Super Bowl House of Horror

For those of you who don’t care about football or the Super Bowl go to number 1. For those of you who are preparing to watch the Baltimore Ravens take on the San Francisco 49er’s in Super Bowl XLVII this upcoming Sunday night, go to number 2.

       1.     You are so un-American. Go to number 2

                            

       2.     This is the true story... of a bunch strangers and a couple of friends... who signed up to live in a house...  work together and have their lives change ... who found out what happens... when people stop being polite... and start getting real...

Last year I had the pleasure of working at Super Bowl 46 in Indianapolis, IN. (I hate roman numerals and I’m guessing the NFL uses them because they think it looks cool on NFL merchandise.) Indy is only about 3 hours away from the only Mid-western city worth living in, Chicago, so most of my promotional industry friends took the short drive down to be apart of history. And that they were!

For an entire week before the big game you can participate in various events in a makeshift town called  Super Bowl Village and another one called the NFL Experience. You can see how far you can throw a football for a prize (most likely a Super Bowl koozie or a bag of Doritos (NFL Sponsor), you can stick your head in one of those cardboard cut outs of your favorite player from your favorite NFL team or even go zip lining over the entire city. A lot of people fly across the country and spend thousands of dollars renting hotels, cars and hookers just to watch a 3 hour game of football with other boozed up fans on a cold Sunday night.

I should mention working the Super Bowl is a great opportunity to meet people from all over the nation, hang out with people you already know in a new town and possibly meet some celebrities or professional athletes. My fingers were crossed the entire time, but no dice on meeting anyone that could pay off my student loans because they were drunk, rich and I showed them some nip.

However one experience that will stay with me forever is paying $1500 to rent out a house for 10 days and the craziness that ensued afterwards. I know $1500 sounds like a lot of money for the rental but believe me it was not. Most people who lived in Indy were taking advantage of the lack of hotel rooms and charging $1500 a night!

               
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Enter the Super Bowl House of Horrors. This house had 3 bedrooms, one bathroom and a thick animal/marijuana smell upon arrival. My two friends and I took it upon ourselves to thoroughly clean the place up and air it out before the other guests arrived. Some of the people in the house were friends, some were recommended by friends and some I had never met. We were to split the rent based on how many people stayed each night. The smallest amount of people we had at one time was 2, the largest amount, 18.

I slept in the master bedroom on a king-sized bed with 2 of my friends while 3 more people slept on the floor in sleeping bags. At one point we had various people in the other 2 bedrooms, 7 people in the living room, one on the couch, the rest taking up any space they could find on the floor. There were people on an air mattress in the kitchen, hanging from chandeliers, sleeping in the bathtub and there may have even been a baby sleeping in the stove. You get the picture. If not, it looked something like this:

Honestly everything went well for the first 3 nights. We took turns using the bathroom, cooking dinner, watching TV and then one by one we'd go to sleep. Then on the 4th night some of the roommates decided to go to a bar and that’s when all hell broke loose. My friend and I called this episode, D-day, D standing for drunk. 

Everyone in the house was jolted awake at 3 in the morning when housemate Tammy came home drunk and fighting with 2 housemates. I heard yelling, someone talking about calling Pookie and then scuffling. One guy got up and broke up the cat fight. Apparently once everything had settled down, Tammy decided to vacate the house in the middle of the night leaving the front door unlocked with everyone sleeping inside. She never texted, emailed or called to tell me if she was coming back, or when she was going to pay her rent. Not only did I have to track her down and stalk her at work to get the rest of our money but this inconsiderate slut bucket had put other people’s lives in danger to boot.

Then early one morning after D-day, one of the housemates was taking out the trash and caught housemate Allison throwing her belongings out of her bedroom window and fleeing to her car. We had to track that bitch down for the rest of her money and I only ended up getting a portion of it because I couldn’t leave work to harass her for the rest of it.

The last straw was when Lindsey Jo, a self entitled broad in need of a trip to the hair salon, told me she didn’t think she should have to pay as much as she was being charged because she slept on the floor and not in a bed. Whore please, you knew the deal before you even got to the house. Not only did we have a verbal contract, we had a written one too. She avoided me and some of the other housemates like the plague and literally ran through the streets of downtown Indianapolis trying to skip town after I caught her at work! I hate to say it but I would expect this sort of thing from low down dirty shameful ratchet folk, not from supposedly well-raised middle class white bitches*.

When I think of all the BS I had to put up with I wish I had stayed home and watched the hilarious commercials and the horrible half time show that I wait for all year long. This year I will do just that, but in salute to those low class hussies that skipped out on us, I’m dedicating these Super Bowl delicacies in their honor.

For Allison who tried to dip out on us in the wee hours of the morning through a bedroom window – Avocado Ranch Dip. This creamy concoction can be eaten with chips, chicken wings or southwestern egg rolls.

For Tammy who bragged about how she's so high class and how much money her daddy gives her for an allowance at 27 years old – White Trash Chex Mix. I should have known something was up with this girl when she read us hate mail her best friend had sent her. Then she tried to put her pale, lumpy T and A in my guy friend's face. Don’t nobody want to see that.

It was a toss up for this last recipe. I thought about a cheesy seven layer dip since Lindsey Jo is from Wisconsin (cheese head) and has a whole bunch of mess going on below that greasy top layer. But in the end, for the two-faced, flat-chested, cowboy boot wearing, hillbilly bimbo who had me running after her through the streets of Indianapolis – Rum Runner Punch, an alcoholic delight that all of your Super Bowl guests can enjoy!

Let me know what you end up doing/cooking/eating for Super Bowl 47 this year! I would love to see some photos and get some recipes from you all. Hopefully your experience will be a lot more savory than mine was last year!

*As a disclaimer for my SuperBowl House of Horrors post I want my readers to know I'm not racist. I wrote "supposedly well-raised middle class white bitches" and someone said I sound racist and that "People think it's ok to be racist with white people. Well It's not!" That's right, it isn't right to be racist to anyone and that was not my intention. I hope I have not offended anyone. I meant that these girls who called me trash from the wrong side of the tracks went out of their way to disrespect me. I never would have expected that from people who claimed they came from rich families and had the best opportunities in life. It really doesn't matter that they happen to be white. 

F*** My Life!

"Why do bad things happen to me?" is a question we’ve all asked ourselves at some point. Early this morning when I realized that I had left my wallet at a bar last night, I asked myself the same thing.

Losing a wallet is always a pain in the A, however this time it was an extremely unfortunate experience. I had closed out my bank account earlier that day and didn’t have time to put the money (2 month’s rent) in my new bank account. My friend Lil and I went out a sports bar to watch my Alma Mater NC State whoop our rival’s (UNC) roody poo behinds in basketball and I ended up leaving my wallet there.

Not only did it have crisp $100 bills folded tightly into my cute “lunch money” change purse, it also contained my library card, ID, Starbucks and Lush gift cards that I had gotten for my birthday and my company credit card inside.

Feeling crappier than a porta potty at a chili cookoff, I asked one of my Jesus freak* friends why does it seem like bad things always happen to good people. Her response was, “The biblical answer is that there aren’t any “good” people in the world. The Bible makes it pretty clear that all of us are tainted by sin.”

It’s all fine and dandy if we’re going with the argument that empirically nobody is “good”, but there are definitely some mischievous mother f-er’s out there and I’m not one of them. I don't deserve this mess. On a scale of 1 (Heaven sent angel) to 10 (Satan and Rosemary’s demon baby spawn) I’ve got to be at least a 3 or 4. That’s accounting for things like stealing gum as a child, cheating on my chemistry homework in high school and tricking my younger brother into pouring Sweet-N-Low straight into his mouth by telling him its better than regular sugar because it’s in a pretty pink packet. Sucker.

I feel like everything will be going fine and then BOOM goes the dynamite. All at once I'm hit with unfavorable circumstances and left standing there asking myself WHY ME?! A few of the many unfortunate events I’ve recently lived through include:

• On a business trip to Los Angeles I swipe my debit card and it’s declined. Call up the bank and they tell me my card has been compromised and thus canceled. Had to borrow money from my co-worker for the trip.
• In the middle of an audition for a gig my bra strap popped and my boob came bouncing out of my dress. Well hello to you Mr. Interviewer!
• Someone backed into the front of my car, bending the grill on my Passat and making the chrome plated VW ornament fall off and then they took it! Either that or some hoodlums just plain stole the emblem off of my car by hitting the grill with a hammer, perhaps as a part of gang initiation or in hopes to create a killer Halloween costume.

                         

• In Louisville, KY on Black Friday some thieves stole my passport and company credit card. I was outta cash and had to do all kind of inhumane things to get through security at the airport just to fly back home. A few days later my boss calls and asks if I can go on a last minute all expense paid work trip to Canada. YES, I am talking about the land of maple flavored cookies, ice hockey and poutine, otherwise known as America Jr. Couldn't go, had no passport. 
• For an entire week in Greenville, NC my phone had no cell phone reception. I had negative bars! Went to T-mobile and they couldn't help me. They told me I needed to buy a new phone and a mansion in Idaho too. Then early in the morning on the way to the airport my rental car broke down right next to a tobacco field. Had no reception and couldn't phone for help. After waiting 2 hours, highway patrol found me, called a tow truck that took another hour to come tow the car and then yet another hour to drive me to the airport. Missed my plane and the airline charged me $150 to reschedule the flight. Bitches

When it comes down to it you can’t allow yourself to wallow in your understandable sadness. I know this is easier said than done and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be upset about whatever misfortune you've encountered, but realize that you can’t change the past. Stop reliving the moment in your head ad nauseum saying, “if only I hadn’t…” because it’s already too late. Instead think about what you do have and count your blessings. I mean literally write that shit down!

   1.  I’m alive! Yeah things go wrong, and seemingly all at once but I still woke up today and hopefully I’ll wake up tomorrow. That means I have another chance to fix anything that I fucked up yesterday.

     2.   I have all of my teeth – May not seem like a big deal but I’ve seen more than a few snaggle toothed people walking around lately and I’m glad I have all 32 of my pearly whites.

   3.   I have a clean, warm apartment - It’s the middle of winter and I’m pretty sure I read on EveryBlock that they found a bum frozen into a block of ice in my Chicago neighborhood. It may not be a mansion in Idaho but I have a comfy place to lay my head with cable, video games, Netflix and Hulu Plus! I’m living the good life (even if I don’t have HBO and have to stream True Blood from the internet).

   4.   I have friends and family that love and care about me or at least pretend to for our mutual benefit.  

Also important, if you don’t believe in luck, don’t expect to get lucky. To be honest, even though I think I have abnormally bad luck at times, a lot of good things have happened to me too. When my janky rental car broke down next to that tobacco field and I missed my plane, Avis gave me a $100 gift certificate towards a car rental and a free Megabus trip. And guess what?! Some rich trust fund Lincoln Park kid turned in my wallet at the bar with all of the contents still inside! They probably looked at my two months rent and thought, this chump change, I can't even buy a round of drinks and line of coke for my friends with this.

I know people who are always hemming and hawing like Mr. Ed over how nothing good ever happens to them. Maybe it’s because you don’t think anything good should happen to you and you end up making your life an unlucky, uneventful reality. It’s kinda like the lotto; you’ve gotta be in it, to win it.

*Jesus Freak – for my purposes, a positive term of endearment for people who have given themselves to God. They are B-A-N-A-N-A-S about the Lord and spreading his word, they attend church regularly and often read and/or quote the Bible. You may currently see them sporting WWJD bracelets. Like in 2013!

Part II - Deux Degrees of Separation

When we left off with Part I of Deux  Degrees of Separation, Phil had just texted me photos of himself looking crazy as ever and proud of it too. Let me tell you, his weird phone call followed by the unbelievably unsexy photos left me feeling a mix of emotions and plagued with some questions.

1. Disbelief

- This guy can not be serious. Did he really think I would find these pics attractive? Out of all the photos in the world that he probably could have sent he chose these?

2. Fear

- How did he get my number because I sure as hell didn’t give it to him. Did he get it from Facebook? (Checked Facebook and my number is not listed on there). Is it written on a bathroom stall of club in downtown Chicago? (Unlikely since I don’t frequent those places or hang out with people that do).

3. Anger

- Who the FUCK gave this guy my number?!

4. Relief

- At least I didn’t get any dick photos. Those are the worse.

For about a week straight Phil would call and text me like mad.  It was surely my fault for even entertaining him on that first phone call to begin with. I knew not to answer his number and I could block his text messages (avoiding possible dick texts) but then he started to call from other people’s numbers. As I mentioned in Part I, I always answer a call, even from numbers I don’t know because it could be a gig. Imagine my surprise/disgust/annoyance when it would be Phil. Eventually I took the chance that if it was a gig that really wanted me, they would leave a message or send an email. Otherwise they wouldn’t’ get a return call.

I guess I was dealing with a master of phone tag because Phil graduated from random phone numbers to the dreaded UNKNOWN phone number. If you didn’t know before, just know from my experience that whoever it is on the other end of an unknown phone call, it’s probably someone you don’t want to talk to.  Most likely it’s a bill collector, the IRS or a company offering you a free cruise if you just sit and listen to their hour-long timeshare presentation. However there is the small chance that it could be an emergency or even the Publisher’s Clearing House calling to tell you that you’ve won a hefty sum of money. I mean they don’t just make those commercials up. They are real! So you HAVE to pick up the phone just in case, and oh shit. It’s Phil again.

I consider myself a nice person and I didn’t want to lead this guy on but some people just don’t get it even after you’ve avoided talking to them for weeks. Lil suggested that I tell him I was seeing someone (which is the truth) and that it would be disrespectful for me to continue talking to him. Phil took this bit of information surprisingly well. He told me, “You’re a 4 star lady, of course you have a man. Why wouldn’t you? I get it but we could still harmlessly meet up for coffee.” 

No. Thanks.

I don’t know what it is, but if you tell a guy you have a boyfriend, it only makes them want you more. 

I’m not being conceited, it's a proven a law of the universe. Pretty girls know what I’m talking about.

Eventually the phone calls did cease and I was a better person for it too.  I could answer my phone without fear of having to chat with the phone stalker Phil had become over the previous weeks.

Well imagine my surprise when I get up one morning and see a Google Chat message from Lil saying to CALL HER IMMEDIATELY. The previous night I had asked her to go with me to a fashion show I was invited to by a mutual friend (proof right there that I’m a warehouse event party kind a girl, not a downtown Chicago club scene type of girl). She couldn’t go because she had a date. Lil has never been one to kiss-n-tell, so she just gave me some superficial details.

She met this guy while she was coming out of the supermarket the other day. He seemed really excited to see her at first and approached her like an old friend.

“Hey! How are you?!” Supermarket guy said happily.

“Umm, fine?” Lil said.

They went out for coffee and he told her all about where he was from, what he did for a living and that he lived in the same neighborhood.  Lil said after she got home that evening something just seemed off about the whole encounter. And then he started repeatedly text messaging and calling her for the next week.  Lil isn’t into clingy guys (who is?) so the whole thing rubbed her the wrong way.

Then something Supermarket guy had said during their outing sparked her memory. She picked up her phone and thumbed through the text messages that I had sent her a month prior. There it was, Phil’s unattractive photos, looking gangly and wild haired as ever. He had even mentioned being Creole on their date!

It’s winter in Chicago, so when they met for the first time in person, he had on a heavy coat and a hat that covered up that crazy hair of his. He wasn’t the man of her dreams looks wise, but he was nice and chatty, so why not get a drink together? After all if someone offers, most likely they’re paying ^_~

In the end, Lil decided that they wouldn’t meet up again. He was way too clingy, texting and calling her all the damn time. The weird thing is that he never once mentioned that he knew her, or at least thought he knew her. He never said, hey I have a picture of you in my phone that you sent me a month ago from a different phone number when you called yourself TK. Why aren’t you calling yourself that anymore? How many phone numbers do you have?

Maybe its normal to have multiple phone numbers since he called me from at least 3 different area codes. Maybe he was that hard up for love and/or companionship that he didn’t bother to ask questions or maybe he just didn’t care. Again not trying to sound like, “one of those girls we all hate” but all of my friends are Pretty good looking. I don’t hang out with ugly bitches so it goes without saying that Lil is a looker. He had hit the hot girl jackpot! Moral of the story is: return to using a landline and make sure the number is an unlisted one.

Fashionable First Ladies

I thought about making my first video blog today but then I looked in the mirror and realized that I look a hot mess. More importantly I’m too lazy to do anything about it.  So you all will have to wait to see my pretty face talk about random things at another time.

Really I just wanted to make a quick mini post to celebrate MLK day and the 2nd Inauguration of President Obama since both my twitter timeline and facebook newsfeed are cluttered with POTUS updates. Even though there are a lot of people that disagree with his policies, skin color or whatever else, you’ve got to admit that he’s a dashing fellow. And Michelle Obama and the girls were looking stylish, classy and FLAWLESS as ever at the Inauguration. You never see them with a hair or thread out of place and I think they are portraying a wonderful image of what African Americans are and can become. Here is a little showcase of the fashionable Obama ladies.

Untitled #444 by moccsie featuring high heels

Notte by Marchesa long ball gown, $595 / Rupert Sanderson high heels / Leather handbag / Pink sapphire earrings / DEZSO , $2,165 / MICHELLE OBAMA AUTOGRAPH -.png Round Stickers

About month ago while I was getting my hair done by an African lady (I believe she was from Sierra Leone), she showed me this music video called Uncle Obama. After I realized what Sister Deborah was really singing about I thought it was pretty hilarious. I guess Obama is a hot topic in Ghana too!

Deux Degrees of Separation

So one day I’m taking a mid-day nap on my fluffy couch when I hear my phone ringing. I wake up in just enough time to miss the call and notice it’s a Chicago number I’ve never seen before.

One of the main rules of working in the promo industry is always answer your phone since a lot of times gigs are on a first come first serve basis. If a client can't reach you they may give your job to the next person who actually does answer their phone call. On this fateful day, following the always-answer/return-phone-calls rule lead to an interesting situation. I immediately called back the number that started with the popular 773 Chicago area code and the conversation went like this:

“Hi I just got a call from this number”

“Is this TK?”

I cleared my throat and put on my professional work voice. “Yes. With whom am I speaking?”

“This is Phil.”

Thinking that maybe I had worked a program with Phil or had applied for a freelance job that I didn’t remember, I tried to jog my memory. When I really couldn’t remember him I thought it would be better to just ask this Phil character who he is so that we could get the conversation over with and I could resume my napping.

“Uh, hi Phil. I apologize but where do I know you from?”

“Well it’s a long story.”

Not what you want to hear when you really just want to go back to sleep.

“You see I’m thinking that we met at a club in downtown Chicago. Maybe near Dearborn?"

Just so you know, I don’t hang out at any clubs in downtown Chicago. In the 4 years I’ve lived here I might have been to 3 actual clubs. I feel like I’m past my clubbing days and even when I was “of clubbing age” it wasn't really my thing. I’m more of a house party, swanky lounge or warehouse event type gal.  

Feeling increasingly skeptical, I reply, “Uh huh.”

Phil continues with, “I had your number saved in my phone. It said TK and had four stars next to it. I know you must be a really hot lady if I put four stars next to your name.”

I wonder if he means 4 out of 5 stars. What grading scale are we talking about here?

“I must have had your number for at least a year but I dropped my phone in water one day and I lost my numbers for a while.”

Even though this phone call is weird, I figure if nothing else I can blog about it. Look at me, always hustling. 

“Yea I hear that if you put your phone in rice it will dry it out and then you can use it again”

“Oh I should try that next time. I just recently turned the phone back on, but I can’t remember what you look like. Could you describe yourself to me?”

Okay, phone call just took a turn for the worse.  

“Actually I’m really sleepy. Your call woke me up. Maybe we can chat later?” 

Plan was to save his number as DO NOT ANSWER and block all text messages from him.

“Oh sorry about waking you up. Well I’ma let you go…”

Thank God

“…but I’m 33 years old, about 6ft tall and 200lbs. I’m Black and Creole with wavy hair. I know 200 sounds like a lot but I work out. What about you?”

This time I’m mildly interested in where he is going with this. He obviously thinks being Black and Creole is going to tip the scales in his favor or give him some kind of sexy guy advantage with me. IT WOULD NOT. Not because I have anything against Black/Creole guys because racially, I'm an equal opportunity employer. My question is, who calls someone out of the blue, after supposedly having their number for a year just to talk? The statute of limitations has definitely passed on being able to call me back. However, given this random new information, I don’t hang up right away.

“You know, I’m brown skinned, medium sized, black hair with brown eyes.” 

And so are 3.1 million black girls in the United States.

“Would you say that you have a big booty?”

My mistake for not hanging up earlier.

“It’s not huge or anything. But I really need to get back to sleep.”

I don't even try to hide my disgust. Weirdo.

“Well maybe we can go out tonight around 7 to Starbucks. We really need to meet back up”

Am I being punked? Negro I don’t know you! We have NEVER met!

“I don’t know about that. I work the night shift. Gotta catch them Z’s.”

“Well do you have an intelligent phone? You could send me a photo and I could send you one too.”

Intelligent phone? Umm, you just proved your intelligence right then and there. I’m not even making this up. He really said that!

“Nah, I have one of those old school flip phones. All it does it ring. Listen Phil it was nice talking to you but I really have to go. Have a good day!”

And a good life creeper.

So I call up my friend Lil (whom you may remember from here) and tell her all about my twilight zone convo with Phil. Lil is a pretty good sport about things and she wanted to see what he looked like. She suggests that I send him a pic of her and ask for one back. Okay, cool. As long as it’s not my photo I don’t care. I don’t want some strange guy who got my OUT OF STATE phone number from God knows where, masturbating to my photo on his intelligent phone. I send him a photo of Lil asking for one in return. This is what I get.

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Wait for it

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Oh it gets better

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..

WTF?

O_o Now I really wanna know where he got my number! At least after seeing that beat up flip phone from 2003 I know why he called it an “intelligent phone.” Real talk, if I were going to give my number out to a guy, it wouldn’t be this guy! I showed my Mom his photos and she almost spit her Cheerios out laughing. Even If I were drunk and out of my mind I still have standards. I’m a 4 star girl after all.

I’ve given out my number maybe once in the last year to a cute Puerto Rican guy that worked at Marshall’s. We made eye contact from across the store, chatted as he rang up my items and he told me silly jokes about customers. I can easily fall for a cute guy with a great sense of humor any day. I went out on a limb, gave him my number and he never called me back. Maybe he dropped his phone in water and I can expect a phone call in a year, but personally I like to think that he got hit by a car. And now I obviously can’t go back to my neighborhood Marshall’s because it would be way too hard to deal with him not being there. Tragedy.

Anyways, as far as this Phil business goes, a funny thing happened on the way home from the supermarket the other day. I’ll tell you what went down in Part II of Deux Degrees of Separation.