Aaaahhh, Easter. The weather is beautiful, the kids are all dressed up and all the people who never go to church decide to show up and take my seat.

No, I’m not judging. If they choose to be a bad Catholic and only show up on Christmas and Easter, that’s between them and God. However, I am pissed that I showed up 20 minutes EARLY for mass (which is like pulling the pin on a grenade with a 10 month old) only to find this person has taken my usual seat and now we have to go to the overflow mass in the gym. The priest there can’t annunciate and the microphone is like some mythical creature he doesn’t understand and the acoustics are atrocious so it’s like listening to the teacher from the Peanuts cartoon; “Wahwah wahwah mwah wah”. Shoot me.

I’m not sure what it is about holidays either that makes people wear really inappropriate things to church just because they would consider them “dressy”. Someone needs to explain that “dressy” for a Friday night out and “dressy” for Sunday morning church are two very distinctive things. As Jimmy Buffet says “There’s a fine line between Saturday night and Sunday morning” and same goes for the clothing. Among the list of things I found to be unacceptable was a strapless, ass short, leopard print dress on a 16 year old. More importantly, I found the fact that her parents let her out of the house in it interesting.

The straw that broke the camel’s back for me came while Baylie and I were in the back of church. She was being chatty (for some reason this makes her quiet, but standing at our seat makes her want to narrate for us). There was a family of what I assume was grandma, mom, 11 year old son and 13 year old daughter dressed like she was 22. She was wearing a strapless, short yellow dress, 4 inch heals to match and bangs swept across her forehead that originated at her opposite ear so that she had to keep her head tilted to one side in order to keep them in place (not kidding). I happened to look over and see, at one point, her texting on her phone. Now, I’m just as bored as the rest of those there who couldn’t hear and didn’t get a seat in the main church, but TEXTING?? Really?? Is there no decency? I don’t want to be that lady at church, but damn it, that’s not ok. I tried to give the mom a look so she would make it stop and when she didn’t, I had to say something. As nicely as I could I said to the little tartlet that it’s not appropriate to text in mass. And she looked at me and said “uuhh, I wasn’t texting”. Look kid, I’m not your mom and I obviously don’t give a crap if you’re an inconsiderate ahole anywhere else but if you could save the ‘tude for someone who cares and take your hooker heals and phone outside, that’d be great. I got the stare down from her and her parents the rest of mass. I hope her mom’s was out of embarrassment. Peter then informed Baylie that if she ever A. dresses like that or B. acts like that we will move to a remote town in Montana and home school her. She nodded in understanding.

We proceeded to my mom’s house after mass where she had prepared the most amazing brunch with 3 courses and about a hundred dishes and ate like we’d never seen food. I also drank about 5 mimosas (mimosa meaning champagne that sat next to the orange juice on the table so it counts as a mimosa and not just champagne) and fed Bay a big plate of berries which she chowed down. I was a little confused as she might be the fussiest eater in the world and then found out they were sugared within an inch of their little berry lives. Sigh… Happy Easter!

Getting into line. Standing in line. Staying in line. These are all things we learn early in life. From standing in line to go to recess, lunch and home. From the library, to the post office and the grocery store later in life. This is not a complicated task, in fact, ants do it all day every day.  Elephants walk hundreds of miles in a straight line… it’s not  hard. Yet, it seems to be something that we as humans cannot do.

My first example is the Cubs v. Dodgers spring training game last week. We drove across town to get to the stadium, only to wait in line to park for the same amount of time it took to actually get there. Once in line, cars would continue to get out of line, zip around the line and then try to cut back in further up. And of course, someone would let them in (probably tourists…). Sadly, we didn’t have Peter’s huge truck so we couldn’t park it in between lanes thus preventing such ridiculous behavior. Peter likes this trick when people try to get around the line to get on the freeway while he’s commuting home. When I attempted this trick, the man who I would not let over proceeded to scream at me for over a minute….and then ended up parking 2 spaces away from me. Lesson learned: unless you want to sit in your car for 10 minutes waiting to make sure the jerk doesn’t key your car, just let the guy over. Better yet, don’t drive to the west side for baseball games.

The prime example of people not waiting in line happened this morning at the grocery store. Because I get to stay home with Baylie, we’ve become very good at running errands together. You have to become a side-show act when it comes to balancing and carrying random objects when you have to have a munchkin with you at all times. I am so good (if I do say so myself) that I carried the kiddo, two hot dogs AND two beers at the above mentioned game last week. Yes, I am talented, thank you for noticing. I am also of the belief that even though I have a baby, the entire world does not stop to help me and I’m ok with that. However, it would be nice if people didn’t make it harder to complete normal tasks. At the grocery, I had a full cart and Baylie in the baby bjorn (for those unfamiliar, it’s not only a godsend but a contraption that straps the kiddo to your chest) on the way to the check out. Because it was early, the store was pretty empty but the woman in front of me had a cart so full it made mine look empty. An old man walked up with two items and began to huff and puff about the fact that he was going to have to wait. Mind you, there are FOUR self check out stands open, but that would require work on his part and therefore unacceptable. When another checker showed up, he literally cut me off to get to the open stand. Now, I’m a nice person and was going to offer to let him go ahead of me – but since he cut me off, I felt compelled to tell him in the sweetest tone “no no, it’s fine, please go ahead!”. Sadly, I don’t think his hearing aid was turned up and he didn’t hear me – or I like to think he was so embarrassed he pretended he didn’t hear me. So, next time you’re at the store and someone with a baby is near by, first, don’t cut in front of them, second, if you see someone cut, be sure to call them out for being a total butt head.

Lastly, you know when you’re walking into Starbucks or the dry cleaners and a person races you to the door so they can get in line first? I don’t have a story, here I just think it’s annoying. Thankfully for me, the dry cleaners we go to love Baylie so I usually get helped first no matter where I am in line! Take that line cutters!

Also, open the door for women with strollers. Yes, we can do it, but it’s nice when someone does it for you. And don’t be part of the problem, be part of the solution, wait your turn in line 🙂

Welcome to the Goon Room! When trying to decide what to name this blog, the one title that really seemed to fit was the Goon Room – as any good Alpha Phi (pronounced “fee”) from the Beta Epsilon chapter will tell you, this is a 6ft by 10ft “room” with two couches that are bigger than love seats but smaller than real couches facing each other. The name comes from the fact that many years prior to the Fall 2000 pledge class’s arrival, the area used to be the top of the stairs where a sister could look down and see if her arriving date was a “goon”. Since a remodel to the house, the room is now a small area where three bedrooms meet. It’s too large to be a landing, too small to be anything else – and thus, the Goon Room.

There is something about this space that makes you talk – sitting silent in the Goon Room was impossible. The conversations that happened in this space were varied. Hopes, dreams, aspirations and where to get a bikini wax. Class, studying techniques and what you were wearing to the date dash. Drama in the house, what was for dinner and who the hell keeps leaving hair in the shower. Because the discussions were from the bizzare to the serious and the deep to the freakishly shallow, there seemed no better name for this blog. I can’t really tell you what The Goon Room Blog is about, but I can tell you that all the posts will have a good dose of humor and probably some with rage (at the moment, I hate tourists) but all with a lot comedy.

So, to kick it off – what do you call yourself  if you hate tourists? If you hate women, you’re a sexist – hate white people, you’re a racist. But the tourist even took away a proper definition for me! I’m not sure what it is about being on vacation that makes them loose all of their common sense. Such as: don’t cross the street in front of a turning car – you may have the right away, however my SUV is going to win. Also, that yellow lane in the middle of the street is for TURNING. Not driving and you don’t have to avoid it – meaning please do not turn left out of a driving lane across the turn lane. Along those lines, do not turn left out of the RIGHT hand non turn lane. I  believe that snow birds and visitors should have to take a driving test and a walking test – if they fail, they have to hire an escort to show them how not to piss off the locals.

If you’re confused about whether the a-hole near you is a tourist, look for these tell-tale signs:

1. A “PERM” sticker where their registration date sticker should be on the license plate – this is a rental car

2. Socks with shorts – they are typically very pale and in need of heavy footwear and high socks while walking the treacherous streets of Old Town.

3. Purse across chest – they tend to carry lots of bags loaded with supplies and native american knock off trinkets. Said bags are placed over the head and one arm so to avoid the rampant purse snatching happening in Old Town. Really, if someone is grabbing your purse, it’s probably a drunk college kid who is falling over and grasping for help.

4. Funny hats and sunburns – tourist tend not to grasp the part about being in a desert and get horribly sunburned during the first days of their trip. They then feel the need to purchase a ridiculous looking hat to wear for the remainder of the trip.

I know, I know, tourism boosts our economy – but do they have to be so nerdy?!

Welcome to the Goon Room. I hope you come back often and that what you read makes you smile. Have a great day!