I Fucking HATE Cub Fans
I would like to declare from the outset that I am baseball-neutral. I will weakly root for a Chicago team over a non-Chicago team out of civic responsibility, but I don’t get bent out of shape about it.

What I DOES get me bent out of shape is when someone (actually a group of someones) steals my parking spot, is incapable of operating the parking garage kiosk, fills the Metra train to capacity so that I have to stand, blocks foot traffic, stops in the middle of a heavily-traveled bridge to take a picture, and otherwise disrupts my morning compute with their incompetent jack-assery.

In short, I hate Cub fans on opening day.

Oh, I hate Sox fans, too, in all their mulleted, gnarled-tooth, senselessly-violent glory. But they get plenty of derision hurled their way without me adding to it, and they also didn’t get in my fucking way today. So I’m not going to rail against them. It’s all about Cub fans for me right now.

It all started when I pulled into the public parking garage near the train station where I park every work day. I consistently park in the same spot, and it’s always available because it’s a little out of the way and nobody wants it but me; I like it because it’s number 551, which I remember by singing it to the tune of “Bye Bye Love.”

But today, TODAY, I had to park in number 549 which has absolutely no pneumonic properties to it whatsoever, because a CUB FAN parked in MY SPACE. I should be able to have his car towed away, but the Obama administration is anti-freedom Socialist Commies, and say the parking garage is “Public Property.” I bet Sarah Palin would let me shoot out all their windows and leave a bloody moose head in the back seat.

Then, at the kiosk where you key in your parking space and insert your payment, there was a line where there normally is no line, because Cub Fans are illiterate. Or, they can’t read digital screens. Maybe if a teeny tiny little man was inside, manually changing the letters, they would have had an easier time. Also, if the kiosk was covered with pretty ivy.

THEN, there were no seats on the train. I had to stand in the vestibule with the people who ALWAYS stand in the vestibule (I call them Vesties. Nick was a Vestie.) They smiled politely at me, but they knew I didn’t belong there. I was the licorice cow of the vestibule, and I stood by myself trying not to eavesdrop on their private conversations.

AND THEN, when the train got to the station, the assorted maturity-stunted ex-frat boys and stodgy, thick-calved early retirees in their Cub regalia impeded the natural flow out of the station by standing still trying to figure out how to get out of the station, or which exit they should choose, or should they buy a Cinnabon, or some such nonsense. I neither know nor care WHY they were frozen in place; all I know is they were fucking ANNOYING. Also: no stopping on the bridge to take pictures during rush hour, assholes!

In conclusion, Cub fans need to stay out of my fucking way. Plus, adding the suffix “-ies” onto your team name is ridiculous and wrong. Does anyone say “The Bearsies” or “The Bullsies” or “The Hawksies” or “The Soxies?” No. Fuck you and your “Cubbies.”

I need more coffee.
Lots of Thoughty Thoughts in My Noggin

Okay, clearly there's been a backup -- not a sewage backup, but the comparison is certainly apt. No, this has been a backup in blog posts since I no longer have the free time to spew my ill-conceived and baseless opinions out into the world, whining and grumbling like a slightly younger and less eyebrow-laden Andy Rooney. With boobs.

So, the thoughty thought I am releasing today actually came to me on March 20 at a post-St. Patrick's Day party, where I met a nice Lithuanian man whose parents had immigrated to the U.S. just as the Soviets were taking over their country.

He said, "My dad told me that when the Russians came in, they didn't haul away the political leaders, the people who were 'in charge' at the time. They took away the teachers, the engineers, and the doctors."

So, tea partiers may look at that and say, "See? SEE?? Obama wants to take over! He wants to control health care and public works and education, JUST LIKE THOSE DAMN RUSSKIES! I TOLD YOU he's a Communist!"

But, I look at it differently. This health care bill is the first inch away from privatization and corporate takeover of formerly public services since St. Ronnie Reagan came to town and saved us all from all evil. This move away from corporate control, however slow or incomplete, was met with such a shrieking and wailing and gnashing of teeth from the would-be overlords that it's making me re-think my disappointment in Obama. If he can make them THIS MAD, he must be doing something right.

Now he should focus on education and getting our teachers back.
Irrational Pet Peeves

Volume 12, Issue 386. Or something.

Commuting has aroused an entirely new set of passionate, irrational dislikes in me. Would you like to hear about them? Of COURSE you would!

In no particular order, I hate:

  • Skinny, bow-legged women in leggings or black polyester pants. They're seemingly everywhere and I always seem to be walking behind them.

  • The guy who wears so much cologne I can smell him from a block away.  Now, that sounds like a figure of speech, but I mean literally FROM A BLOCK AWAY.

  • The construction workers building that one building near the train station.  I don't like those big scary metal rods they carry around.  Rebar?  Is that what's it called?  I don't like it. It's all wiggly and floppy and dangerous looking and those guys don't look too responsible.

  • This frilly raincoat this one woman who rides my train wears. She also wears flats with big floppy bows on them. Also, the way she wears her hair irritates me. She's not 12 years old! She's in her 50's or something. She thinks she's the prissy English cousin from the "Patty Duke Show."

  • Anyone who sits next to me.

  • People who walk too slowly, especially when they walk two abreast so they can chatter inanely to one another while blocking the sidewalk with their big butts. Because people who plod along and talk usually have big butts.

  • People who stand in the middle of the sidewalk.

  • People who are too afraid to cross the street.

  • People who block the crosswalk with their big stupid cars. When the "walk signal" is on, it's not your fucking turn! Encroachment would result in dings from my briefcase, if I had one. Damn this soft tote bag!

  • The intersection of Ohio/Orleans.

  • Wind.

  • The profound lack of bakeries on my route.

I'm sure I have more but that's all for now.
I'm Back; I've Been Fighting the Good Fight

I apologize for my prolonged absence, but I’ve been shocked by the horrors of war. A battle has been waging in the office I now call my work home, a battle which began long before I stepped through the door, and yet the combatants have forced me to take sides.

What divisive issue could force these otherwise gentle people from their important work of promoting public parks and publicizing the comic exploits of Morgan D’Organ?

Flavored coffee.

On my first day, the young lady who had been temporarily filling my position was showing me the ropes. Toward the end of that day, she decided to show me how to order supplies. She mentioned, in low tones, that we needed to order… coffee.
Despite her attempts to keep the topic private, one of the young people who work here came bounding down the hallway from across the office, barely rounding the corner to the reception area in his haste to make sure he caught us before we hit the “send” button on the online order form.

“As representative of the flavored-coffee drinking contingent,” he regally declared, “and there are more of us than you realize,” he added conspiratorially, looking around to see who was listening, “I demand to have my opinions heard!*”

With a resigned sigh and a slight eye-roll, she turned the screen towards him so he could view the flavored coffee offerings. He rubbed his chin, considering his options, and finally decided on Gloria Jeans hazelnut. Satisfied that he had done right by his constituents, he then turned to me and asked with hope in his voice, “Do you like flavored coffee?”

“No,” I said. “But I support your right to add flavorings to your coffee.” His eyes darkened a bit; apparently, the flavored syrups had been tried and rejected by the flavored coffee brigade. My comment had reopened an old wound. He stepped away, warily eyeing me as he headed back to his desk.

So far, peace has prevailed so long as the flavored fans put their coffee in their own, labeled carafe. But the long-unused bottle of toasted-marshmallow syrup sits on the counter as a reminder of past unpleasantness.

*I don’t remember exactly what he said. Something more like, “I want to pick something, too.” I don’t remember.
Name: Übermilf
Location: Chicago Area

If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.

So you want more huh?
Click here!

Perverts, scram. There's nothing for you here.

Now, who wants cupcakes?

I am Online
Add me to your Buddy List
Join my Chat Room
Send me E-mail

My site was nominated for Hottest Mommy Blogger!

adopt your own virtual pet!

follow me on Twitter
Design By:

Online Casino
Who links to me?

Listed on BlogShares
Blog Directory - Blogged Ubermilf at Blogged

My blog is worth $40,646.88.
How much is your blog worth?