial that ended with a man saying, "... this is our soda... Dr. Pepper 10. It's not for women."

Excuse me?

Who the hell are you to tell me a new soda drink is not for me? 

I understand the premise behind it - that men shy away from diet drinks that aren't perceived as "manly" enough, and this new gunmetal gray can is an attempt to reach that market. But you're not going to reach that target market by blatantly insulting and shunning other potential markets.

Other companies have marketed diet soda to men - Coke Zero and Pepsi Max - without insulting women. The Dr. Pepper marketing department has said that they tested the campaign in several different markets across the country, and women weren't offended.

Well they didn't test it on me, because I am offended. If they were going for the whole reverse psychology thing ("you can't tell me what to drink - see? I, a woman, am drinking Dr. Pepper 10!") it's an epic fail. In fact, it's enough for me to consider not buying Dr. Pepper products at all, which sucks because Dr. Pepper is so awesomely delicious (I even buy the Dr. Pepper jelly beans).

I will tell you for sure, however, that I will not be drinking or will ever buy Dr. Pepper 10. Screw you and what you think is "for me."

Day 141: If I Ruled Lichtenstein... Pageant Moms Would Not Be Welcome

After a long week at work, I like to chill out at home on Friday nights. One of the shows I enjoy watching when I'm just vegging out is The Soup with Joel McHale.

However, there is one show that Joel pokes fun at regularly that I never, ever find funny. In fact, I actually get angry at every time I see a snippet of the show that I never in a million years would watch and therefore support with my Nielson rating: Toddlers in Tieras. This show Makes. Me. Sick.

From what I gather from the snippets I see of this show while watching The Soup, this show is about overweight, orange, Botoxed mothers forcing their toddlers to wear skimpy clothes (including a pint-sized replica of what Julia Robertson wore while portraying a prostitute in Pretty Woman - I'm not even kidding) and fake smile while pretending they're having fun.

The Soup usually shows the portion where the toddler is throwing a fit because they don't want to perform or the interview where the child says they are just tired and want to play with dolls, etc. This to me is nearly as bad as child abuse because in the majority of cases, the child doesn't have a say whether she wants to be in pageants or not.

No child should have to sit through an hours-long prepping process involving hair extensions and fake eyelashes. And the mothers are always about a hundred times more involved and excited about the dance numbers, shown by the over-exaggerated movements they make behind the judging table while "coaching" their daughters.

Therefore, in Lichtenstein, beauty pageants for any child (read: any person under the age of 18) is illegal and will not be tolerated. I don't even like the idea of beautiful baby pageants because the children are just being judged on their appearances. If a person wants to enter a beauty pageant when she's legally an adult and able to make their own decisions, then fine. They can go to another country and be in one.

Children are precious and should be having tea parties, getting grass stains, and running around. Not having temper tantrums while getting lip stains and then fake prancing around.

Day 140: What DId Batman Say to Robin... About Procreating

Holy twisted sheets Batman!

One of the first projects I worked on at my new job was the World of Animals. I worked on this iPad app with the animal science editor who can rattle off the scientific names of a species off the top of his head.

Part of this project for him was coming up with hundreds of animal fun facts. But because this app is for children, he couldn't use some of the most fun facts about the animal kingdom, like the fact that same-sex sexual encounters are common in the animal kingdom.

Another fun fact that I learned is that only humans and bonobos, an ape species, engage in intercourse simply for pleasure. The other animal species' engage in sexual acts for a short period of time every year when the females are fertile. They have sex according to nature, and not because the female is drunk and goes home with a guy she just met at a bar. Or because she wants to make her significant other happy. Or because she needs validation that she's skinny/pretty/funny/etc. enough to get male attention.

This post is supposed to be about 50 reasons to have sex. And while the list of reasons that humans justify having sex could go on and on past 50, there really is just one reason to have sex. Just one: To procreate and repopulate the species.

And after seeing the trash that's on TV these days (Bad Girls Club and the Lingerie Football League come to mind) and all the ridiculously impossible standards society places on people, it's obvious that there are some people in this world who should not be allowed to reproduce (anyone on the Jersey Shore, for example).

Whether they can't afford children, abuse them, exploit them, or are just plain stupid, the message is the same: Some humans should not have sex for any of the sometimes stupid reasons humans have sex because it could result in a pregnancy. And no child deserves to grow up with Snooki or The Situation as a parent.

Day 139: Never Have I Ever... Felt More Average

I was at the very end of a long table at an Indian restaurant recently for a colleague's goodbye party. At the end with me were three of my female colleagues also under the age of 30. We were chatting and, somehow, the conversation went from which animal we would choose to be to our futures.

One of my colleagues is trying to figure out the best time to go back to school to get a master's degree with a goal of becoming a museum curator.

Another colleague majored in biochemistry and wants to eventually become a biochemical engineer. In the meantime, she's putting the final touches on the two-week trip she's planning to India, Nepal, and Thailand, which she's going on solo next month. She's currently managing an entire digital products department and was just recently promoted for the third time and given an actual office. She's 10 months older than me and oh yeah she's my boss.

And the third just ran her third Chicago Marathon, and just signed up for her first Ironman triathlon in upstate New York. She has a master's degree from Oxford in London and does not want to have kids because she wants to live all around the world after she gets her PhD as she works toward global conflict resolution.

And before any of them could ask me about my future plans, I excused myself and pretended that I had to use the restroom.

Unfortunately that didn't work because when I got back to the table, the conversation picked up right where it left off. The group turned their attention toward me and one of them asked, "Well Erika? Let's hear your plan."

"Um, well, I don't know what I want to be when I grow up," I said, lamely, which of course was met by fake encouraging smiles and nods along with the words, "Well, that's OK." Ha. Like saying something like that at the age of 29 is any kind of OK.

What the hell was I supposed to say? That I would love to write a novel but in order to write a novel you have to have, well I don't know, some sort of idea for a novel? And that I know I don't have not only an idea but the discipline or the confidence? And that I'm happy to have found a job that I actually like and that's pretty much as far as I got?

This conversation stuck in my mind and I couldn't figure out why until it slapped me in the face.

I am so incredibly average it's pathetic.

I'm a white girl. I have medium-length brown hair and brown eyes. I'm 5'6", a little thick around the thighs and midsection. How many millions of other people fit that description?

And it just builds from there. I was wearing my brown Uggs the other day and noticed that I was walking next to a group of women. I kid you not when I say out of the seven women I was walking next to, six had on brown boots.

I wear Nikes, jeans, and solid-colored shirts from Old Navy. I listen to pop music and watch high-rated TV shows. I was raised Catholic. I like to sing and play basketball and eat American food.

Do any of these strike you as different, interesting, or special? That's because they're not. They're all just me being en masse. Being simple. Being average.

Just in case I was just being negative and wasn't thinking clearly, I asked a few people closest to me the following question: "In what instance would you go to me before you'd go to anyone else because I'd be the best person to go to for that particular reason?" Responses included:

• If they had a Simpsons question
• If they needed to know the words to "End of the World" by REM
• If they needed someone to proofread a resume
• If they wanted someone to help with a school paper

So to me that translates into people would come to me before anyone else if they needed:

• To know something about the most popular and longest-running cartoon series (even though I've lost many a time on Simpsons trivia)
• To know the words to a popular song (because that is something likely to happen in the future. That's me being sarcastic.)
• To make sure all the words on a piece of paper are spelled correctly and there is subject-verb agreement
• To ensure that a specific set of rules for the language that we speak that I just so happen to have memorized are followed when putting words together to form a cohesive thought.

This is what the people closest to me think I'm good for. This is what people think when they think of me.

It absolutely disgusts me to think about just how ridiculously average I am. I should stop saying I hate cliches so much because it's hypocritical. I'm a walking fucking cliche. I'm not different. I'm not special. I'm not unique.

And I'm not going anywhere. Literally or figuratively.

Day 138: Shakespeare's High School Poetry... On Bzzt, Pop, Smack

Cacophony is a technique used by Lewis Carroll, author of the whimsical Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking Glass, in the poem "Jabberwocky." This poetry type refers to the use of words that combines sharp, harsh, hissing, or unmelodious spoken sounds created by clashing consonants to help make the reader imagine noise.

As a writer, I knew I'd have trouble with this technique because I'd be striving for ugly sounds, but looked forward to the challenge. But I didn't expect that my teeth would hurt as I was forming these ugly sounds. I'll be glad when this one's over.

Impossible Escape

Bzzt, bzzt, smack
Bzzt, bzzt, smack
Bzzt, pop, smack bzzt
Bzzt, pop, smack.
The fly tries
And fails
And tries
And fails
To whiz over to the lush gardens.
To whoosh through the crisp air.
To find and plop atop on a tasty snack.
It's in sight
Right within reach.
Too bad its compound eyes
Can't see glass.
Bzzt.
Pop.
Smack.

Day 137: A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words... Don't Mess With These Chicks, They Might Just Explode

Watch out. These same-named blondes - from Teen Titans and Marvel Comics - are pretty badass. Cross them and they might just explode!

Last week's cliche: A Cup of Joe

Day 136: Stop. Focus. Click... On Sandy, Wet, and Adorable

I felt a homey connection with Evanston, Illinois, as I drove up to the fringe of the college town I recently visited for a University of Michigan / Northwestern football game. Even though it's on the water - and I have a strong aversion to sand and beaches - I loved the town more and more the more I saw of it.

I scored an awesome old copy of A Tale of Two Cities at a used bookstore, ate at an old-timey burger place, walked down tree-lined streets, and actually put my feet in the sand so I could play with more than a dozen dogs on this dog beach. 

None of them were walking or trotting around. They were tearing around like they had been cooped up in cages for weeks. I sat and watched them for more than an hour because I was so content seeing their sheer joy in the simple act of kicking up the sand and then plunging in the water after toys.

Day 135: Remember the Time... I Apparently Thought I Was Walking Through 1930s Chicago

"I'm telling you - nothing is open past 7 much less 9," I insisted as I was walking to the train station in downtown Chicago with my friend Mike.

"And I'm telling you that plenty of places are open," he retorted. "Look! This is the second 24-hour adult bookstore we've seen in the past few blocks."

"OK. Let's go then," I said, knowing that we had some time to kill before catching our trains.

"What? No," he protested as I thrust open the door to a wooden windowless shop marked "Adult Bookstore."

"Um, nevermind," I said, closing the door just as quickly as I opened it after glimpsing an extremely brightly lit shop with rows and rows of porn DVDs.

"Well what did you expect?" Mike said, laughing.

"It said adult bookstore," I said. "Was I stupid to expect... I don't know... rows of books with racy photos in them?"

"Yes," Mike said seriously. "Yes you were. Stupid, that is."

"Thanks for clarifying," I retorted, heading away from the adult bookstore that probably doesn't even have a single book for sale because Playboy isn't exactly a classic form of literature.

Day 134: If I Ruled Lichtenstein... Your Cats May Get Both a First and Last Name

I was talking to a colleague, Mike from editorial, while playing cards in the lunchroom at work, and he started telling a story about his two cats. I asked what their names were, and he said they didn't have names.

"I don't understand. What do you mean they don't have names? How do they not have names?" I asked.

"Well, I sometimes refer to them as stupid or fatty if you want to count those as names," he replied.

This left me dumbfounded. While I at least understand that not everyone names their cars or plants (yes - I name all my cars and plants) who doesn't name their pets?

So of course I took it upon myself to give them names. Since they are brothers, they have the same last name. And since love the name Herman for some reason, I dubbed my colleague's cats Herman and Sherman Whiskers. I then informed Mike that that's what he was to call his cats from now on.

"Yeah I'm not going to do that," he said, and wouldn't relent, even when I tried to sell him on the idea that it would be hilarious to call his cats these names in front of his girlfriend.

Therefore, in Lichtenstein, if you don't give your pets a name within the first 30 days of ownership, a name will be given to them, and it will be against the law not to honor that name. There will be an appeals process if you would like to change your pet's name, but that's on a case-by-case basis.

This law would most likely extend to cars and plants because it's way more fun to say, "I'm going outside to water George and Phil."

Day 133: What Did Batman Say To Robin... About Inappropriate Snacking on Sunday

Holy sticky mess melting down my leg Batman!

According to New York City law, a person may not walk around on Sundays with an ice cream cone in his/her pocket. What prompted this law's enactment?

The answer to this question is obvious. Christians.

While it's common knowledge that religious organizations have no issue with anyone having melted ice cream in their pockets Monday through Saturday, Sunday is God's day. What if a guy was walking past a church on Sunday with his typical ice cream snack in his pocket and felt an urge to worship? It would be inappropriate to have a wet spot on one side of his pants while he was singing hallelujah.

Plus, there's the issue of the sticky trail they would make wherever they walked. (And what if it was chocolate ice cream and people mistook the brown goo for something else!? Eww!)

So to ensure that none of these blunders happen while praisin' Jesus, Christians demanded the lawbooks be changed to ensure that everyone leaves their ice cream in the freezer on the Lord's day.

But of course having it in their pockets any other day is completely kosher. Obviously.

Day 132: Never Have I Ever... Realized That I Am A 'Muggle'

I’ve been reading since I was 4 years old – or so says my mom. She told me that I was able to read simple stories by myself before entering kindergarten. I can buy that. My love of reading has to have come from somewhere.

I grew up with Sweet Valley High and the Babysitter’s Club, and read book after book in both series’ throughout my childhood and junior high years. I then graduated to classics we were required to read in both high school and in my English lit classes in college, where I discovered Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Lewis Carroll, and Toni Morrison.

And while reading took a backseat during my time experiencing life in New York outside of the book I read for my book club, I seem to be making up for lost time here in Chicago.

Never have I ever read an entire book series of more than 3,400 pages in about two months.

It all started when I was spacing out while a bunch of my female colleagues were swapping stories about the different Harry Potter-themed events they’ve gone to, and how they were excited for the release of the final movie of the series. I wasn’t participating in the conversation because I had never picked up a single book in the seven-book series. They noticed my lack of interest, and asked incredulously why I wasn’t more excited to which I of course had to respond that it was because I had never read Harry Potter.

“YOU’VE NEVER READ HARRY POTTER?!?! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU???” is the standard response, which is of course what I got. I told them I’ve just never been into sci-fi and or wizardry and all that, but they kept insisting that I’d love it, so I told them I’d think about it.

This pacified them for the moment, but over the next several weeks, most of them kept asking me if I’d started the series. Because I’m always willing to try something new, I told them I’d read the first book and let them know what I thought of it (and had to give chapter by chapter updates to one of my younger coworkers who grew up with the series). One colleague told me I’d have to read books 1-3 to really be able to judge, another told me the fourth one was her favorite, and yet another one said he loved the fifth book the best, but each one of these statements were prefaced with something along the lines of “While the seventh one is absolutely as good as it gets…”

So of course I had to read the entire series and found myself reserving the next book in the series at the library before I was finished with the one before it. And there were long stretches of time in that two months where I was waiting for a book to be returned before I could check it out – and I had picked up two of the shorter ones at once and had them read within a few days.

They are books written for children, so it’s not like there were tough concepts to understand or difficult language to plow through. But there were storylines coming from dozens upon dozens of different characters, which kept it interesting all the way through. I liked the coming of age concept as well as the recurring theme of death, and did enjoy the series although it isn’t one I will be going out to buy. Experiencing it once was enough for me, and it was a good experience, but there are millions of other books out there waiting for me. I’d better get started.

Day 131: Shakespeare's High School Poetry... On Fearing Love

An Analogy Poem is a poem about two subjects that are otherwise unlike. I decided to write an anaolgy poem/song parody about a woman who decides to stay in an abusive relationship because she's too afraid of the unknown to leave. It seemed appropriate for this subject matter.

(E.X.) L.O.V.E.

L is for the way you lie to me
O is for only misery
V is very, very controlling and scary
E is even more than anyone that you ignore can
Love is what I have from you
Love is this abhorrent game for two
Two in love can fake it
You took my heart to break it
Love is what I'm forced to do. 

Day 130: A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words... On One Interesting Wakeup Call

If only I could wake up to some of these guys every day...

Last week's cliche: Green With Envy

Day 129: Stop. Focus. Click... On Sharing Someone's Passion

My cubemate, Heather, is the biggest hockey fan I know. She travels around the country to attend their away games and of course goes to their home games whenever she can. So when she asked me to go to a game with her, I agreed so I could see just what she loved so much about the game.

We sat in the front row of the third tier behind a small pane of glass, and had to wipe off Heather's fingerprints from it after almost-scores and close saves. She was adorable, and I loved standing up to do the dances with her and celebrate each Blackhawk point in the electric atmosphere.

Yet another event to prove that one of the most awesome experiences is sharing someone's passion with them.

Day 128: Remember the Time... French Apparently was the Wrong Choice

"So Erika how is your Arabic?" my boss asks me.

"Uhhh... nonexistent?" I replied.

"Excellent. I have a project for you," she replies, and sends me a spreadsheet of 7,944 cells of Arabic. Remember the time I speak and read exactly no Arabic? This should be interesting.

6527	السنفيتون			1
6528	سنور استرالي			1
6529	سوائل الغاز الطبيعي		1
6530	سوتليج، نهر		1
6531	سوتى			1
6532	سوقييت			1
6533	السوق السوداء		1
6534	السوق المشتركه	1
6535	السوم، نهر			1
6536	سويل، آنا			1
6537	سياج نباتي	1
6538	سيانور			1
6539	سيبر نطيقا			1
6540	السيبياديس			1
6541	سيجار			1
6542	سيجاره			1
6543	السيدة المزركشه		1
6544	سيرميت		1
6545	سيرينات			1
6546	سيريناد			1
6547	سيريوم	1
6548	سيزيوم	1
6549	سيفون			1
6550	سيكاسيه			1
6551	سيكلوب، كوكولوب			1
6552	سيكلوترون	1
6553	سيلاكانث			1
6554	سيلى، جزر			1
6555	سيلينيوم	1
6556	سيليلوز	1