Ole, ole, Ole, ole.

Hey guys, you might not have known this about me - but I am a huge soccer nerd. #sorryIamnotsorry.

You grow up with a family of Eye-talians and it is going to wear off on you.

Last time there was a world cup, I watched almost all of it while in Europe which is basically like watching the Super Bowl from inside Cowboys Stadium (not in-person, mind you, just like, on the big TV over the field).  This year will pale in comparison because I still have to go to work and the prosciutto and mozzarella cheese sandwiches will be sub-par. But my brother won't be dying, soooo win some/lose some.

Here are some important things you need to be a world cup fan. Hop on, folks, there is plenty of room on this bandwagon and it comes with an excuse to drink at 11:00 a.m. on a Tuesday!

This guide gives you all the good soccer bars in Chicago.

If you want an outdoor soccer viewing experience - U.S. Soccer is putting on a money-grabbing "free" soccer viewing party in Grant Park. I am pretty sure you can sneak booze into Grant Park, which is good because watching the U.S. get trounced by Ghana, Germany and possibly Portugal - you're gonna need it.

Also, if you want to be an educated fair weather fan, here is my favorite thing of all time - Drew Magary's Hater's Guide to the World Cup. If I had any wish in all the wishes in the wish bank, I would want my writing to sound like the love child of Drew Magary and Margaret Atwood. What a disturbed and beautiful love child my writing would be.

Soccer (although now I hang out with enough British folks I feel like I should be able to call it Football) is the best sport to watch in the summer, because its easy and you can kind of half pay attention in the sunshine over your almost-finished bloody mary, eat all the rich, European food you love and then shrug when the thing is over in a 0-0 tie and go take a nap.  The people's game!

A Happy Monday

I do not normally invite people out for drinks on a Monday night. Mondays are for bras-off-pajamas-on laptops-on-laps loafing until you can work up the energy to go to bed. 

So maybe it's because it is summer. Or I was on Facebook at the very right moment. Or I just wanted one day of not carrying my yoga mat to work. Or that I love spending time with my new co-workers, and my family, and am always up for a free drink. 

I said "let's go." 

And they all said, "yes. Let's."

Angel's Envy puts on the Monthly Muddle at a swank Chicago bar the second Monday of every month. They find three b.a. bartenders to make three drinks each, then you go and you get to sample some drinks and then buy some more. Then you eat other people's french fries. 

Like so many things, I am kicking myself that I didn't get my act together to go sooner. Check the Angel's Envy facebook page to get in on this next time around.

I am so happy we went out. I am so happy we tried fancy drinks. I'm so happy we talked through big, important things even though I still (forever) feel like "the new girl." 

All Mondays should end feeling this good. One out of many isn't too bad.

To happy Mondays and homemade horrchada. 

Friendly Ground

Today we are skipping town to go watch my baby sister 'Bear graduate from college. Obviously, this makes me incredibly old and I'm working through all my old-person emotions.

The best way to do this is with booze, obviously.

When I was ordering this balanced breakfast, I asked the bartender if I could take this back to my gate to enjoy while stealing the wireless from Boyfriend's phone.

"Of course, young lady, you can take this wherever you want. Welcome to the South Side of Chicago."

My heart bubbled with Chicago pride. We booze when we want (8:30 a.m. on a Wednesday), where we want (the gate because airport bars are sad) and how we want (it was only 40 cents extra to get Kettle One. Hell. Yes).

As I reflect back on my college graduation which was EIGHT YEARS AGO OMG. I am so grateful for the opportunities I had and the choices I made that led me to such a great town.

Cheers.

Truism five-or-six

If you're going to work too hard, and demand too much of yourself, and push yourself to your limit - the least you can do is schedule yourself one night to get boozy on fancy cocktails and pork belly with two of your favorite people.

Polar Vortex Day!

I am very grateful that my current work schedule requires me to take one day off every week. It came in very handy last year when we were running all over the country and it came in even more handy when people started talking about how Chicago was going to turn into northern Canada by Monday morning.

I curled up Sunday afternoon, buzzed and joyous that I didn't have to wait for someone to tell me if I had to bundle up like an Eskimo and trek downtown.

Polar Vortex day included saying good bye to Christmas, folding approximately ALL the laundry, discovering the Good Wife on the Hallmark Channel and the Evil Apple app for iphone.

Evil Apple was perfect for a whole herd of friends with a grown-up snow day. Although it is taking one million years to get everyone to be checking their phone at the same time.

And now we'll finish off the night with a delightful boozy toast to Chiberia and having to bundle up for work tomorrow morning.

We're not actually stranded on the surface of Mars, but we might as well drink like we are. Super grateful to have had these things on hand, although, like any good WASP, I would never run out of booze during inclement weather.

Goulden Oldies.

Football Sundays used to look like this:

Now, its far more likely to look like this:

I will say, it is nice not to have to put on pants. And it is ideal to get projects done with no distractions. And I have far more money to spend on dresses and throw pillows when I'm not paying a $100 bar tab every week.

I miss that face though. The face of irresponsible bliss.

So this Sunday, I'll work hard. I'll imbibe nothing stronger than coffee. I will go to bed knowing that I'll wake up in one metaphorical (and literal) piece on Monday morning.

Next week though? Next Sunday is a return to going for the Gould.

Another added bonus to this new version of Game Day:

Sleeprov

Last night capped a summer experiment that will continue to resonate until at least 3:00 this afternoon.

I got cast to perform in the Genisis League at ComedySportz Chicago (which happened at the exact same time as my new job started and I had a house full of visitors and was without a bed - it was an intense beginning-of-Summer this year). 

It was really exciting. Short form improv has always been my number one girl, and the people at ComedySportz are easily some of the best in the universe. 

When our rehearsal schedule (which, since its improv - it should really be practice schedule) was announced my heart sank. Tuesdays 10 pm - midnight.

Think about what you're normally doing on Tuesday nights that late: You're either getting into trouble or you're getting into bed.

I didn't want to say no, but I also knew this summer was going to require more of my brain capacity than ones in the past (never get a real job, kids, it will get in the way of your socialimprov schedule).

So I said yes. And so for the past twelve weeks I have crawled into bed at 12:30 on Tuesday night, only to be awoken at 6:30 and required to be a real, high functioning adult for 8-10 hours the next day. Then on Wednesdays we got to be goofs on stage, an event that was always supposed to end around 9 or 10 and tended to actually end around 11 or 12. Making two late nights in a row. On school nights no less.

Please don't get me wrong - I am not complaining in anyway. I am so happy I got to have this experience and meet these people and do this thing that I love So.Much. 

But I am realizing what a late night does to my body and mind now. While I have really not changed externally-physically in the past seven years - the internal changes sometimes shock me. My own body's incapacity to survive on two hours sleep and a diet coke is frustrating and unnerving and I really felt it this summer.

Gone are the days when a rehearsal that ends at midnight would be followed with a drinking session that ends at three. The four post-show drinks have now become one-or-two. The one night this summer I got coerced into doing shots, lead to a next morning of wishing the ground would swallow me up whole. I used to be able to do this and still get to work at 8:00 am*

I'm proud of myself for making it through this summer and having a great time. I am also proud of my own recognition of my limitations. I miss 23 year-old Rachel's stamina, but I am grateful for 28 year-old Rachel's common sense, even if it makes me feel humiliatingly old.  

*Please note: this applies on weekdays only. I can still play like a champion on the weekend. Sometimes. 

I wanna dance.

I am having booze problems these days. I assume it has something to do with being older (and therefore lamer). The last few times I've been trying to get all cray-cray, I've just gotten really miserable and sick and its been the worst.

Last night was my chance to redeem myself at the annual Andersonville Bar Crawl. Its the best party of the year. It deserves a yelp review its so good. I didn't want to puss out before the big finale dance party. I kept reminding myself to pace myself and listen to myself and drink water...myself.

It was strange, to be listening to my body rather than just trusting that its been down this bumpy road before and knows how to come out on top.

At bar one, it was time for a Little Sumpin' Sumpin' (no more Miller Lite over here folks, we're grown-ups), I drank. I kissed and hug all the friends, who if I don't see them once a week, it feels like I haven't seen them in foreeeeever. I saw people from the past. Stories were told. More beer please. I asked my friend to explain to me what his rap lyric, "Louie on my booty" meant (answer: he doesn't really know). More Beer. I'll show you a little sumpin, sumpin.

By bar two, those beers had kicked. in. So. I did what I was supposed to do. I drank water. I still felt a little sick. I drank more water. I ate pizza. I felt sick. I cursed the gods who made getting older a thing. Talked about feelings. More water. Maybe its the water making me drunk. Sick. Pizza. Pizza. Water.

At the third bar of the night, I felt ready to drink again. I ordered prosecco. Dumb choice? Maybe, but it came in this adorable little quarter bottle. I like small versions of big things.

Drink Prosecco. Wish aloud that I could get some orange juice up in this piece. Little bottle! Wax poetic on all things East Coast (typical). Prosecco. Mmm. Bubbles. Bravery followed by immediate cowardice. Declaration that my friend Laura's nickname was los tostadas. Clapping and demanding attention.

I knew that the clapping meant we were in trouble, so at the final bar (the dance party) it was water. Water. Whitney Houston. My favorite girls. a troublesome strapless shirt. This being my jam. Water. Not quite enough air in the room. Fog. Miley Cyrus. Water. Dancing in a circle. Knowing all the words. Being a little embarrassed  Not giving a fuuuuu. Carly Rae. Water. Stage time. More water. Spilling the water everywhere. Giving up on water. Dance party. Dance party. Dance Party. Whoops, its only couples left? Peace out.

This morning I woke up to no voice and a sizable hangover for what amounted to four drinks in seven hours. This from a girl who used to drink Miller Lite by the gallon and then take a fifteen minute nap before working for seven hours. Its a strange adjustment to be making - this whole not drinking until it comes out my pores - but a good one I am sure. Anything to make sure the dance party doesn't stop.

Party time in Reykjavik (Days 3 & 4)

I slept the most of any of the nights on that first one.  Mostly because I hadn't slept in two days.  But after that, no more than 6 hours.  Because while it is pretty weird going to bed when its bright as day outside, its way weirder to wake up, thinking, based on where the sun is in the sky, its 9 or 10 AM and having it actually be 5 or 5:15 AM.  So not so much with the sleeping, which is fine because there was plenty to do.

First things first, be interviewed on Icelandic Public Radio.  My Admiral Ackbar radar went off when the guy asked us questions about what we were excited to see, but I tried to answer honestly and not say too many Icelandic words because that's where I was going to embarrass myself.  Anyway, I have not heard anything about the three stupid, American girls who humiliated themselves on the radio.

The up the bell tower we went, so that we could see the city from a tall building.  Which is always fun.  Even though all cities kind of look the same from the tops of tall buildings.

After bell tower time it was pancake time.  I had heard a lot about Icelandic food but no one mentioned the pancakes and no one mentioned the rye bread (which I will get to later).  So we went to C is for Cookie for a pancake, slathered in chocolate and then piled high with perfectly, homemade (trust me, I know) whipped cream.  It was so sad when it was over.

We ate a LOT of food in Reykjavik.  Which was good, because we basically stopped eating once we got on the Ring Road.  All the food was delicious, but this was probably the most delightful.  Light and perfect.  Icelandic pancakes are by far the best of all pancakes.

And then it was off to the Icelandic History Museum.  Which was educational and awesome.  Why?  The kids section!  I feel like the kids section of most National museums is lacking, because they feel like they need to make the whole museum kid-friendly.  This of course, backfires because kids hate reading and you can only extrapolate so much from a poorly animated movie.  So instead, the Iceland Museum is a grown-up museum chock-full of knowledge but it had a room full of awesome kid things.

Like Dress Ups.

And Viking Props.

Other stuff too, but this was the best.

After learning it was time for more outside stuff.  And more eating.  We had our first Icelandic Hot Dog which was just as amazing as promised.  So amazing that we continued to eat one a day for the rest of the trip (no seriously, we did).  Then a bowl of rye bread ice cream at Cafe Loki.  Rye bread ice cream seems to only exist at Cafe Loki.  And its worth the cost of the plane ticket for a bowl or two. 

We went out for a late dinner. We had seriously problems getting a grip on what time it was ever, which made us really late for nearly anything we did after 6 PM.  The fact that we didn't have dusk to signify that the "day" was ending, so we better wrap things up like functional, polite humans was a serious problem, and to all the guesthouse owners who had to let us in at 11 PM or later, I most sincerely apologize.

Dinner at Cafe Paris, who was the only place that would seat us (at exactly 11 PM, which is when we sat down for dinner...while it was still light out) so we dined and then went on search of drunken adventure.

Here's the thing about being old crotchety ladies in our late 20's.  Our tolerance for loud noise and rude young people is very, very low.  So first we ended up at The Dubliner, which looks exactly like every Fado I've ever seen.  There was a special - 1000 ISK (so about $10) for a shot of Opal OR Topaz and then a cheap, terrible Icelandic beer.  Courtney managed to talk me into it.  And it was a terrible decision.  Opal or Topaz, which ever we ended up with (I'm honestly not sure) tasted like Jagermeister's skanky younger cousin that wears thigh-high boots to Christmas dinner.  The beer tasted like water that someone had left a nickel in.

Then we ended up at the English Pub.  You might think us xenophobic, but honestly they were the first two bars we came across that didn't have techno-dance-vom-bom music bursting through the closed doors.  In the English Pub, random strangers handed us beers and because we have never seen a Lifetime Movie, we happily took them.  This ended up being a totally fine choice, though probably not one we would have made in any other country (Icelanders have a rep for being really nice and not total sketch balls, and they totally live up to it).

Things get fuzzy from here on out.  All I know is that I spent most of the night dancing around as the band played covers of all the songs my parents used to list to, wearing the scarf I pilfered from our table at the Dubliner.  Occasionally I would strike up conversations with random strangers (and sometimes my two friends, when we weren't yelling at the single one to go make out with tall nordic lads, sorry McKim).  It was a lovely hazy blur.  And when we stumbled onto the street at the ripe hour of 3 AM, it looked like it was 6:30 at night.  It was still weird.

On the way home, in the vain hope of finding a clean bathroom, we ended up on a side street that had my favorite piece of street art ever.

In normal places, it would have been dark, so I would have never seen this.  But in Iceland it was just the perfect light for a picture.

 

I know you don't think I took these pictures at 3 AM.  But, trust me.  I did.

The next morning we got a late start as we realized our little respite was coming to an end and the real adventure was beginning.  First we took this bus to pick up our rental car.

If you know me, you know exactly why this was awesome and exactly why we took the bus when we could have easily walked the half mile to where we were going.

After we picked up the car, we went to the flea market, which reminded me of the Aloha Swap Meet on Oahu.  So many things about Iceland felt like Hawai'i.  These two very proud cultures living on crazy volcano islands that are gorgeous, but are also literally ticking time bombs just waiting to spew hot magma and ruin all your fun.  After a lunch at the extra kitschy Viking restaurant it was time for a ROAD TRIP.

On our road trip, we went clockwise at the island.  Starting at about 7:00 or so - (if you think of Iceland as a clock with the north of it being 12:00 - obviously) our first stop was Barnafoss and Hraunfossar.  This was the first time I knew that we were no longer in Kansas.  Gorgeous waterfalls steps from the high way with hilarious and amazing backstories.  Awesome.

Arnastapi (so 8:45 or so?) was our final destination.  On the way there, I fell in love with Iceland even more that I had before.  I totally got the best straw, in that my friends did all the driving while I sat in the back and took pretty pictures.  We stopped and drove up some random person's drive way because they had a waterfall in their backyard.  That was the first time I lost my marbles about how awesome everything was that day.

The second time was when I had the best lamb chop I had ever had.  Ever.  At dinner.  It was over priced and it took about an hour longer than it should have, but it was perfect.  Mmm. Lamb chops.  This was the last big fancy meal we had before the end of the trip and it was the best send off to a life of sandwiches and ramen I could have asked for.

Then, because it was 9 PM and still looked like this outside -

 

We went on a hike between Arnastapi and Hellnar that was basically a very easy and fully oxengenated hike on a mossy moon.

This was number three awesome sauce thing. As we collapsed into bed with the snoring man on the other side of the wall (lame sauce thing one) with the sun shining down on us we knew we were in for an adventure.

green city

I had this fear, possibly somewhat irrational but not totally unfounded, that in two or three years (or six or seven) that when I move away from Chicago I will suddenly realize that I had never seen the river dyed green for St. Patrick's Day.  Its one of those things that are kind of touristy, and yet I feel - an important part of Chicago tradition.

The rich culture of tradition is one of my favorite things about Chicago.  And some traditions are stupid and annoying, but they never fail to make me feel like a part of something.  And its the dumb songs, and the inside jokes and the nonsense that I love so much.

I have been told that the true amazing thing is to watch the river actually get dyed (as opposed to just seeing it all green) but that was not something that worked with my schedule this morning - so this will do for now.  I wish I had brought a real camera.  I also wish that downtown Chicago was not the epicenter of inebriated girls wearing too-little clothing, if only because it makes me feel very, very old.  Also, I don't like stepping on/near vomit (also, its NOON, learn to pace yourself).

Friday night, over too many drinks, I wondered out loud to a few of the friends I was with - if with the new Mayor coming in - the green dye budget was going to be cut.  And they assured me that people, many who would never bother to vote would be Up in Arms if their river did not get dyed.  They don't care who is in charge - they just want their more-green-than-normal.

work it.

I've been bad about blogging and I really have very few excuses.  But there have been some interesting things going on.

I went to a fancy black-tie event with my dad.  He got invited by one of his baller business cohorts and I came along for the free food and the excuse to buy a new dress.  Naturally it was very strange to be at a networking event and not networking (and since they were all dentist people, I couldn't even really like fake network because we had no common ground).

I did end up making friends with a girl who was my age who was going to be seated at our table.  She actually is someone my dad should have been networking with, but instead she and I tried to forge a friendship based on the fact that we were some of the youngest people there.  This tickled my Dad to no end, because when I was a kid I always had the ability to make new friends wherever I went.  Only very rarely did they end up being long term friendships, most only had the shelf life of however long we were where we were, but it was an excellent coping mechanism none the less.  And I am sure it is one that has served me well in all of my many relocations.

This was by far the fanciest networking thing I've ever been to (and not been working) and I have to say - these rich people really like to booze it up.

Here's some math for you.

We went to the pre-gala reception which was from 4:45 - 6:15 (we got there around 5:45).  This was drinks and very wee, very weakly passed apps.  Super delicious (fig with gorgonzola wrapped in prosciutto?  Yes please) but not really food.

Then there was cocktail hour round 2 which was from 6:30 - 8.  So, more booze - but this time, no food.  Awesome, feeling good.

Then dinner was supposed to start at 8, but there were many speeches and hands to be shook before we actually started eating but the waiters (bless their hearts) were having a grand old time pouring the wine.  So we started eating at about 8:45.

And at that point, I am already hammer drunk (TM Chelsea Long).

Why?  Because I had been subject to three hours of open bar and I am only human.  Even at pacing myself - that's at least four or five glasses of white wine on (essentially) an empty stomach.  And I MISSED the first hour.  Thank the baby jesus, because other wise, things could have gotten really, really messy.

And it wasn't just me.  My new (and now forgotten) friend also admitted to me that she was a little drunk.  Maybe they expect the networking to take up most of your attention and so the drinking gets forgotten?  No idea - but that plan failed on me being the +1.  Failed.

So of course, once the food got there, I completely forgot how to interact with other humans and ate all of my food as fast as possible, hoping that some of the steak and crab stuffed prawns would soak up the bottle and a half of white wine I had consumed.  (I am the classiest girl you know.)

The rest of the event was fun, I was hella pissed that I got outbid on a pair of earrings I was lusting after during the silent auction.  They used these fancy touch screens where you just put in your bidder number (practically located on your name badge) and you could touch the screen and look at everything.  This technology was far too cool not to utilize, so I bid on the cheapest thing.  This was going well until one of the high roller auction guys outbid me - I think just because he thought I would get into a bidding war over them.  Wrong again, Steve Jones.  Have fun with your Black Onyx drop earrings, sucker.

I did come away with a rather pretty (if poorly set) ring that was gifted to me by another of my father's business pals.  Apparently they were auctioning off this sapphire ring and if you bid you got like a place holder ring to get you all excited for the real one.  He did not win the real ring, and I am afraid that just the site of his faux ring made him remember his terrible luck.  Its cool, I'll take it.

long ago and far away

 Cape Point - the very Southernmost tip of Africa

 

Penguins at Boulders Beach

 

The hallway of my dorm on the University of Cape Town campus

Six years ago, today, I was in Cape Town, South Africa.  I was 20 and I was drunk.  I was drunk on scenery and change and alcohol.  I was confused and open-minded.  The education I got in that too-short month was so concentrated and so varied that it still makes my head spin.

There isn't a week that goes by without a passing thought about that time in my life.  A few of the pictures still hang on my walls and I still spend as many minutes as I can with my second half - Other Rachel (although, at this point we are averaging about fifteen minutes every two years).  I am so excited that a fellow alum of the program lives in the Chi so if I ever need it, I can always call her up and be like, "remember?" and she'll be like, "yeah," and I'll know it wasn't a dream.

There is this yearning inside of my insides to go back, just for a minute, or a day, or for a year - to do it all over again - like a grown up this time.  Every time I think about it there is a dull ache in my chest of wishing I could be irresponsible enough to Just Go. Maybe I was too young to appreciate all the beauty and history - but I was just the right age to enjoy being young and on an adventure.

If you have a kid (or if I have a kid) - let them travel abroad.  Its worth the money and the effort.  Its worth whatever you put into it for them to realize how big the world is.

its like a swirly, twirly circle

So. I easily had one of the best Mother's Day humanly possible without actually hanging out with my Mom.

J-bomb and I went to a bottom-less mimosa all-you-can-eat brunch, and let me tell you, we tested that pledge. And happily, the mimosas kept coming along with delicious food (lox! mac and cheese! chocolate fountain!) We walked into the sunshine and perfect spring weather around 12:30 and were delightfully intoxicated. So, obviously, we went shopping. And then after some clothes shopping I decided I would walk the 2 miles home and enjoy a lovely Chicago day and sweet Sunday Funday buzz.

Thus began a 4 hour solo adventure of lazy (the walk, according to google should have taken 45 minutes). I decided to stop at whatever stores caught my fancy and came away with some vino, a few second-hand books, cute clothes and a feeling that I had thoroughly enjoyed the gorgeous day to its max capacity.

My last stop before home was at the Brown Elephant, one of the best second hand stores in the city where I found a copy of Blackhearts in Battersea (one of the best children's books ever) along with some other stuff. While paying for my stuff I told the cashier to keep the change and put it in whatever donation bin they have. The guy was legitimately excited about the change (I think it was 45 cents) and I felt really nice (and still a little drunk).

Cut to today when I was at the bank for work. I was depositing quarters, along with other forms of currency, but the quarters were the important part, because it was totally ridiculous to be depositing $10 worth of quarters into a business account but welcome to the life of a teeny-tiny non-profit. So I have already filled out the deposit slip and entered everything into quickbooks - and at the very end of the transaction, the nice teller gentleman tells me that I am a quarter short. Twenty-five little cents separate me from leaving for the day. Naturally, I brought nothing with me to the bank except a phone and a drivers licence, because that is going to make this better...

I am going over my options with the teller guy, and its looking rough. Extraneous paperwork or trips to the bank for twenty-five cents. I mean, at McDonalds when you go through the drive-thru and you're a quarter short they just kind of wave you through but not at Chase. Oh no...they will nickle and dime you because they are the.man. So I'm throwing my hands up in "whatever-ness" and suddenly a quarter appears from the nice postal worker lady in line behind me.

"Here you go," she smiles and goes back to the queue.

I hand it to the bank teller, get my receipt, thank the lady profusely and walk out.

In hindsight, she probably just realized her time was worth way more than 25 pennies and she just wanted to get the eff out of the bank, but at the time it felt like a totally stranger doing something nice. Which is pretty refreshing. And feels wonderful.

And now some nice lady at JetBlue Customer Service is making my day even better by fixing my colossal bone-headed screw up while simultaneously restoring my faith in this airline that I have come to have a pretty serious Ike-Tina relationship with.

Its a pretty crazy world we live in, people...so when the opportunity presents itself, go ahead and make someone else's day better.

Hey Chicago Whaddya Say?

Happy Home Opener!


This might be the year I play hooky for a cubs game. We'll see how they are doing towards the middle of the season, but there is nothing better than a Wednesday afternoon Cubs game (so I've heard). Really, there is very little in life that is better than a baseball game on a sunny, warm day. Its like a picnic, with 40,000 strangers. And you get to yell and scream and sing.

And Wrigley Field, I think has spoiled me forever. There is so much history in that park. They still have people who change the score board by hand! And there are men screaming, "cold beer! peanuts! hot dogs!" It is comfortingly stereotypical and cliche. Also, Old Style! Its so watery, but it tastes like a baseball game. And you don't have to get up. They just walk past your seat.

There is alot about me that's changed since I moved here, but one of the biggest things (as most people can attest to) is how living here makes you (well, me) a sports fan. There's something to be said about living 10 blocks from a national sports landmark. And it'll change you, if you let it. Plus, its super fun. Really, I promise. Baseball games are fun. If only because its a large, open air bar with lots of boys running in circles on the field.

Luck o' the Italian

I'm an idiot - obviously yesterday's blog and today's blogs count. Making my total 25 out of 30. Pretty impressive...

Anyway - today is St. Patrick's Day which happens (despite my co-worker Eli's arguments) every March 17th. And, as someone who has NO Irish blood in them at all - I think I've developed an affinity for the culture.

In elementary school - today was dominated by the Irish Jig Contest which.was.FIXED. I swear. I never won, which is ridiculous because I am/was/will ever be a Phenomenal Irish Jigger (which is not something you should say quickly as you will raise eyebrows of consternation).

Anyway, some years I would make it to the finals and then lose. Because, see, the preliminary round was judged by the teachers and high-school teacher helpers, who tended to be fairer judges as they were so burnt out they didn't really care that much. The finals were judged by the Specials Teachers (who we should have just called The Russians to get it over with) and they picked the same two kids every year. It was such bull crap. And the winners got these ceramic shamrocks that the art teacher made, and I coveted one of them with my whole heart and never won. And believe it or not, that probably had a more profound influence on why I am the jaded bitter d-bag I am today, that you think.

St. Patty's Day didn't really matter again until college (duh). My first two years of college I didn't drink much due to my lack of friends and lack of proper identification. My junior year I cleared all that up and became a raging st. patty's day lunatic.

It wasn't until my senior year that there was any photographic evidence though. I'm not going to lie - I miss the age where digital cameras were a rarity and posting photographs on the internet even more so...at least back then when I did dumb stuff you had to be there to witness it.

Now let me be straight - in case you're reading this because you want to offer me a job or marry me or something in the future - I never did anything illegal. I mean, I probably jaywalked, but that's it. Everything else was totally above the bar/wire/thing that keeps you from getting arrested.

What happens is that the rules of proper social conduct go out the window. I tend to find it acceptable to take (normally with some sort of verbal permission) people's clothing or accessories. I have a habit of throwing things- mostly in celebration. I have no qualms about demanding that people give me things, or do things I think would be entertaining.

This is a very broad overview of my behaviors- and if you want more details - feel free to email me (as most of my SPD stories are hilarious but totally inappropriate for a blog my parents read).

I shall give you one example - last year, St. Patrick's Day itself was fairly tame - we went to the South Side Parade the weekend before which really demands its own personal blog due to its enigma-ness. And then the night of, Boyfriend and I were just trolling the streets of Wrigleyville looking for some cornbeef and cabbage (for him) and a salad/cheeseburger (for me).

We finally found a place and many of the people around were wearing the Chi-rish beads I had been lusting after most of the week.

Those Miller Lite marketing people are flipping geniuses. This is a fantastic ad campaign. Hats off.

Anyway, there were mardi gras-esque beads with the Chi-rish emblem on them and at no point did I see them passed out. People just had them. And I wanted them.

So after we had eaten dinner and are still relatively sober, we're heading to our next destination, I find a cop on the street outside the bar wearing one of the Chi-rish bead necklaces.

Rachel: Excuse Me. Where did you get those beads?

Cop: I don't know, someone just gave them to me.

Rachel: Can I have them?

Boyfriend: about to die from embarrassment

Cop: Sure. Happy St. Patrick's Day.

And with that, they were mine. On a normal day - I don't ever walk up to cops unless, you know, I'm a victim of a crime OR they're Chris Meloni. But because of the date, this felt perfectly acceptable.

So now I have Chi-rish beads which aren't quite a ceramic shamrock necklace, but then again - I'm Italian, so I'll take what I can get.

I think I'd rather be a social dragonfly...

My life has gotten a little bit out of hand. In a good way, lets be honest, but in a, "I spend too much money and my liver is about to give out and seriously I just need a nap" kind of way.

Since the first weekend in October, I have been out every single Friday and Saturday socializing, taking unflattering pictures, drinking copious amounts of beer and deciding that the people I'm friends with might be the best people in the midwest.

Its fairly lovely, and yet also really really tiring. The past two weekends especially have been crazy. Not the kind of crazy I put in a blog, although I have to apologize to all my friends who I call every Sunday and talk about all the of the drama. Gross. Thanks for still loving me.

This blog doesn't really have a purpose except I'm totally not going anywhere in my NaNoWriMo, which sucks because I really want to prove to myself that I can have a crazy social life and write a 50,000 word novel. Everyone who I talk about the book with thinks that it sounds awesome. Which makes me hope that Courtney and I can pull it together to get this done and sent out to people.

Annnnd, that's really it. 9 days until NoLa, and 39 days until Home for Christmas. I'm so deliciously excited. What I'm more excited about is maybe not going out on Friday, and buckling down to kick out like 6,000 words which won't get me close to catching up, but will be a nice start.

Shmesolutions

And so 2007 begins. It has taken all of my strength not to crawl under my desk and die today. I thought that this whole, "fly back in the morning, go straight to work" thing was an excellent plan. What I didn't factor in was the fact that I was going to feel like baked asshole for pretty much the entire day yesterday (and the fact that I've pretty much been on a drink, sleep, eat chocolate bender for the past week and a half). New Years Eve pretty much kicked my ass upside down and sideways. I fell off a barstool. That's how hard it kicked my ass. I decided to fight with gravity and gravity won (as it usually does).

Anyway at some point after the two pitchers of sangria and before I told one boy that he had to give me his mardi gras beads and another that I hoped he died a miserable death in the next fifteen minutes (I was trying to talk to Christine via cellphone! Do not try to have conversations with me when I am on my cellphone, particularly when I'm talking to Teeny-pants) there were jell-o shots.

A LOT of Jell-o shots.

We decided during the sangria and tapas (aka respectable) part of the evening that the best bet for the less-respectable part of the evening would be a fun lil divey bar in Adams Morgan (or Ad Mo, as I have just decided I'm going to call it...see also: North Fruit Loop) called Millie and Al's. Millie and Al's is my favorite bar in DC for one simple reason: $1 Jell-o Shots. The only thing better? Free jell-o shots.

This plan was cememnted when we realized that Millie and Al's had no cover. NO COVER! On New Years! Someone wants me to be happy! About 15 seconds after we had staked our claim on a fine piece of bar real estate the $1 jell-o shots light went on. I dropped a Jackson and we were on our way.

20 jell-o shots. 3 girls. Happy New Years to us.

C, because she is by far the most Suzy High-school of the thrio of us decided that for every shot we had to make a resolution. Here are mine (although I think the tally was up to 9 shots by the end of the night I think we got Courtney drunk enough that she stopped hounding us about it so we only made half a dozen or so).

1- Have a successful, healthy romantic relationship that lasts a substantial amount of time (although, that's asking a lot of me and the men of Chicago...I think that on NYE I said a month, I'm scaling that back to 2 weeks. Baby steps, people).

2- Have some mindblowingly good sex that ALSO makes me forget the english language (apparently these things are mutually exclusive)

3- Get an acting job. Any acting job (that doesn't require me to take off my clothes).

4- Learn to accept compliments instead of argue with them

5- Buy Pants. Really good pants. Mindblowing pants.

6- Stop dwelling on Matt Demos (oh wait...)

7- Solve all of C's problems by sleeping with the cute kid in her grad program, thus breaking up him and his girl friend and allowing Courtney to swoop in and be his new lovah.

8- World Peace.

Happy 2007. May you only write 2006 on all documents until mid-March.

Whoops

It is 3:06 in the morning, central standard time. I have not slept since last night when I managed to squeek in a few hours of shut eye between being shit-faced drunk with my bosses and faxing, messengering, and answering phones for my bosses. I am beyond tired right now. All I want to do is sleep. For a solid 8 hours, maybe even 10. I haven't gotten 8 hours of sleep (in a row) since last Thursday night (I think, although, I can't really remember that far back. Apparently drinking your birth weight in vodka and cranberry kills all of your short term memory). The reason I am still awake is that in 4 hours I'm boarding a plane for sweet, sweet Maryland. Land of crabcakes, football, hot cousins, people I still refer to as sophomores even though they're graduating from college this year, my family, a vast majority of my friends, 7/8ths of my wardrobe including a pair of boots I've wanted to wear at least three times since I've been in Chicago, Christmas, relaxation, uhhhh, other stuff too, I guess (did I mention that I am drunk right now? this is my first -- of what I'm sure will be many-- drunk blog, eat it up. yum).

Anyway, I'm trying to keep myself awake, except that my godmother and her bf are asleep like normal people so I can't play the music or watch the television I'm left with the internet, which should be fine except for the fact that I spend all day every day on the internet, and I think I've kind of run out of things to look at.

The upside is that my cab is coming at 5, it is now 3:14 and I still have to change my clothes (I decided against wearing my slutty going out clothes on the plane, much to all of the other passengers' chagrin I'm sure) so, I really only have like an hour of this inanity left. In fact, I could push up my cab to 4:30 so I'll have an extra 30 minutes of play time in the airport. Play time meaning that I can sleep there because it'll be someone else's job to make sure I'm awake in time to catch the plane.

Other fun things about my travels in the coming hours: I'm using my brand new uber-WASPy Vera Bradley duffle for the first time. I feel like it should come with some tennis whites and trust fund, but sadly it does not. It does have a handy side pocket for things like my wallet and cell phone.

I will be wearing Navy Blue, and black, and brown in my traveling ensemble. Wait, wait, let me explain: I have this amazing hoodie from the Gap that's extra long with a 2-way zipper and is just the best thing ever, so I want to wear it. Then, because it's going to be forty-effin-six degrees the entire time I'm home I decided against bringing my winter coat, opting instead for one of my other favorite pieces of clothing, my navy blue Gap down vest. I wear it as much as humanly possible. It may have been the best thing that came out of visiting Courtney the week before I moved to Chicago (kidding, the best thing about that weekend was Daniel Vosavic, obvi). And, my favorite shoes to travel in for a myriad of reasons, boiling down to -- they're comfortable and are easy to get on and off for those pesky check in things are my black chucks. So there you have it. The fashionable women of yore are turning over in their graves at the thought of such an atrosity, but its 5 am and I regret not putting more thought into making sure that my 3 most favorite pieces of clothing all matched each other.

Also, I still don't really know what's gonna happen when I land in Maryland. I mean, I know I'll be there but beyond that I'm not sure what the plan is. Right now I'm taking the MARC train into DC but who knows at this point. Maybe I'll just spend Christmas at BWI. Its a nice airport, small, but with a fair number of Hudson News Stands and coffee marts.

Does anyone want to hang out with me on Boxing Day? It is the only day in the entire week after Christmas that I have nothing planned. Which means I should spend it packing and bonding with the siblings I now only see three to four times a year, but instead I'll probably sleep until 3 and then watch West Wing on the couch until someone puts some food in front of me.

I just had to save this post to Microsoft word because I'm having issues with my wireless connection, and I know somewhere in the far-away bit of my mind that this blog is probably the best thing I have ever written and if it gets deleted because of some trick of the internet gods' I will be very, very sad.

All I want for Christmas is to not have to climb the 400 stairs at the Woodley Park Zoo- Adams Morgan metro stop on New Years. There is only one person who can make this happen. Her name rhymes with Yourtney Cates.

Hahaha, the alarm I set back at 8:30 when I thought I was going to be drinking the entire night just went off. Yeah, I was back in my house by 12:30. How did I screw this up? I was supposed to have a crazy effin' night of partying. Oh yeah, I know how...uhh, my bffaeae skipped out to go to bed because she has "work" tomorrow (by which of course I mean today) and there were no suitable men at any of the bars we went to this evening and the boy that I am blindly chasing decided he was going to home after a 15 hour work day. Which is fine, I guess. However, someone should make it known to boys that it is much, much harder for girls to be cute and flirty and fun if you go home at midnight. Come on now.

Silver lining? I spent no money tonight. Not a dime and I am drunk (I may have mentioned that). That is a sucessful evening.

Okay, we've passed the 3:30 mark which means its time to change, call the cab company, straighten up my room and figure out where I put my purse when i walked in a few hours ago.

Thanks for coming on this magical holiday journey with me.

Happy Holidays.

Shennanigans at the Rest Home

This post requires visual proof, because you will not believe all the events that transpired on what was supposed to be a sleepy, Sunday dinner with friends. I don't have pictures yet...when I do, be sure that I will post them. Just so you, dear reader, will have irrefutable proof that this actually happened (it happened to me and I'm having trouble believing it).

Some backstory: For the past month and half I've been living with my super cool godmother (A) and her super cool boyfriend (K). They're your average middle-age hippy-dippy artsy-fartsy types. They drink lots of wine, recycle all their old jars, buy organic, their house is covered in art and books. They're the kind of people I want to grow up to be someday. Their friends are the same sort of people.

Sunday evening A,K, and I were invited to eat "beef and cruicferious vegtables" (I told you they were kinda weird) at their friends C&C's home. When we got to C&Cs' house I was not particularly suprised to discover that the 7 of us (A,K, C&C, A&P and me -- initals used to protect the not-so-innocent) would be dining at a ping pong table with an indian print table cloth throw on top of it. Because, in the past month, I've kind of stopped being suprised by how different some people my parents age are from my parents.

We eat shrimp, and various things dipped in hummus and go through a few bottles of wine before we sit down to dinner. Dinner is quite a delicious affair, beef and salad, and promised cruciferious veggies, with garlic bread and perhaps other yummy things I don't remember because not only were we eating we were continuing to drink wine. So! Full of yummy food and several sheets to the proverbial wind, we come around to the fact that we're eating at the ping pong table. How entertaining and avante guard of us! And for some reason (read: I'm drunk) I say something along the lines of,

"Yea, I've only ever played beer pong at a ping pong table."

None of the other people (having not gone to college in the past fifteen years) have ever heard of the game of beer pong. Which means I have to explain it. And I have to explain that there are geographical standards and practices. That rules change depending on which college campus you're playing on. The elders are facinated. So, for some reason (read: I'm still drunk) I go on to explain flip cup to them. And Canoe races. At this point I am bright pink with embarrasement (I mean, have you ever explained to a bunch of people, including the woman in charge of your spiritual guidance, the "bitches blow" rule?)

So, the plates are cleared and we've eaten dessert and are hanging out drinking coffee when someone (I swear to God, it totally wasn't me) has decided that they want to play this new fangled game of "beer pong."

"Well, you need red solo cups and cheap beer."
"We have those."

So this is how, at 10:20 last night I was setting up red solo cups, filling them with Old Style (C had suggested Heinekin and I had to explain to her that Heiniken is way to classy for a game of beer pong) and telling K that he was going to be on C's team, P had already dibbed me, even though I suck at beer pong (this is true, I'm horrible at it. I'm dynomite at flip cup though). What came next was the surrelist game of beer pong in the history of my entire life (perhaps the entire universe).

Its three people who were alive when JFK was shot and me playing "Chicago Style" (their phrase, not mine) beer pong while all of their significant others stood around watching (if they weren't in the living room watching Boston Legal or you know, cashing in social security). Go ahead and picture that. No seriously, shut your eyes and imagine playing beer pong with a bunch of your parents' friends.

It was a close game, P and I lost. Then, because I made fun of him, C chucked a ping pong ball at my nose. That's right. Threaten a guy's manhood and he will get violent. At any age.

I'm waiting for someone (anyone?!) to e-mail me pictures. Which I will then post. Because you really need to see this to believe it.

11 things I learned during my 56-hour* "vacation" in Maryland

*This is an exact number people, we're talking time spent on land in the state of Maryland. It should have been 54 but American Eagle Airlines (which does NOT provide you with free polos and jeans contrary to my hopes and dreams), Logan Airport, The City of Boston and Tropical Storm Ernesto can suck my balls for the extra two. THANKS.

1. I hate flying. No two ways about it people. Flying death tubes aren't for me. I discovered this at about 10 AM on Friday morning as the 50-seater I was on rocked back and forth like two fat kids on a see-saw and I sat gripping the arms of my seat, quite sure that any moment we were gonna drop out of the sky and I was gonna die before ever meeting and seducing Michael Vartan. I know that the life of the rich and famous requires a great deal of red eyes and hops across the pond so it's something I'm gonna have to work on. Luckily when you get to the rich and famous level you get things like first class and valium.

2. I'm a very neurotic traveler. If they say be there two hours ahead, I'm gonna be there two hours ahead. If someone tells me a horror story about a cab being late, I'm gonna set up a cab for half an hour before I need to leave. If I'm connecting to a different flight and my first flight is delayed, I'm gonna call the other airline every 30 minutes to make sure I'm still gonna make my flight. This may seem like an obnoxiously sucky way of living, but the amount of weight I lose in worrying alone makes up for the chocolate croissant and pumpkin spice latte I inhale en route.

3. I love Malls. I know, malls are trashy and tres tres un-chic, but they are SO convienent! All the stores! Right there! In an enclosed air contitioned space! And a food court! I love SoHo and whatever funky boutiques I come across in my city dwelling but deep down inside, my favorite place to shop will always be Montgomery Mall (though Columbia Mall is also v. nice).

4. I am an excellent listener. Particularly when my mother is telling me that if I tell the waiter at the chinese resturant that it is her birthday she will have me killed and mounted and not feel bad about it. At all.

5. When given the choice between hooking up with a kid that I kinda knew in high school and talking to Lizzie, watching Mean Girls and falling asleep at a "reasonable hour," I'll take the latter...


WHERE DID THE REST OF THIS ENTRY GO?! I'm fairly certain one of the blogger gods ate it for brunch with a mimosa or two. Weirdness. Anyway, sorry I've killed too many brain cells to remember the other 6 things... I bet they were super important and had something to do with the fact that I love my Mom, my friends, my magic green celery dress and champange straight from the bottle.