A Lesson in Chicago Diversity

As my boss had her baby last week, I had to leave my cushy Loop office and be babysat by our marketing team at their South Side location. This required that I bus from my northside Lakeview apartment to the Loop and then transfer buses to the South Side. Now, Chicago has always had a "Northside"/"Southside" rivalry, the most visible of which is currently ongoing between the Cubs and the White Sox in the playoffs. The "Northside" traditionally homes the wealthier and the "Southside" traditionally homes the poorer.

However, this week, I actually saw the demographic change. I was the only white person on the bus to and from the South Side. Then, when I transferred buses, I noticed there were very few African Americans. That shouldn't be! I thought we lived in a 'diverse' society. Nowhere have I seen this less illustrated than on the Chicago bus this week.

While discussing this issue with my friend Nayeli, she praised San Francisco's uniqueness on this issue, saying "it shelters us from a lot of the hard issues that are found in other places. Not that SF is perfect, but other places have so many more issues." To which I responded, "I think SF is a unique place. It is odd to have to think about diversity because I think true diversity exists when you do not notice it or its lack."

While Nayeli surprisingly exclaimed that I was 'almost poetic,' wouldn't that be a poetic moment? And where can it start? On the Chicago buses.

A Pregnant Pause

After months of searching, I finally landed a wonderful position. On my first day at work, I felt like a child on her first day of kindergarten: full of nervous excitement. I found the building, entered the office, and greeted my boss. Overall, no surprises lay in store save one: my boss was pregnant. Furiously wracking my memory, I could not understand how I had not noticed her pregnant status during my interview. She only looked about 5 or 6 months pregnant. She must have just started to show, I rationalized. Since she had just started to show, I thought that my first work week was not the time to have a conversation regarding her pregnancy. Well, apparently we should have had that conversation, because she went into labor on Thursday. Labor! She wasn't 5 months pregnant. She was 8.25 months pregnant. Suddenly, as she gained a baby girl, I gained a massive migraine. Oi vey! I know I have a master's degree, but I had kind of hoped I could apprentice for a little while. You know, at least a month! Never before have I experienced a pregnant pause quite like this one.

An Unexpected Ethnic Celebration

Today, after a long period of inactivity, I have decided to resurrect my blog from its bloggy grave. It was cold. It was damp. It was devoid of Sarah stories. Never fear. Now that I have a big girl apartment and am in Chicago, I am ready to infuse Chicago personality with SF observations. I didn't realize I would have the opportunity to do so so soon in my Chicago life.

This week, I am couch surfing at my friend Jess's. Yesterday, she was working late, so I decided to take a 45 minute walk. Since Jess lives in West Loop, I figured I would walk the brief 20 minutes to Millennium Park and just see if anything was happening. The summer series is long over, but I figured that even without a concert performance, there would be something to see. Oh, and there was something to see indeed. As I approached Millennium Park, I was very confused by appearance of a chain link fence surrounded the concert arena. At my first glimpse of security searches, I paused, thinking that there was a ticketed event. Curious, I continued, holding out my two pocket contents: iPod and mobile phone (I know, I know, no wallet, but I am digitally connected!). There are no tickets but I am drawn to the attractive sound of an orchestra performing. I move to a position in the lawn and enjoy the symphony. As I listen, I start to look around, hoping to identify the reason for this concert. As I look, I realize I am surrounded by persons carrying/wearing the Mexican flag. Children are spinning circles saying "una mas vez!." People are wearing ponchos. The skyscrapers say "viva viva" in lights. Suspicious, I text my friend Nayeli and ask "? I am standing in Millenium Park and am surrounded by Mexican flags. Is today a Mexican holiday or something?" To which Nayeli replied "Yes, it is actually. Independence Day. Have fun and cheer for my people!" Darn! Where is a Mexican flag when you need one? Oh wait!

On Two Things I Don't Understand: Hip Hop and 2 Ply Facial Tissues

It does not come as a surprise that I would somehow find a way to connect two seemingly unrelated items. However, it is not a random tangent today that seared these two thoughts into one blog. Oh no. Rather, its pure laziness. That's right. Laziness. However, I really don't understand hip hop nor 2 ply facial tissues.

First, to hip hop. On two different occasions, I have been at a party where the DJ was mixing hip hop. Most of the time, I just stand there looking very white and very confused. How can hip hop been classified as music? Now, a good DJ should always be able to seamlessly transition between songs, always maintaining the same beat. With hip hop, not only is the beat the same, but so is the bass line. The only thing that changes is the lyrics. If you cannot distinguish between the songs, you can't find an easy out from dancing with some creepy guy. Which leads me to my next point of confusion. Dancing to hip hop. I just do not understand how it works. My friend Kim has explained that it just comes from the knees with people in very tight quarters. In other words: grinding. Seriously though, unless I am dancing the tango, I am a fan of maintaining a very slight difference between me and strange drunken men. Hip hop goes against that intuition. In fact, usually you end up dancing with multiple drunken men. Combined with the lack of musicality, there is no polite escape. I just do not understand hip hop. It goes against musicality and reason. However, I am always open to clarification. Could somebody clarify the joys of hip hop? Somebody? Anybody?

Now, to my discussion regarding why I don't understand 2 Ply facial tissues. I must warn that this particular segment is not for the easily disgusted. It is for those who think that my belches are disgustingly amusing. Alright, so, my friend Jess gave me a cold last weekend courtesy of a 3 hour car ride. As a result, I have been fighting a ridiculously bad head cold that has caused me to blow my nose through a whole box of facial tissues in an entire weekend. That is not to count my daily count. The box of facial tissues that I took from work boasted on the box that they were not made with 2 Ply strength. After a whole box of facial tissues, I want to know why the marketing managers for Office Depot facial tissues felt the need to include this on a box. Buggers (that's right, I whipped out the b-word) are barely contained by these facial tissues. In fact, they are barely contained when you fold the tissue in half. What type of crap tissues are those? As a result, not only do you have half of a tissue with which to blow your nose, but you have an increasing doubt with every blow that the tissue will not hold while you are say, in a public transportation vehicle or the shuttle to work. If that weren't bad enough, these facial tissues were sans aloe! Are 4 ply aloe facial tissues to much to request? I think not! Still, after all of that, I just do not understand why one should even bother producing 2 Ply facial tissues. Once again, if you can provide clarification, I would greatly appreciate it. Until then, I am a white hip hop confused girl with a rather raw nose.

Top 5 Reasons to Go On the Company Ski Trip

5. Staying in a 4 Star Hotel -- For Free!
After awaking at 4 a.m. on Monday morning, riding a bus, and then walking 3/4 of a mile to embark on a 3.5 hour bus ride, I finally arrived at my destination - the beautiful area of ski legend, Lake Tahoe. However, it isn't until I check in to my hotel room, look out upon its balcony view of the ski lift and the mountains, and start to change in to my ski stuff (that I borrowed from my friend Michelle) that I realize I haven't stayed at a hotel since my senior year in college. This was a really really nice hotel. On a side note, let me define what aspects of a hotel get 2 reallys. Hairdyer, flat screen HDTV, and a coffee pot. Plus the view. Did I mentioned the view? Lovely fluffy beds, amenities, and more awaited me at The Resort at Squaw Creek. And it was free!

4. Obtaining Your Bridget Jones Ski Story

Yesterday was the first time I had ever skied. First time ski rental and lesson tickets in hand, I wandered around the base of Squaw Valley. Where does one go to get skis? You would think that these areas would be better marked. Oh no. Not at Squaw Valley. They are way too good for beginners like me. The place marked 'Ski Rental' seemed too obvious. It seemed like a great way to get tourists into a shop. No, obvious was correct, in this case. Now, I tentatively enter Ski Rental. It reminds me a lot of a factory, only lined with humans instead of with machines. The sounds of clicking, snapping, and slapping echoed in my virgin ski ears. I hand my rental ticket to the lady and approach station 1: boots. Ski boots are very complicated and should come with an instruction manual. After asking the stranger next to me how to manipulate the boots, I manged to find my way to station 2: skis. As in a dream state, I followed the directions given to me by the all knowing ski fitters: stand, put your heel down, lift up, now go. Nobody even told me how to hold the skis so they didn't fall apart. Then, station 3: poles. The guy told me to hold the skis by the basket. Sorry? What? The basket?

After this intimidating experience, dressed in ski equipment, I finally made it on the cable car and went to my ski lesson. Chatting with some people from finance, I learned how to ski. It didn't seem that scary. In fact, it seemed kind of fun. Moving forward. Check. Going down the minor hill. Check. Turning. Check. I thought I was finally prepared for a slightly bigger hill once my lesson completed. As I started down my first 'big girl' slope, I talked my way all the way down. Okay, wedge. Right. Left. You can do it Sarah. I made it to the bottom without problem. Confidence gained, I tried it again. This time, however, I was not as lucky. In fact, like Bridget Jones in her second film, somehow, I got out of control and I fell - the only way you are NOT supposed to fall - forward. I landed, tasting blood. I quickly checked all of my teeth. All accounted for. I had only split my lip. And here I thought I would come home wound free. I think that ski wounds are so much more exciting than smooth runs. I think that is the American part of me. After that run, I chose the alternative route that went across slope. At least I didn't enter any race.

3. Seeing Your Colleagues Trashed

Everybody should have the opportunity to see their colleagues trashed at least once. 75% of my colleagues had been drinking on an empty stomach for quite some time. Many a time I told them that they needed to drink a little water. I don't think they actually were able to comprehend my statement. Their unfocused eyes continued to stare blankly at their still full glass of alcohol. It was great! Of course, they didn't feel that way this morning. When the band played, often reserved colleagues cut loose. It was so great to see people out of their element. It was a change to see what people are like in real life. Work is not real life. We are all who we pretend to be. Alcohol often shows us a little bit more of how people really are. It has interesting capacities.

2. Seeing Your Managers Trashed

Last week I decided that I would try to impress not my manager, but rather my manager's manager. And my manager's manager was very drunk last night at the ski trip. Liquid truth emerged from her mouth regarding my performance. I learned that she is exceptionally impressed with me. Had I had more time, I could probably have gained more dirt on others; however, when you are sober, you should use your interrogative powers for good and not for evil. However, next time, she's mine. bwah ha ha ha ha ha

1. Party Stories to Last At Least One Year
It was crazy this past weekend! On a scale of 1 to 10, this was a 7.5 on the crazy scale. We are all well educated, so we do have limits to our level of craziness. In general, it was a weekend to be remembered. Everybody should definitely participate in a company ski trip at least once. I can't imagine how next year can top it.

'This' Offends Women

My friend Lance notified me yesterday that if I didn't post something on my blog today, I would have missed an entire month of informing you about me life. I know many of you are my friends and have been checking this blog periodically, with much disappointment for a while. I'll have to post something about my absence at some point, but for the moment, not wanting to miss out on the month of January, I have a story to tell.

Two weekends ago, one of my colleagues hosted the third of his pub crawl series. Right now, I am one of the few people with 100% attendance on the pub crawls. Personally, I think I deserve my own certificate. Finally, I'll have the perfect attendance award that always alluded me in school. It seems fitting that it would be for a pub crawl. I am such an old man pub person. That is probably why I did not enjoy the fact that not only was a club the third 'pub' on our crawl, but that once we got in, it was also our last stop. Normally, I would have left this hiphop scene; however, this particular area of town is exceptionally difficult to access by bus and has stiff competition for taxis, and I actually had a ride home. For a ride home, I will look frowningly on the club scene and ask my guy friends to save me from drunken Georgian/Italian guys.

Finally, the night ends, and the entire club population is squeezed on to the street. I organize my two not-sober friends, myself, and the sober driver to start heading home. While saying our goodbyes, one of my drunken and exceptionally nice male colleagues accidentally flailed his arm at something, accidentally hitting one of my female colleagues in the boob. For your information, women call this a 'boob shot.' She looked at him and said "I can't believe you just hit me in the boob." She then turned to her friend and asked "do you have the stickers?" Her friend nodded in approval, reached in her purse, pulled out her wallet, and unfolded a sheet of stickers - a sheet full of stickers that said 'this offends women.' With one smack on the chest, my male colleague was branded. I think women everywhere should make their own stickers to carry around in their purse. Its mace without the allergic attack.

Attention Customers

Saturday, operation ‘Sarah Needs a Dress’ went into affect. Madam Srgt General Mom was put in charge of this operation. Shopping with mom is always lots of fun, but give her a mission, and watch out. After 4 hours, I started to get burnt out. However, shopping is not what my story is about. For 4 hours, every time I went into or exited a store, the security alarm went off. At first, I thought it was a little odd. The second time, alright, a little unusual. By the third time, I just wanted to know what in my purse was setting off the alarm. I obviously hadn’t taken anything. Was it my camera? Now, my 6’3” brother held my camera above the security alarm while I walked out. The security alarm went off yet again. After a while, I just got used to setting off the alarm and having people look at me like I was a criminal. I was dressed way too nicely to be a criminal, but hey, if Wynona Ryder could shop lift, I guess you can’t judge based on clothes. After 3 hours of setting off every security alarm twice, I just stopped trying to figure out what was in my purse. As Mom and I were in Ann Taylor and trying on what turned out to be the perfect dress, Mom pulls out this security tag from one of the garments and asks what it is. Oh, that is the security tag, I said. They deactivate it when you purchase the garment. I normally forget to clip them off. In fact, this pair of pants still has the security tab on it. Suddenly, Mom looks at me and says, that is what has been setting the alarm off. My pants. Good job team Sarah. Let that be a warning to those of you who forget to clip off the tag. Don’t go shopping wearing those pants.