Great Urban Race - Chi town

Okay - so, its a week late, but here's the lowdown on our very first Great Urban Race.

Boyfriend and I were there on time - early even, but didn't really want to drink a beer at the meet-up bar because the worst possible thing was to have to make a bathroom pit stop in the middle of the race.

One of the main flaws of GUR is the lack of chip timing. Because what it meant was that everyone was given an envelope of clues and then there was a mad rush for the door- had there been more people there could have been some serious injuries and we also saw at least one team make it out before the lady in charge said Go. But anyway - we opened the envelope of clues and just started running. We realized that the best bet was to just get on the Red Line and go downtown.

Once we got on the train platform (along with every other team) we waited for about 10 minutes for the train. In that 10 minutes we solved pretty much every clue that needed to be solved. Thanks to both of our internet-phones and our text-a-friend Little Brother. Once we got on the train we mapped out a route. Everything I had read about the race said that the most important part was to figure out which clue to skip to save yourself as much time as possible.

Boyfriend really wanted to skip the clue that told you to find someone in a tie-dyed shirt or Chuck Taylors. I was sure that that was going to be way easier than he thought, and sure enough - once we got off the train we (and a whole bunch of other teams) accosted this perfectly normal guy and asked to take a picture with him and his sneakers. He was very nice about it.



With that taken care of, we decided that if we couldn't find a job application or "Help Wanted" sign (harder than it would seem with this whole internet fad) before we finished all the downtown clues we would skip that and go find the clue that required us to do a relay race. Once we get off the train, we start with the clues that are furthest south.

We had to take a picture in front of Berghoff's restaurant with 8 other people doing the "Superstar" pose (never gets old, right?) I thought this was going to be impossible, as this is a pretty fanciest restaurant and normal people wandering around on a rainy Chicago Saturday aren't going to want to stop and pose like an idiot. Boyfriend realized that obviously there were going to be a lot of other teams down there too - so we should go and just take pictures with them. He was right.



I can't believe they accepted this picture at the finish line because there aren't really 10 people in it. But its fine. Also, thus begins the pattern of looking terrible and out-of-focus in every picture. In our own defenses - it was rainy and humid and we were running everywhere.

After we did that we split up. Boyfriend counted the number of flags on a building and I went to Walgreens to buy a toy for a toy-drive for the charity GUR was partnering with. Right after we split up, I realized that I had no phone and only like $5 cash. If for any reason, we can't meet up, I am totally stranded.

I buy a matchbox car and magically, Boyfriend meets up right with me. We run towards the drop off place for the toys and get our picture taken with the mascot of the charity.



Then as we race towards the Art Institute to take our picture with one of the lions, I stop into the Patty Melt restaurant and lo-and-behold! They still do paper job applications. The guy who gives me the application tries to have a conversation with me about what they're looking for in employees and I'm like, "yeah, great..." and run out.

Then we have this nice girl (who apparently had been asked to do this many times by the time we got there) take our pictures in front of the Lion. We were holding up 7 fingers because that's how many flags there were in the window that Boyfriend had counted.



At this point we were done with downtown, so we went to get on the Brown Line to head back north. At this point we WAIT and WAIT for the train, which became quite the pattern. We end up talking to a few other teams. They all seem really serious about the race, so we think that we're probably doing okay. Finally the train comes and we take it up to Armitage. We get off with everyone else doing the race and head towards the Tin Man statue in Wizard of Oz park.

This also caused a problem, because I am a) disturbingly out of shape, b) not a runner, and c) had jacked up my achillies with my bike pedal the day before and so was having more trouble than normal running. This was the farthest we had to run and I did not do a good job. But eventually we got to the Tin Man and got our picture taken.



Then we got on a Lincoln Bus to make our way to Kingston Mines for a dance lesson. The bus driver was kind of an idiot and lets us off a few stops too early and so we run to Kingston Mines. Then (mine and boyfriend's favorite clue) we had to do a 5 minute salsa lesson. While I was really anxious to get going it was really fun to get to dance in an air-conditioned roon for a few minutes. It gave us a chance to relax and have fun before heading back down to Fullerton and Lincoln to get our picture taken eating a hot dog. This is possibly the creepiest picture ever, btw.



After taking that first bite, I then decide that this is the appropriate time to go ahead and put some mustard and ketsup on the dog and eat THE WHOLE THING. Horrible, horrible idea - because then what do we have to do (wait for it) RUN. While digesting Hot Dog. Gross.

We run to the Fullerton Brown Line and then finally realize what the hold up has been. Apparently in our whole evening of studying the night before, we forget to check to see how the CTA is going to be running the next day. The brown and red lines are running on a single track so we wait and wait and wait for a train. At one point I say that I'm going to stab someone in the heart loud and forcefully enough for a girl to look at me and walk the other direction.

FINALLY the train comes and we think that we're doing pretty well. We only have two clues left and then we have to head back to Cubby Bear. We pass Wellington and the train just.stops. Not at the station (oh, no, that would be WAY too convenient), just past the station so we can't get off of it, we just have to wait and wait and wait and get really really mad at the world, and then take it out on each other. FINALLY the train starts moving again and we get off at Belmont. I still maintain that it was faster to take the train than to try to walk/run 20 blocks in the disgusting humidity. Boyfriend is not sure, but we were waiting long enough that I think it's what knocked us out of finishing in the top 25.

We get off at Belmont and go to Comedy Sportz where we have to play a round of charades. I got the word "soup" and it took Boyfriend approximately 7 seconds to guess it (no joke, the group next to us was there when we got there, and there when we left).

We are happy to be making up time and run to the Tattoo shop on Belmont to put a temporary tattoo on Boyfriend's face. All the time we made up with the charades is lost in our inability to successfully apply the tattoo. Had we been patient enough to wait the 30 seconds the first time we would have been fine, but no dice. After 4 tries we manage to get it to work.



Then we're done except for one last clue. For this I would like to send a shout out to the Penn Laurel Girl Scout Council for teaching me the game Between Green Glass Doors. The one "riddle" question we had gotten, I had figured out in less than 30 seconds. So while we are waiting for the light to change we get a random girl to hang up the phone with her mom and take our picture with the Sheffield street sign in the back.



Then its a straight shot up to the Cubby Bear. By this point my foot is killing me and I am hot and sweaty and we've run about 4 miles. I had not at all prepared myself to run this much and am miserable. Unfortunately both teammates have to cross the finish line at the same time, so Boyfriend, very sweetly walks with me until we get to about Strange Cargo (that made our awesome Baracketship tee-shirts) and then we run. We run until we get across the finish line.

Then I pass out.

Not really, but I do feel like it would be a good choice. At least so I don't have to stand anymore. But we get up to one of the judge's stations and realize there aren't that many people around. One of the judge's checks off all our clues and tells us we're good to go.

At this point its 2:30 and we decide that we're going to sit around and wait for the awards ceremony. We have a plate of loaded tater tots (which were amazing) and a beer and we kind of hang out.

We stay for the awards and realize, sadly, that we hadn't made the top 25. Two days later we get the results and find out that we finished 43rd out of 480 teams (so in the top 50 AND top 10th percentile). We were also only 6 minutes behind the 25th team. We were on the brown line for at least 10 minutes, so we have decided that we can blame it on that.

All in all, it was AWESOME. Next year I am going to a- train. It was a lot more running that I could have ever imagined. And b- check the train schedule. It would have been so much faster to take buses most of the way. Also, had we taken a minute to read the clues before running we would have realized that there were 2 clues close to the bar and that it might have been faster to do those at the beginning instead of the end.

We're coming for you 2010.

www.greaturbanrace.com

Uh-oh

Mother: Lyme Disease.

Father: Jacked up intern.

Brother: Rabies.


---I'm not going outside. EVER.

File this under things I love:

1 - Pointed toes.

2 - Things that make me feel like I'm defying the laws of nature.

3 - Mutual respect and admiration by both children and adults.

For Tierra

My T-bone has had a rough weekend, so this post is dedicated to her. Meet the Chicago Hot Dog:



This picture does not to it justice, but for a really sick, exhausted girl this was the best lunch in the world from the super awesome Hot Dog joint down the street.

A Chicago Style Hot Dog comes with

Beef dog
Poppyseed bun
tons of Mustard
tons of bright green relish (it's alien relish, I've never seen pickles this neon before)
lettuce
chopped raw onions
cucumber
tomato
pickles (yes, Pickles AND Relish)
hot peppers
celery salt

It's so big you cannot get it all into your mouth (...that's what she said) and it is life changing. It's calling to you Tierra...it will never break your soul. Not even a little bit.

wee ones

Is it weird that hanging out with kids makes me want them LESS? I hung out with my two newest cousins, Ethan and Connor and while they are soul-crushingly adorable, they are a TON of work. When I was in middle/high school and I hung out with anyone under the age of 4, my biological clock would speed to a neck-breaking pace. Now, it grinds to a halt.

Don't get me wrong, I still love kids - particularly ones that are related to me, dressed nicely, or British. But seeing the work that goes into it makes me want to take a nap and about 40 birth control pills. They scream for NO reason, they poop ALL the time, you have to feed them special food, and there is no promising that they will sleep when you want them to.

I know this isn't news, by any stretch of the imagination, but I've been thinking about how time is now working against me. Its time to start wanting kids according to all the websites/magazines I pretend to read and yet the idea is terrifying to me.

Where is this going?? No idea, but in 2 days this blog will be accompanied by pictures of said adorableness once I get them on my computer.

As promised.

Chicago Spring

Today when I left my house I was wearing:

Jeans.
Thick Socks.
Converse.
Tank top.
Long sleeved tee.
Tee shirt.
Light cardigan.
Hoodie.
Another hoodie.
North Face.
Pair of gloves.
Another pair of gloves.

And I was comfortable. I walked about ten blocks in this get-up and was perfectly happy.

Then when I walked from job 1 to job 2 (which is conveniently located about ten blocks from job 1 on Tuesdays) at 1 PM, I was slightly warm, but not miserable.

When I left job 1 at 3:30 I was ridiculously overdressed. Like jerk-ily over dressed, like no longer needed anything but a tee-shirt over dressed.

How does that happen??

Chicago is such a twat tease when it comes to the Spring weather. I check it every morning and when it says that the high is only going to be getting up to 46. I take that to mean that the mercury is not going to rise to 60 degrees and yet, no dice.

This morning I should have had a winter coat on. It was 29 degrees. That's coat weather, but I have retired my coat for the winter and refuse to get it back out. So layers are the only option but they aren't working either.

Why can't we just get on with it and have no-coat weather?

I'm sorry I bit you... and pulled your hair... and punched you in the face...

So, today was lame in so many ways which is why Lilo and Stitch, white wine and some sweatpants are quite perfect.

Also, I think I love this movie so much because I feel like Lilo...when I'm not feeling like Stitch.

Because I can't afford the real deal

I will watch Planet Earth in HD and dream about being able to see all these places and animals.

And then I will probably plan a trip to Vegas. Because I'm an idiot.

for the kids

Dear Children of America,

Heyyyy. It's your favorite Aunt Rachel over here. I know I'm super cool because I spent most of my time getting drunk and being the center of attention. Also I wear trendy clothes and I made you feel like less of a whore that one time you went all the way with that kid you met in the bar who smelled like Patchouli and Filet-O-Fish. You know that my advice is sound. So grab a cold beer for your auntie, sit down, and listen up.

Fuck your dreams. Seriously, unless they involve a career with limitless growth and opportunities for pay raises no matter the economic shit hole your country is in, fuck your dreams.

Too harsh? Fine. Reevaluate your dream. Classical Pianist you say? Sure, except instead be a Pharmacist. The next [insert author/photographer/actor of your choosing]? Right, of course, by which you mean Engineer of pretty much any caliber.

I'm not saying you need to give up your dreams. That's mean and I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea about this little note.

Focus on what's really important.

Dental Insurance.

You can do pretty much anything once you have a job with insurance. Sure, you'll be doing it on the side and it will mean that overtime you'll get less sleep. But you can sleep after sex, so really just do what I tell you.

I know that there are those sanctimonious douche bags out there who say that if you have a "fall back" plan you will inevitably fall back. And that might be true but its dumb and pricky to say. What these d-waffles should be saying is, "get a degree, get a job, figure out how your dreams work themselves in."

I am not saying I regret the choices I've made in life. Mostly because I don't like the satisfaction that will give various people I don't like and also, I don't. Because I can now be a billboard of what your life can turn into if you're not careful. Also, I'm deliriously happy for about 3 hours a week, and I get to get shithoused on like, Tuesday, with very few consequences - mental or otherwise, and I wear sweatpants probably more than is appropriate for any person over the age of 7.

So, think about it. I've heard that government work will probably turn you into an abusive alcoholic, but it will also give you the opportunity to have someone else pay for your absurdly expensive dental procedures. Two sides to every 3-dimensional object, my friend.

Love and Kisses,
Rachel

Chubs.

It is now 4:38 PM. Here is a completely accurate list of what I've eaten today.

- Half a Chocolate Chip Cookie
- 2 slices of wheat toast. With Nutella.
- A glass of Orange Juice
-The other half of the Chocolate Chip Cookie
-A few tortilla chips with home-made Guac.
-4 handfuls of tiny Necco Conversation Hearts
-2 squares of a Bacon Chocolate Bar
-Another half of a Chocolate Chip Cookie.


Now, in my (weak) defense. I know I'm being taken out to dinner tonight, so I haven't been eating very much as I plan on enjoying my yummy Hopleaf meal. But, I am embarrassed of myself. So I decided to tell the world.

ka.boom

Dear Airplanes,

Please stop falling from the sky.

Love,
Rachel

heckled

On Wednesday I was at Clark and Lake waiting for the Red Line.

I was in a GREAT mood. I had had a great morning of writing, I was wearing new pants and I was about to experience the German/Gym Wheel for the first time.

As I walked down the platform, I noticed a performer with a guitar, a harmonica and a Nantucket Sweatshirt.

Nothing puts a big, dumb smile on my face than a Nantucket sweatshirt. So I decided to get my camera phone out and attempt to subtly take a picture of this guy to add to my gallery of ridiculous camera phone photography.

I put my bookbag down on a bench and open the front pocket to find my phone, while my hand was in the bag I discovered that my ipod headphones cord was all tangled so I pulled it out to untangle the cord before it became a bigger disaster.

"Excuse me Miss. Do you have every song ever made on that CD?"

I hear the voice and make out what its saying but ignore it, because there is no way that that person is talking to me, and if they are, I have no interest in answering (particularly these days, because now that I'm not man hunting 24/7 I'm not even checking to see if random-talking-stranger is cute).

"Excuse me. Miss. Excuse me. Miss. Miss."

When the repetition starts everyone knows its time to answer, because otherwise there is a very good chance you might end up on the business end of the C-word and/or a punch to the face.

I look up and the street performer guy makes direct eye contact with me.

"Hey. You have every song ever written on that CD player?"

I am not quite sure what he's talking about as the only CD player I currently own is attached to the computer hidden in my backpack and if he has x-ray vision and that's what he's asking then the world is probably minutes from ending anyway, so no reason to lie.

"Um no?"

"How do you know you don't like my music if you've never heard it. Unless you're listening to every song ever made."

And now I get it.

He is insinuating that I was getting my ipod out so I could listen to my music instead of what he was going to play. And that that was incredibly rude and presumptuous of me to assume that my music was better unless I was listening to ever song ever written/played/made. Also, that I was carrying a CD player because it is obviously 1998.

At this point people have noticed. It was noon, but I was downtown, so there were enough people on the platform and we were standing far enough apart that people could hear him and realize that he was talking to me.

And so now I am embarrassed because at the beginning of this wait-for-the-train I totally liked this guy and how we shared a penchant for souvenir sweatshirts from WASP-y resort-esque islands and now I'm being lectured like a five year old who won't stop touching his junk.

At this point I zip up my bag and go back to ignoring the guy as he continues to mumble. My face is flaming red. I have untangled my ipod headphones cord at this point and put the buds in my ear listening to whatever song comes on first.


The rest of the day continues in the same ilk, with a rip in the new pants, forgetting my leftovers dinner at home and dealing with more idiots...

I'm sorry, what sort of street performer has the balls/insecurity to yell at people for not listening to him even BEFORE they have their headphones actually in?

dumb love

I still hate Valentine's Day.

Apparently, this is causing a little stir. People don't quite understand why I'm not giddy with the anticipation of flowers and calories and awkward dinner dates where I have to wear a dress.

Well. I hate flowers (why would you give some one a present that is literally DAYS from dying/is technically already dead? Would you give someone a 17 year-old cat with Feline Leukemia? Sit down. Think about it. That is dumb. A plant? In soil? Is different, but I'm still not interested). I really don't need any more calories in my life, and if I want candy- I want it the day AFTER Valentine's Day for 50% off, because I'm a girl who likes saving for a down payment. And Awkward Dinner? No thanks. I mean, I love a good meal out as much as the next girl, but I would spend the entire night staring at everyone else wondering they were going to break up/have sex/get engaged. And if someone got engaged in the restaurant I was eating in, I would probably throw food in their lap. Gross (they don't wash that floor very often, get off your knee) and Cliche. And honestly, I can't really decide what's worse between the two.

Here's the thing. YES. I have a boyfriend that I love. But so?

I cannot think of anything more hypocritical than spending the first 22 years of your life (okay, I probably didn't care the first 15 or so, but whatever) feeling inadequate for being "incomplete" this one day a year and then finally getting to a point (23) where you're perfectly happy to make out with strangers but not have someone to buy you a stuffed animal and candy and dinner (ps - receiving that as a gift that makes you sound like a 12 year-old. Gross. Again.) and THEN all of a sudden when something alters slightly (ie- a boy won't stop bothering you and tricks you into taking him home for Christmas), you're singing the praises of St. Cupid for giving you this opportunity to declare your love for this person who just showed up.

Dumb.

I mean, I am under the assumption that if my boyfriend would like to purchase a present or food for me, he is at his leisure to do so whenever the spirit moves him. It would be weird and awkward, but he can do whatever he wants. I may wear the pants, but I don't control him (okay, I do kind of, but I think he understands that he can buy me food and things and if he doesn't understand he will comment on this blog, I'm sure).

And that road runs both ways...

So, on Saturday, I will wake up hungover from a birthday party Friday night, do a kid's show, go to Circus class (maybe - see hangover), and then spend the rest of the day enjoying having more than 6 hours of daylight without obligations. Will my boyfriend be around? Probably. I can't seem to shake him.

old/new thing

"I saw my first dead body." I announced to my Mother as the train pulled out of the station, making its way back to Chicago.

"No, you didn't. And what?"

I explained about the day. The day that felt so long because of the standing and the sadness. Sadness made the second hand on his watch stop.

And if the sadness wasn't enough to fill the room, she took up the rest of it. This complete stranger who dominated the space, and made me more nervous than any of the other strangers, even though she never asked me an awkward question or looked at me as though she had maybe met me before (No, that was someone else).

"Grandma Payton was your first dead body," Mom explained.

Grandma Payton who lives on in over-told stories of swivel stools and potty training.

"Really?"

"Yeah, you were three and you rushed right up to the casket and stared down at her. You thought it was the coolest thing."

"Mom, what kind of sick fuck kid did you raise?"

talk about your gas giants...

Apparently, Mars farts.

This makes my day better.

Quack Quack

So, I've been in quite the rut thus far in 2009. A whole bunch of things have gone not-right and I've spent more of this year crying than probably the past three years combined (so Lame.) I was told today how disappointed the public is that I haven't updated my blog in forever. And for that I am sorry. But the thing I hate the most is the emo-kid blog of sadness and complaining about upper-middle-class life, so I haven't done it in awhile.

It feels like I have this hole inside of me, it hurts pretty much all day. Sometimes I forget about it, but most of the time its there, hurting.

I was thinking about that when I finally got out of my pj's and showered today (the ripe hour of 2 PM) and I realized that I'm pretty self absorbed and that most people in the world have it way way worse than I do.

So here it is. The things that I am so very very lucky to have. I hope that once I write this list I'll remember to look at it every day and that it will help fill the hole.

My Lucky List.

My immediate family. I know beyond all shadows of doubt that these people will go to the mat, to the death, cage match style for me with out even being asked. I have never doubted any of their love for me and as we all grow up I am so lucky to have two siblings that I love hanging out with, and two parents who love me and no matter what I do will always be there to help in anyway they can.

My extended family. While sometimes they get real drunk and loud, and doubt my decisions (particularly where college and professional sports are concerned), they have always and will always provide a place to sleep and a meal to eat. They're a pile of crazy but they seem to appreciate the decisions I make and look at awe upon the life I've built for myself.

My boyfriend. Who is so excited about the future that it makes me want to throw up. Who believes that the glass will always be half full. Who doesn't mind that I never ever shave my legs and always take the biggest half of the cookie.

My friends. I have a full NFL team roster of people who like to hang out with me. Who know my flaws and still are willing to be seen in public with me. And some of them are down the block and some of them are hours and hours away but they're all a phone call, or an IM or a facebook message away. And they want to talk, and they're happy to listen. And they've got my back in a bar fight. There is something to be said for the fact that when I plan to go out, the list of people I call takes up both hands and when I go home I never get to see all the people I want to see because there isn't enough time. And I could go to Seattle, or New Orleans, or New York City and have a place to sleep and people who would love to see me.


My health. With the exception of my penchant for enormous December bruises on my legs and my tendency to stub my toe and run into walls. My health bills are minimal. I don't get really sick hardly ever. And I sometimes get free birth control from my doctor's office.


My roommates. Sure, they're messy and sometimes loud but they pay bills on time, they don't bring complete strangers into the apartment. They aren't blowing coke off the sink. They let me drink their milk and they only complain about my cat sometimes and they feed her just as often. They listen to my problems. They help my boyfriend find an apartment. They unplug my straightener when I leave it on.

My cat. She's really cute and snuggly and she let me cut her nails last night with minimal complaining.


My job. Sure, it sucks right now. But I nap all the time and its enough money to pay my bills and now I even get to use some of the skills I went to college for. Also, the naps. And the fact that I don't hate the people I work with. That's always nice.


My computer, ipod, jeans, winter coat, couch, bed, and other stuff I need new winter boots and shin guards but beyond that I have a lot of really nice things. Including a Jesus Doll. And new Slippers. And a nice laundry basket. And maybe its time to buy new boots and shin guards and then stop buying things. A lot of my friends have a ton of things, which makes me jealous but I have some things that they don't. Like a talking Jesus Doll.

The hole feels better now. Its not gone, but it'll be okay.

Ding!

And once again...its over and done. My fourth novel is now a word document that will probably only ever be opened when I run out of internet, just like the other three. Everyone keeps asking when they're going to get to read these, and I don't know if just a question you ask to be nice, when someone says they're writing a novel or you legitimately want to read this 50,000 word tome. But whatever the case, the answer will always be no.

In this format, in this space, these words will never be read. Sure, some got lucky enough to read excerpts from time to time, but those were the ones who took the journey with me. And some may get to read these words when they're twisted in a different way, and they're printed on real paper with real ink. A thought so scary and wonderful, I try not to wish or think too hard about it.

So stop asking.

These are my words. I wrote them for me. This is my challenge. It wasn't about coming in first, or having the most, or doing it the best. These are my words. I do this every year to prove to myself that it can be done. To prove to myself that somewhere under all the self loathing and deprecation and procrastination there are words out there that want to get out, even if they (and I) don't know it yet.

Sometimes I wonder, normally around day 23 if this is worth it. If taking all of this time out of the month of November means anything, but by the time I'm done I'm always glad I've taken the time to do it. And its done. On to December.

The annual list of thanks:

To my museum compatriots who inspired me at some times, and left me the fuck alone at others, and for always knowing which time was which. Also for not ratting me out to the higher ups when I would stop doing work and sneak away to write.

Thursdays. Who know having a day off in the middle of the week would be so flippin' useful. On each Thursday (excluding thanksgiving) I wrote at least 4000 words. Awesome.

For all those who asked me to do things in the past thirty days and haven't gotten really, really mad when I've flat out ignored them, or promised to do them and then totally forgotten.

Boy. Who provided food, drink, snuggling, discipline and distraction all when necessary. And who is probably the only person in the world who is more happy I'm done with this than I am.

Cindy Loo-Who!! My wee writing protege. Who took up the reigns herself and on the 21st, when I was ready to quit, threw her arms around me and yelled that I couldn't quit because she would have nothing left to live for (in her defense, she was pretty drunk when she said all that), and who was holding my hand as we crossed the finish line together in that super ridiculous way that we have of doing most things. And who gave me food, drink and football on a big, sexy, man TV tonight to inspire me to finish in time.

My Mom who (unknowingly) provided me with about 99% of the sustenance I consumed while writing at home. My favorites this year included Easy Mac, Mini Nantucket cookies, and the little boxes of Yogurt covered Raisins (don't worry Cougar, I'm saving the mini pickles for a celebration)

And of course, C. who made the journey with me this year, and looked like she was going to quit when times got hard, but stuck it out and got to celebrate with me this year. And will always be there for conversations like this:

Rachel- Have forgone writing for some semblance of a social life. This is probably a mistake.

C.- Ditto.

Rachel- We're lushes. Procrastinating lushes.



Here's to '09.

copycat

I just found this as a comment on Tierra's blog. Not all of it refers directly to me. But it makes a lot of sense. And just reading it over a few times made me feel a little more okay about Everything. So Maurice, if I ever meet you on the non-internets. I owe you a frosty/warm beverage of your choosing.

His Reply to Tierra (originals to be found here)

Now, I know I don't have to tell you this, but.....


You are not broken.


You hate your job. You're also in your mid 20s. If you loved your job, and it paid the bills, I would say you need to do whatever it is until you die, or retire. As it stands now, you still have plenty of time to find that type of job.


You hate the city you live in. As do I. I am moving in a week. You will probably be gone (or have to option to be gone) in about 6 months. It could be worse. At least you have a city elsewhere to call home, that you actually like. What if you were actually FROM New Orleans, and hated it? You'd probably be lost.

I ran as far from Philly and the DC area as I could most of this year, and most of the past 8 years, until finally realizing going home was inevitable, and I should try to make the best of it, and maybe even embrace it. Not saying you should have to like New Orleans, or embrace it, but, you should try to make the best of it.


You are childless. I'm guessing you prefer it that way, for now at least. You are probably fretting more that you will never find anyone who wants to raise kids with you. That's a better problem to have than actually having unplanned kids with someone who doesn't want to raise them with you, or who is terrible at it.


You're single. There could be a million reasons as to why this is. Unless they are changeable or alterable things, I wouldn't worry about them. I'm single. There are changeable reasons for this I am or planning on working on. There are reasons beyond my control, that I have long since stopped giving much thought to. And I'm a worrying-type, by nature (one of those things I'm working on). Forcing change is not a good idea either. Forced change is unhappy change, and unhappy change leads to unhappy relationships.


Basically, we are at an age where we can afford to work these problems out, and where half of us are still doing just that. (I know for some it seems like everyone you know is married and successful. Not really, it's just that those that aren't tend not to be on our envy radar, because that's not where we want to be.)


It's ok. This is the internet, you're supposed to vent here. :)



---

I like it when people tell me its Going To Be Okay. And I can almost believe them.

barackward

I have lost all faith in myself recently.

Sometimes I wish my parents didn't read this blog.

Change smells like cinnamon

You might not like Barack Obama.

You might snub America's two party system.

You might think this is just the first sign of the Apocalypse.

But here's the deal. Its history and its real. Say what you will about Barack Obama, but he is a different candidate. He wasn't handed everything on a silver platter. He was involved in the community and half of his ancestory would/was kept as slaves in this country. And now he is president. And I know that you can't vote for the lesser of two evils and we have no idea how he is going to do as president - which some would say is a curse not a gift.

There are a lot of things I can say about my life, but few things that I would probably ever want to share with my children. And I finally have something. I knew exactly where I was when the election was called. Standing on the corner of Jackson and Congress in Grant Park with a random pile of people. Some of whom I had never met and some of whom I love very much. I know what I was wearing (black north face, jeans, grey tee shirt, navy tank and a "hot women vote Obama" button).

I remember the people standing on top of the portapotties and the giant Obama poster being carried around and looking into the faces of all these excited people who really hope that a change is on the way.

And you might not care, or you might hate him but you have to appreciate the fact that people cared. People were there. And that. Is powerful.

NaNoWri-pfffffft

So, its my yearly finger marathon. I'm less excited this year than I've ever been. Probably because of my knowledge of my totally insane schedule. I don't really have time for grocery shopping or laundry so I'm not quite sure where I'm going to find time to write 50,000 words that I don't know yet.

I need to find a job. Desperately. Finding a job in the best of circumstances sucks, but at this moment in this economy it sucks even more. But the fact remains that I need one. And at this moment, I'm not willing to settle for something I don't really, really like. We'll see how long it takes for that to change (probably about two weeks...or until I have to pay rent while unemployed).

I'm not good with fear. Right now I'm totally scared of what's about to happen, and the one person who is here to listen, I don't really want to collapse in front of. The collapse is eminent. I just so want it to be when I'm alone, not trying to be adorable and fun.

So I started my NaNo, four days late, today. This is my fourth year, so this feels like Senioritis. I know it'll get done eventually (except, that I totally don't). The nicest part about starting was that out of nowhere my normally mean, distant, antisocial cat decided that she was here for moral support and put her head on my laptop to give me the strength the start (That's her picture with my photobooth, it didn't really work but she is super gorgeous).

Anyway, expect more updates to the blog, now that I have procrastinating to do. Also, the secret that I've been keeping for the past few months is now kind of out in the open. So I can talk about it. Sort of. Vaguely. Using pronouns and metaphors.

Watch this space. Its about to get wordy.

Also, its 5:30 on the East Coast, if you haven't voted yet you are done complaining for the next 4 years.

my bad

So, it has come to my attention that people might be checking this space more frequently than I imagined. To those people, who every day come to my little square foot on the internet and are disappointed time and time again, I just want to say I'm sorry... My bad.

Here's the problem with me and blogging. I only do it when I have free time (which is not very often) and when I think I have something funny to say. And by something funny I mean, a story that I have yet to tell at least 8 people...once I have a good story/idea I normally don't get to a computer fast enough to put it out on the interweb before I've told various people.

I did get hit with a soccer ball on wednesday, which isn't terribly tragic most of the time, except that this was a corner kick (so it was kicked from a stationary position with as much force as the kicker could put behind it) and I was only about a first down away from the guy (I have a problem with calculating distances accuratly, I've been told that it might be helpful if I think about it in football terms. Crazily enough, it totally works).

My leg felt numb which was horrifying. Trying to run on a numb leg is, I imagine, akin to trying to run on a pegleg for the first time. You have no idea how much weight it can hold and what was super weird was that where I got hit had goosebumps, but none of the rest of my leg did. And the goosebumps were huge (for goosebumps). I've now used the word goosebumps so many times its seased to have meaning.

Anyway, when I got up the next morning there were still red lines on my leg indicating the seam of the ball where it hit me. That was gross, grosser still when I started showing it to people (almost 24 hours after I got hit). Even all the guys who were giving me shit about complaining were like, "yeah, that's pretty nasty."

Now its Friday so its been about 36 hours and the bruising that has formed is pretty horrifying. You can also still faintly see the line from where the ball is stitched together. I'm really starting to resent that ball, and whoever happens to own it. The person who owns the ball owes me dinner, and probably a leg massage and maybe they should run this 5K for me next weekend.

In other news: uuuuuh, never mind-- I got nothing.

Pants on Fires...

So, I've only seen about 10 minutes total of the RNC because that is about as much as Granny and I can collectively stomach. Its so strange being at the DNC and watching the RNC and trying to compare the two. Is it just me, or are the speakers at the RNC fuckin' mean? (Sarah Palin, I am looking directly at your stripper-Librarian face right now) And beyond that - they're liars. I guess, I'm liberal so I agree with the liberal views that I heard last week, but I mean - everything I heard seemed to be true. It seemed like the crap spewing from the mouths of the RNC puppets was just untrue.

Not being very political I kept my mouth shut until I came upon this in a blog I stalk.

I'm glad to know its not just me. And, I was out not watching McCain tonight, so I'll youtube it tomorrow and I'll absolutely dissolve into tears because there are people out in this world who actually think he would make this country a better place...and there are people out there who think that when McCain kicks the bucket, Palin is going to get to be her sassy mini-van driving VP self, that she won't essentially become the puppet of the powers that be in the republican party.

Gross.

Nantucket is nice though.

Three dots in the sky

I find that my homesickness manifests itself in very strange ways.

I almost never get homesick until right before I'm about to go home, but I think that has as much to do with going home as it does with just wanting a break from real life (and some Chick-fil-A).

I started going to sleep-away camp when I was in 6th grade and I would watch these girls cry and cry when their parents left them and then cry and cry every night and then cry and cry when their parents came to pick them up. Whereas I would wave goodbye at my Mom without so much as a second glance and then kind of forget about my family until Friday when they came to pick me up and I would beg to stay longer.

Sleepovers? No problem? Weeks with other peoples' families at the beach? Cake. My younger self had no problem with separation issues (which is apparently hilarious because my very younger three year old self apparently couldn't handle being separated from my mom for more than like 47 seconds without flipping out).

When I went off to college, my Mom dropped me at my New York City apartment and she was about to leave when I (shrilly) exclaimed, "but I don't have any food!" So she took me grocery shopping and that was enough. After the groceries, we hugged and kissed goodbye and things were fine. I think the only time I remember getting really emotional about being homesick was right after my Mom and Caroline and Belinda left after being in NYC for my 18th birthday, but again - life is more fun with my family around so it might have just been that.

I keep moving further and further away and while I feel the tug of the East Coast its nothing like some of my friends experience.

When I went to South Africa, I went the longest I've ever gone without actually vocally speaking to either of my parents (almost three weeks) and I knew I was upset, but I was also having so much fun that I couldn't decide which emotion (sadness or excitement) had the most power (I ended up drinking a whole lot, obvi, because I didn't want to make the choice).

I found that when I was feeling upset, the thing that calmed me down was finding the constellation Orion's Belt in the sky. I'm not a huge stars person, but its one of the easiest to pick out and one of the only ones you can see both in North America and South Africa.

Every night after drinking as we stumbled back to the dorms I would look up in the sky and announce that I had found Orion's Belt, as if it hadn't been discovered several thousand years ago. Then I would fall asleep, wake up and everything would be just fine.

Since I've gotten back from South Africa (about 3 and a half years ago), Orion's Belt has been one of those things that has remained a touchstone. Let's be f'real. You can see it pretty much from anywhere in the world and so I've found it in England, in New York City, on Nantucket, in Chicago...

Everywhere I go, when I'm feeling kind of lost and alone (which tends to happen most at night) I look up and find it and am okay again...and by okay I mean, I might end up crying or screaming at some point but when I wake up in the morning, everything will be just gravy.

So that's why, if you're ever standing next to me, and I exclaim that I've found Orion's Belt with an absurd amount of happiness-- don't roll your eyes. Just give me a hug because its probably what I want.

D. N. Flippin' C.

Its over. Its all over. I've sent my last blog (which might not even get posted), I've put up the rest of my pictures

I have all the buttons I'll buy here. Which isn't very many because I didn't get as much shopping time as I wanted. But I have plenty of schwag and 1300 pictures and this story to tell my grandkids.

It was really, really, reaaaaally overwhelming. By the end of yesterday I pretty much lost it and had a freak out for a solid 30 minutes before I managed to get myself back together. And I almost got hit in the face by a cop (you're going to have to ask me for that story). I loved getting to take pictures, but the life of a photographer is nuts and I wasn't even a real photographer so I can only imagine the added pressure when you're trying to get paid for your work. Also, your camera is probably pretty heavy when it is as big as most of theirs.

But I have to say, the once in a lifetime-ness of it all made it so worth it. I mean, I was there!! I saw Barack speak. I was 5 yards from him when he surprised everyone on Wednesday. I listened to Michelle and Bill and Hillary. I watching Hillary letting her delegates go, which was one of the most heartbreaking things ever (being a loser sucks and losing on this level probably sucks even harder and yet you have to keep smiling all the time). I saw Dennis Kucinich rev up a crowd more than I've ever seen (for the number of people in the audience, which wasn't many, making the amount of noise they made, which was a lot - I think it was one of the most well received speeches of all 4 days).

I don't think of myself as really political, just opinionated and I went into this thing not getting the big whoop about Barack. I know people who love him, and I respected their love but there was always this voice whispering in my ear, "he's just a presidential candidate" but I guess its because we haven't had a candidate like this in so long. I mean, I didn't see Kennedy run and I didn't see Clinton run (well, I don't really remember it) so maybe its because these past 8 years have just given us lame candidates. But when I got up there and listened to him speak and watched the people react to him, it made so much sense.

He's a rockstar. Liberals love rockstars. And I know there's some seamy underbelly to his story, but that's politics. People want to believe in him because they're running out of things to believe in. And while I don't totally feel that way, I respect it and am very interested to see how he does for the rest of this election.

Also, I touched a Kennedy. Which, if you aren't a democrat before, you sure are after. Bobby Kennedy Jr gave a 15 minute speech standing on a chair in the middle of a Gumbo restaurant in downtown Denver at 10 PM on Tuesday and it was amazing. It was stump-y of course, but it didn't matter. He's got the genes for it.

So here's the blog - which hasn't been updated all day, which sucks, but might be updated tomorrow. And pictures.

I'm ready to go home though. A whole three days of work, class, packing, unpacking and then off to Nantucket.

Michelle Obama has an amazing backside

My first day at the convention was one of the most overwhelming of my entire life. I am feeling really guilty right now because everyone is getting ready for the day (my Aunt and Uncle who have so graciously allowed me to stay on their couch are now cooking me bacon) and I am sitting here blogging and posting pictures to Picassa. I'm going to put up a few more pictures before I get ready for day 2 (Barbara Mikulski! Mark Warner! HRC!). My blogs can be found here

And my pictures can be found here


So check those all week!! And check here, if I get a chance I'll post here, but probably not because the FNP actually hooked me up with the press passes so I have to keep them happy before anyone else.

I will say though that listening to Michelle Obama speak and listening to Ted Kennedy speak and being right there with them for all of it was one of the most surreal experiences of my whole life. I've never been all about the politics, more all about the Hollywood, and so never thought of these as real people. But they are real and they're spectacular.

More soon.

Its almost over/its just beginning

So, life is kind of crazy right now, for a bajillion reasons. Most of them being that at some point in life I was taught to save all the best parts of summer for the end of it. I don't know why- but it makes a whole bunch of sense and it makes the transition into fall that much easier. Although, now that I'm no longer in school there shouldn't really be a transition, and yet for some reason there always is.

The rest of this week promises a Cubs game, a job interview, my first time hosting a Chicago party, new improv classes, and my first Nats game (which will also be my third cubs game).

Then next week I fly to Denver to take part in one of the craziest things I've ever talked my way into. The Democratic National Convention. I can't really believe that we're actually flying all the way there - and we're going to have press passes and I'm going to be in Colorado! For the first time!! Ever! I keep going West!

Then I come home with just enough time to unpack and then repack before heading to Nantucket. By myself!! I've never gone on a solo vacation. If it isn't completely sad its going to be totally wonderful. I don't think I spend enough time just by myself not talking. I have a lot of writing I want to get done and there will be nothing better for the muses then sitting on the porch eating portugese bread and drinking Granny's bad coffee.

After that...its the middle of September. I might have managed to talk my way into a new job. And I'll be taking two new classes, interning, doing shows and keeping myself more busy than most people actually believe possible. And its football season! And the world series! And I'll be turning 24. And I get to go to Chincoteague!! And my baby sister is turning 16 (more on that later).

I've been getting less sleep lately, for a whole bunch of reasons all good except for the fact that, you know - I miss sleep.

I know this sounds crazy, mostly because I am always crabby and I complain a lot and I seriously have no money, but I'm pretty absurdly happy right now. I know that once winter starts things are going to get pretty depressing, but I'm trying to save up happiness, like a squirrel, and I'll have it to get me through January and February.

Hey!

I don't like getting tricked.
I don't like being two steps behind.
I don't like knowing things last.

I don't like trusting people I don't know.
I don't like having to rely on my own judgment.
I don't like leaving things up to chance.

And yet -

Here I am letting all that happen because I'm trying to not be me for awhile.

It's hard.
And it sucks.

But it makes me kind of happy.

pondering.

"Without parents to defy, we break the rules we make for ourselves."

With nothing good on TV right now, I'm going through and watching old Grey's Anatomy episodes. That was part of Meridith's voice over in one season 2 episode. I spent most of the time when I was watching this in real time ignoring the voice overs because Ellen Pompeo's voice gives me a headache. But I heard that today, and it made things a little bit clearer.

I look at the quote and I have to kind of shrug. Because its true, and I can't figure out how to stop it.

I *heart* Wisconsin

Things I experienced this weekend for the first time.

-Mar's Cheese Castle (unfortunately not a castle made of cheese).

-Cheese curds, regular (disgusting).

-Wisconsin Cheddar Grilled Cheese in Wisconsin, where the cheese is so gooey you get a cheese puddle.

-Donkey Balls.

-A Brat.

-A Pontoon Boat.

-Sturgeon Bay.

-A Fish Boil.

-$1 Beers (what? I didn't go to real college).

-The game of shoulders.

-Leinenkugel Summer Shandy (tastes like lemonade!)

-Door County Cherries (in ice cream, pie and cookies)

-Berry Wines (not a fan)

-Cheese curds, fried (amazing).

-A Tom Collins (although apparently when made with grenadine its fake)

-McDonald's Country Chicken Biscuit (embarrassingly delicious).

Summertime Chi (now throw your hands up in the sky)

So Tierra came and visited for five glorious days last week as part of her massive road trip and while my liver, checkbook, and BMI are probably secretly glad that she's gone, the rest of me absolutely loved having her here and wishes she would stay forever. I sometimes forget how amazing Chicago is in the summer. I'm so busy working and performing and running around that I never stop to be like, "damn, B. This is kind of the life."

While Tierra was here we went to my very first Wrigley field baseball game (which may also be my very first MLB stadium game - except of course for the one when I got kidnapped, but that was just batting practice so it doesn't count). I've decided that game and the Chicago Fire game this weekend, that I love live sports. The whole sports thing is still kind of new and bizarre (1 year of caring v. 22 years of not caring = big difference).

Also - I would like to point out that I'm fairly sure this was my first live men's professional game and it SUCKED where as ALL of the US women's games I've been to (both World Cup and otherwise in DC) have been amazing.

I also hung out with some random people while Tierra was here, because we pretty much hung out with whomever was around and all of them were so warm and welcoming which made me so happy - I've managed to make friends with some grade A midwesterners.

Tierra also got to see me perform both long and short form improv and got to see some great sketch comedy (as well as a decent harold). This is such a huge part of my life now. And she's the first one who's come out and actually seen it all go down. She seemed to love it.

I noticed while she was here that boys LOVED her. There were no nights that went by without some guy walking up to us and telling her that she is gorgeous. While, everyone loves a self esteem boost for themselves - I think I almost loved it more for her (I have plenty of problems with boys without complete strangers walking up to me-- also she's got that exotic halfrican thing going on).

So - the moral? Come to Chicago. While its gorgeous and summer-y. Not when its sucky and grey. Meet my amazing friends. See me be funny/an asshole on stage. Experience why I think that this city might be for keeps (at least for a few more years).

Makes Sense.

"The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A Death! What's that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first; get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you're too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last nine months floating

...and you finish off as an orgasm."

-George Carlin.

drugs. the no-baby-making-kind.

So I switched birth control pills recently (yeah, that's right - we're gonna get real personal right about now). My old one was playing a huge part in the disaster that was my face and at the age of 23 I think I'm old enough to make medical choices based on vanity.

So I decided to switch. My NP is nervous because this new one has diuretic qualities as does another medication I'm on. And the two diuretics combined apparently will give me a potassium deficiency. I don't really understand the mechanics of it. But these people went to school for about 80 years, so I'll trust them.

For the first month, the pill seemed to be working great. There were no babies (which, um, let's leave that part of the equation alone for now). I switched right around the time I started my new job and was told by my mother that I might have an insulin deficiency of some sort (my mother did NOT go to school for 80 years, but she did go for eight, so I trust her medical opinion). This maybe the cause of my recent weight gain and so I've decided to go really healthy (fresh fruits and veggies! vegetarian! (except for pork and Nonna's meat sauce) 100 Calorie Snack Packs!)

I also now have week days off with the new job and instead of lounging around and watching West Wing DVD's I've been working hard at keeping my days off busy. Writing, going to the gym, productive shopping, rearranging furniture etc.

So here is this me that is kind of different from the me of about 3 months ago. I am not really thinking about it until I talk to a friend of mine last night about birth control (this conversation was naturally brought on by the news/gossip that yet another girl from our High School class is up the spout). I mentioned my new pill and she said that it had made her slightly loopy. Then I thought about it for a minute and realized...

I'm pretty sure there are uppers in my birth control.

First of all, I'm hungry. All the time. I equated this with suddenly being on my feet for 8 hours a day but seriously, I find myself constantly eating. While normally uppers don't give you this (hence why they are diet pills) I think its the combination of the estro-whatever and the crack that literally mean I eat for eight straight hours if I let myself. I'm being good about eating grapes and whole wheat sandwichs and trying to keep my caloric intake around 1000 calories a day, but still - your body cannot digest food if you don't stop chewing.

Second- This productive behavior is not like me at all. I mean sure, I get stuff done, but I get it done at the last second, if there isn't anything good on TV. Recently I've taken to cleaning the bathroom without being asked and without there being actual organisms growing in it, I've started going to the gym for 90 minutes to two hours if given the opportunity and actually spending that time working out instead of just sitting around on a yoga mat listening to my ipod. I do laundry before I run out of underwear. I'm redecorating my apartment and making grown up purchases like couches and bowls (although, in my old-self's defense, the bowls are too small to be practical and polka dotted). My room is organized. I'm cooking for myself instead of eating things out of a black plastic dish. Also, the fact that I am even CONSIDERING giving up chicken nuggets, is - to me, kind of crazy. I mean, I laugh at vegatarians, and people who run on tredmills, and own plates. Since when have I become one of those people?

Obviously, it is because my birth control pill is full of crack.

A Story in Pictures

Once Upon a Time a Girl in a Scarf and her sister went to a museum.


They explored the exhibits and found that most of them were pretty lame (in the Museum's defense, they didn't look very hard). And then they found the baby chick exhibit!! Their Mom thought it was hilarious that they wanted to spend all day watching baby chicks hatch because they grew up in a place that looks like this:



But they were in it to win it. And they noticed one egg that looked like it was getting ready to hatch!


So they waited patiently as pieces of the shell began to chip away. Minutes passed and they couldn't believe how long it was taking. Their Mom voiced her annoyance that this is how they were spending their day but the Girl in the Scarf was not going anywhere. As the chick chipped away at the egg, the Girl in the Scarf looked at all of the information about the chick and learned that chicks have a special tooth that they use to get out of the egg and then it falls out after they're in the world.

Then the girl got philosophical, as she tends to do when she's waiting around for things to happen. Can you imagine having to work this hard to get out into the world? When humans are born its the mother that does all the work, but the chick is all alone and there is nothing to stop it from just giving up, from waiting until its so big that the egg just breaks around it. Of course, by that point the chick will probably have died from starvation but still... how hard it must be to not even know the world you're trying so desperately to become a part of. And then finally! The chick hatched!!!



It was really, really ugly and scary looking, which, to be fair, we all kind of are when we come out of such a cramped place. The chick just lay there for awhile learning how to breath all this new oxygen it had suddenly come in contact with. The chick was so very tired, it had just cracked its own egg, it knew it had to, it knew that even though it didn't know our world that it wanted to be a part of it. The Girl in the Scarf pitied the little chick. It had worked so hard and now it had its whole life ahead of it, to keep working hard and surviving. The Girl in the Scarf watched it for awhile, as all of the other museum patrons jostled around her. The Girl in the Scarf was wondering if maybe now, she was just being born. She was ugly and unfortunate, but she had spent so long working so hard and was finally just beginning her life.

Shmupdate

So I have a new job. My new job is very awesome except it hurts my brain with all the learning and its kind of a low-rung on the food chain job. It feels a little like back pedaling. But there are huge benefits to it, one being days off during the week. I had acclimated to having Saturdays and Sundays off, which I will have occasionally but mostly I'll have things like Thursdays off. Which means I'll get real work done. Like writing and laundry and hanging out at the beach when there aren't people there.

I get to go to the East Coast next week! I'm so excited! I'll hit MD, NYC, New Hampshire, Connecticut, Philly?! Who knows...It'll be so nice to be home.

I have a theory...Its a boys and girls and relationship theory. I have to work through it a little bit more before posting it on the internet.

Don't read this Tierra.

So apparently,

We're all gonna die.

So much about this freaks me out.

Number 1 - 13 year old Germans do better math than NASA. That's just embarrassing.

Number 2 - I have MAYBE 27 years left. I'm just glad I'm not waiting to quit my job...

Number 3 - I'm really glad I watched Deep Impact 4,000 times because I am now prepared to deal with this kind of disaster.

101 in 1001 update.

So, if any of you have been paying attention at. all. you would know that my 1001 days were up on March 18. I was super unsure with what do about this, considering I had barely finished half of it, but C decided that since right in the middle of the 1001 days I had picked up my entire life and moved it to a new time zone I deserved a 6-month extension. Mostly because during those 6 months I wasn't so much worried about the list as I was surviving in a brand new place where I knew no one. So now my expiration date is September 18, 2008. Which seems far off, but isn't really. I have 48 things left on the list. Here's what I've accomplished since LAST March (yeah, I've been bad w. the updating):

12. Go to at least three concerts - I go to concerts all the time. I do heart Live Music.

22. Stand up to a guy and tell him how it is (I did this once, but I think I need practice) - When I put this on the list I should have specified that it be a sober confrontation, but lets be real - that will never happen. It has happened drunk a few times. I'm getting pretty good at it.

53. Get an internship at a theatre company - The iO Chicago kind of owns my soul. In a good way.

Wow. 3. Okay, that's kind of pathetic. Here are some highlights of what I have left:

3. Have a healthy romantic relationship that lasts a substantial amount of time (at least a month) - This is kind of hilarious for many reasons. Mostly because defining "healthy" is a tricky, tricky little game. I think that I could probably cross this one off the list... but we'll wait and see if I end up with anything a little more "healthy" by the end of the summer.

51. Go to South Africa again - Okay. Kind of a pipe dream. But I like where my head was at when I did this.

56. Use that gift certificate for free dinner for 4 for that Italian restaurant in Bethesda - The fact that I haven't done this yet is BONKERS. I've had that thing for over 5 years. The restaurant is going to close before I use it. Next time I'm home for a few days (so...Christmas?)

84. Go to Gillette Castle, we went when I was little but I don’t have a visual memory of it. - This is soooo happening this summer. It should be happening in like a month, but the place doesn't open until Memorial Day. WEAK. So somehow- around the time we're going to Nantucket...this is getting done.

93. See every Oscar Best Movie nominee in a year (before the awards show) - Sadly, this won't happen...ever. I am not nearly as into movies as I like to pretend I am. Also, I'm poor.

only in my dreams

So, its gorgeous outside. I've been inside all day doing the work that will, with any and all luck will put me on the cover of "In Style" someday. All I want to do is go out and play, but nope. Its work time.

Anyway, my phone rings. Its a Maryland number that I don't recognize but I answer it anyway because I don't learn from my mistakes. Here is the conversation.

RACHEL: Hello?
VOICE: I just wanted to let you know, the chocolate covered strawberries are in the fridge.

RACHEL'S INNER MONOLOGUE: I don't know who this is or where they are, but they have chocolate covered strawberries so they are automatically my best friend.

RACHEL: (pause) Who is this?
VOICE: Is this Pattie?

RACHEL'S INNER MONOLOGUE: Say yes! Say yes! Obviously this Pattie person has the hook up with the chocolate and the strawberries and all you have is a half written - unfunny sketch.

RACHEL: (pause) No...
VOICE: Oh, I'm sorry.
click
RACHEL: But I'll still take the strawberries? Hello?

Once again, I make terrible life choices that deny me fruit and chocolate.

Princess Madness

I dropped to 4th in my pool where I was reigning as Princess Picks-Amazing for a week and a half. This is, of course, being blamed on Tennessee and Davidson equally, except Tennessee a little more equally because I had them going to the finals.

Here's the thing, I don't mind being in 4th place because the three people in front of me did research and analyzed statistics and watched more than 3 games this season. I? Guessed. And picked my favorites. Something that I'm sure was irking the shit out of the boys while I was on top. And when it comes down to it, I've picked more winners than anyone else, I just haven't earned more points. So, in some distant world, I kind of am winning-- except not really.

I love this being-one-of-the-guys madness. When this big heap of boy friends kind of fell in our lap we were excited, then people started making out and things got messy and now things have leveled out again and we're left with boys to watch sports with and boys who care about things like photography and good movies...which is pretty fantastic...

particularly when you're beating 13 of them in a basketball pool.

Go UCLA. Do not fall victim to Memphis's crazy crazy skills.

File this under: Things I Hate.

I hate making choices.

Seriously, it starts small, with not being able to decide what I want for lunch and spirals into not being able to make big choices. The life changing ones.

I just feel like when I look back over my life, so many of my choices feel like the wrong one, at what point does someone be like, "yeah, no. You don't get to make choices anymore. We're going to bring in a life coach and they're going to do it all for you now."

Once that happens I feel everything will be back on track or at least, I'll have someone else to blame when it all goes wrong.

Here's the deal people:

Do I:

a- Get a full time job working for a company that I'm passionate about that will give me lots of office experience, that will be 40 hours with benefits and company picnics that will require me to give up the auditions and the Big News and the fun trips to random places with Barb and possibly Nantucket?

b- Temp/get a part time job I don't care about. Take the paycut (like a man). Enjoy the fact that I'm 23 w. a savings account and spend the summer at the beach, with my friends, writing novels, performing, hanging out at the democratic national convention? Live the life of a pauper who likes to party.

Seriously people, I cannot decide. I seriously want the universe to make the choice for me and I don't know how to make that happen. I've decided I'm no longer applying to companies I don't care about for full time jobs. Its arts admin or non-profit all the way.

Anyway. That's it. I'm going to sit in this fancy car wash and watch my boss's Range Rover get all sparkley clean and try to figure out what to do... or I'm going to read the Fiction story in the New Yorker.

I can't decide.

poetry makes me less crazy

This was originally posted in the Frederick News Post online edition and I'm really ridiculously proud of it, so I'm posting it here.

And now, some haikus from my current job search.

gently used admin
in search of loving workplace
with free diet coke

cover letters smell
like desperation, needy
online dating blurbs

no waking at 5
if starbucks is not open
then neither am I

who gives spelling tests
before the job interview
not my future boss

resume talks of
quest for entry level not
days off for beach trips

facebook you tube and
go fug yourself dot com are
more fun than job ads

If sweatpants are banned
on days that end in "y" then
our ideals conflict

blackberries make you
look so cool and important
and rude at parties

would like salaried
and dental for funniness
is this fantasy

without some free food
receptionist gets restless
will take bad message

grown up problems like
jobs, big choices, life changes,
can be solved with cake

writing poetry
better than looking at weather
or plotting revenge

I want to live the
life of a bohemian
or maybe pirate

Theaterical Genius.

So, about a year ago I went to London to visit my lovely Rachel twin and, obviously, fell in LOVE with England because its so very British. One of my favorite things that we did was go see two plays (which, considering I was there for 5 days and we spent 1 in Oxford, is fairly impressive). The two plays we saw were 39 Steps and Boeing Boeing. Both were picked entirely at random, one by Rachel and I over the internet before I got there and one by me as I tried to find day of tickets. I picked them simply because they were billed as funny and had interesting looking females in them (seriously, there is nothing more boring than really gorgeous women on stage being funny and it makes me angry-- you can't have everything).

Since I'm out of New York and so totally out of the loop it took me a few months to realize that BOTH of these plays have jumped the pond in '08. I am probably not going to see 39 Steps because it is reallllly British and I do not have faith that the American actors can make it work (unless they're using the original cast, in which case I might have to give it a chance), I am going to try my hardest to see Boeing Boeing because a- Bradley Whitford is in it and I think he'll be FANTASTIC in the part of aging play boy going insane to make sure all his girlfriends don't meet. And b- the woman who played the American flight attendant's impression of an American woman was out-of-control hilarious and I am curious to see how the actually-American actress does it.

I also have to say that there were about 40 plays* up in London while I was there. I would say that there were 15 that were American crossovers (Spamalot, Wicked, Hairspray), that leaves 25 that were from there and out of that - 2 were picked to come here and I also picked them. My opinions in theater are really top notch. Someone should probably pay me for them.

*I have no idea how many plays there actually were but the ratios are accurate.

The photo was one of the ones outside the theater at Boeing Boeing. Notice how they're all pretty in an interesting way?? That's because they're hilarious, especially the German one on the left. She's my extra favorite.

Denial tastes like robitussin and ginger ale

I have the flu. Apparently - according to Dr. Mom who via phone got a rundown of the symptoms and a graphic description of my relations with the toilet bowl - what I am feeling right now is a mild, but still very much there case of the flu. Awe.some. I haven't been really, really sick since my senior year of college (I just said that and while typing it realized I had a nasty bout of flu-hangover-itis last Good Friday - I am a liar).

I left work early today, something I haven't done for health reasons since I started at my current job. My mom is requesting I stay home tomorrow so I'm in top form for our trip to NYC this weekend. While I really, really want to stay home and get better, there is a part of me that feels so guilty for abandoning my coworkers like that. I'm sure that they can handle it. They've all show that they're vastly smarter and more productive than I am, but there still is this nagging sense of being a bad person for not being there. Something that I think is probably a huge indicator of other, bigger problems.

Anyway, this post is really for my boss, who will probably read it (as he has once again found my blog) - Its 8:44. I'm going to bed. My mom said to call her if you think I'm faking it. She can tell over the phone that I'm on death's door.

favorite day

Here is my to-do list for today:

1-Laundry. Because once again, my procrastinatory/insanely busy nature has made this situation out of hand.

2-Download music.

3-Eat.

THAT'S IT. This is the most low-key Saturday I've had in months and I love it. Seriously. I want to roll around in its laziness. And it gets better...there's nothing to do tomorrow (until 6 PM) either.

"I let you go (oh oh)"

I've had a phenomonally sucky week. Not that anything too terrible happened, but when all the not so terrible things are piled on top of one another it kind of makes me want to crawl into a hole and cancel my Grown Up Club membership.

And there were a few redeemable things that happened but none of them were so earth shattering that they made up for everything else.

Except for one.

I heard my two most favorite songs from 5th grade. "Don't Turn Around" and "The Sign" by Ace of Base. That's right BOTH of those songs worked their ways into my week coincidentally (once was when I was in my boss's car trying not to cry about the cluster fuck of my life, the other was when I was in the bank today taking out more of my rapidly dwindling checking account).

It was awesome. I still know every single word to both. Which is pretty impressive considering all the brain cells I've destroyed since I was ten.

When The Sign first came out I bought the single. On cassette (yeah, thats right. Cassette). We listened to it every morning on the bus to school. We had, I realize now, the coolest bus driver ever. Seriously, the fact that she was willing to listen to the same effin' song about 40,000 times in 5 months is pretty incredible. She was probably drunk the whole time.

Then I got the full album on CD and I'm pretty sure my best friend/worst enemy/next door neighbor stole it. Dumb bitch.

Ace of Base is the first band I remember liking that wasn't influenced by my parents. They were the first thing that mainstream media got me all worked up about. They were my first act of defiance and rebellion against the parentals (my Mom hated them...with good reason, their music is kind of terrible). They were one of the first little threads of grown-up real person-ness that I had.

Anyway, I'm not really sure what happened to Ace of Base, I guess they went back to Sweden or wherever and faded into oblivion. I'm sure one or two of them has been on some sort of VH-1 reality show. But no matter how terrible and nonsensical (have you listened to the lyrics?) their music is I will still love it. And it'll still make my day.

blog-ass

So. I have become a bad blogger, when I started this, my millionth (approx.) blog I wanted it to be awesome. A Tomato Nation, or a Pamie.com. Instead its... um, nothing anymore. What I didn't want it to be was a boring rehash of the daily events. And so instead its nothing. Lame.

Its not that nothing happens, oh no. In the past several months (pretty much since my 23rd birthday) my life has become quite the interesting little tale, full of happiness and crying and making out and cats peeing on my new pier 1 chair but I never remember that I should be writing it down. And I should be- because the more I write, the better I get... so I'm going to start with the writing... I hope. I mean there are other things I need to write too - like cover letters, and novels, and my very first comedy sketch...

Maybe I'll stay off the facebook for a day or two (doubtful) try to remember what I did on the internet before the face' sucked me into its vortex of pictures and bumper stickers.

The photo: Me and some of the best people I've ever met - on stage at the iO theatre in Chicago. Basically this picture is my dream come true.

I'm still here

So, this has been quite the hiatus I've taken from blogging. Although, not really -- I do actually blog on a biweekly basis for the lil hometown paper I was talking about. If I had a static link for it, I would post it, but since I don't, I'll try to remember to copy-paste the entries here -- because they are Hi-Larious. Actually no, but they tend to be entertaining.

Right now I'm enthralled with the second season of Nip/Tuck. My newest television addiction since the WGA strike (its helpful that my roommate owns all seasons on DVD). I'm mildly shocked that they're allowed to show this much graphic sex and surgery on basic cable. And since when can we say "shit" on tv? I never got that memo.

Other then that-- '08 has been good to me this week. I dropped a hundred and fifty bones on clothes in the past two days. I didn't go out drinking at all this weekend, which was actually kind of nice (particularly now that I don't have any money after all the clothes buying).

I start an eight week run of shows at iO tonight. While I am very excited about this opportunity, I am also straight terrified. The forms that my team has concocted are interesting and kinda awesome, but at the same time they aren't quite ready for performance. I'm hoping that we'll figure out a way to cheat for now until we get a chance to figure everything out.

One of the cats in my house peed on my amazing Pier 1 chair. I'm super distraught about it although my Mom is confident that the smell will come out with some Nature's Miracle treatments. Also one of the windows in my living room is broken... our apartment is pretty much falling apart.

I'm considering putting on clothes and starting the day, but I think instead I'll finish this season of Nip/Tuck, read more of Franny and Zooey and wait for the message I'm waiting for.

every year it gets a little harder

Three years in a row, baby.

This year looked bleak until about uhh, 3 hours ago when I finished. Seriously I do not know how I got this done. It's pretty fantastical considering I work at least 60 hours a week between two jobs, have rehearsal, classes and what might be considered an active social life.

But I did it. I got it done. Just barely at like 7:30 I finished all my words. I decided to go to one of the nanowrimo social events which was a first for me. And it was actually kind of awesome. When I finished my 50,000 everyone applauded for me. That's all I want, is some one who knows what's like to be like, "yeah, you're awesome" and I got 15 people to do it. It made it just that much more worth it.

This years thanks go out to:
Tierra and New Orleans. I've never hung out with a group of strangers who were more interested in hearing about this. Plus, for some reason in New Orleans I was able to wake up every morning at 9 AM and start writing, even if I had been drinking until 3.

My new papason chair. It might be the best writing chair in the world.

My roommates, for being there.

And as always, McKim, even though she dropped out, she was still there supporting me all the way when I needed it. Its you and me in '08, C.

Listen, every time I write a novel I get a little more awesome. Time for Christmas!!

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.

How time trickles and flies...

So I've been in Chicago for a year now. Which seems crazy. I totally remember this time last year when it was hailing and I was thinking I had made a terrible mistake.

I haven't quite decided if that's still true. It hasn't been terrible. The weather has made me want to pull my hair out but I've made some amazing friends and so crazily rekindled some old friendships (seriously, if you had told me a year ago that I was going to reconnect with someone I went to camp with, I would have called you crazy to your face). I've experienced some awesome things: Circus class, break dancing, lollapalooza... I've finally decided what is important to me in life and what makes me happy.

I've been doing improv for 10 months now, and even though sometimes I feel burnt out by the fact that I've done it every week for almost a year, I still get excited by getting up there and doing scenes. I had a really great audition yesterday, and even though I probably didn't get it, the audition made me happy.

I am stuck in a rut when it comes to my job. I have good days and bad days. I know its not what I want to be doing, but I get paid enough to keep me happy and by happy I mean, I make enough money to buy stuff.

...like a Devin Hester jersey.

The football thing is crazy. This has been a trying beginning of the season I still love the Bears but they're making me pretty sad right now.

Right now I'm sitting in my Godmother's house which is gloriously circular; sitting on the same couch, eating the same pizza. This time, I'm so hungover I want to die because I went out dancing until 4 in the morning with some of my newest favorite people. In 2 hours I have to play soccer, which is going to be rough.

I just re-read this entry and realized I might still be drunk. Anyway, happy 1 year anniversary to me. Go bears.

Allow me to clarify...

So, I don't really have time to write a blog, and its too hot to have a laptop on my lap anymore, but I want to declare something:

Accutane doesn't make you a murderer.

So, let me catch you up, there was a Chicago dermatologist who was brutally killed a few years ago. They recently found the killer who was apparently a disgruntled accutate patient and wanted to get revenge for having a little mind warp on the drug.

As someone who did a full-term accutane cycle I can say for sure that yeah, it makes you kind of crazy. It makes your skin reptilian in nature and kind of makes you a little nutty.

However, the father of the murderer is saying that his son (who KILLED someone in cold blood) is a VICTIM in this case and has shipped him off to the West Indies so he won't be arrested.

I call shennanigans.

Yes, accutane is a scary drug to take, I waited almost two years until I was in a good, healthy place in my life before I even considered it. And then I was told over and over and over the potential side effects. I filled out forms and carried a sweet VIP accutane card (which still lives in my wallet if you ever want to see it). I knew the first time I took the pill that it was going to be a bumpy road.

And it was.

The first 48 hours I was on it I felt like I was on a mild hallucinigen. I wrote my mom an e-mail from work that caused her to call me and say, "Go home. Right now. There is something wrong with you."

I read the e-mail later and totally agreed, it's barely in English.

The rest of the 6 months I was on the drug I was constantly on guard. When I broke down into crazy crying jags I made sure that I knew a roommate was home. I kept my spirits up as much as I could. Kept in constant contact with the outside world, never let myself get too much in my head.

Because I knew I had done this to myself. If something happened to me, it was my fault.

Which is EXACTLY the case with this guy. His father was a doctor for chrissakes. I mean, everyone who has ever condsidered taking the drug knows what it can do. For me, it made me addicted to chapstick. ADDICTED. Like, I went through a burts bees stick every week and a half.

I am not comparing this to murder, I am just saying...the consequences of taking this drug are soley on the shoulders of the patient and his family. He was on it for two days. Had he made it past the looney-tunes 48-hour mark with a supportive group of people, I feel that the outcome would have been different.

And to the father who is making himself look like a jerk on TV (and right after the amazing bears-packers game to boot), I say, to shame, sir.

There is one victim and that is the gentle old doctor (my roommate was a patient of his and says that she has never met a better, more kind and thoughtful doctor). You hiding your son away so he doesn't have to face judgement for the crime he did, is ridiculous.

....I'm sorry this is my first (deeepressing) blog entry in over a month, just watching the news made me angry. Its like the story of pit bulls. Not all pit bulls are evil...they're trained by humans to react the way they do. Accutane does make you a little crazy, but you are duly warned before the pills ever touch your lips. Don't make this about a good medication with some sobering side effects. Make it about the family that didn't care enough to make sure their son was okay...