And then...

I think one of the things I find hardest about daily blogging is coming up with crap to talk about.

I easily have one of the most mundane lives, ever which is de-pressing, but is probably not going to change anytime soon. Pair that with the fact that I am now hyper-sensitive to what I put on this thing (because apparently I am the worst person in the entire history of the whole universe ever hyperbole) - I am left with not much to talk about.

I have been reading blogs for a long time. Tomato Nation, Pamie were my two first favorites. These people are complete strangers and yet I feel like I know a lot about them, but would never ever know them if I met them on the street. And now I read my friends blogs and strangers blogs and people who I used to knows blogs just because I like learning about other people's ideas.

Most people I've met or rather have read things I've written have said I am a good writer, which is a compliment I've always taken with a grain of salt - surely it is much more difficult to be a bad writer - being a good writer is just about writing how you would talk and about things you care about (or can pretend to care about for money) and taking it from there.

But now I've realized how easy it is to be a bad writer. This is bad writing. This whole blog challenge thing has back-fired in a truly spectacular way to make me a WORSE writer. Take that 6th grade English - it is not just about how much you do it. Its about being willing to write about things that matter and on this blog I am just not willing to do that anymore.

The things I should be writing about are things I don't really think the world a-cares about and b-really needs to or should know. Back when I was young and the internet was trendier than leggings (good times...) I had no qualms about putting my business out there because I felt as though, while I didn't know who was reading this thing - I for sure knew who wasn't. And that was nice.

Now I am second guessing everything, wondering what is being misinterpreted or taken to mean something its not. So my new goal is to write better blog entries - even if they are one sentence long - I want it to be like the sickest sentence ever (PS - sentence has no "a's" in it?! No way! Thanks red spell checker line).

This will not be a rehashing of my day or a place to dump my emo-baggage (which there is way more of these days then I thought possible for the age of 25) it will be where I write. For-realz, y'all.

And now I'm stressed about my first sentence...too much pressure.

Dark Chocolate Macadamia Nuts - are pretty close to perfect even with the disturbing addition of protein to an otherwise blissfully empty caloried snack.

Abysmal...

Back, baby

Okay - sorry about the blog drought. I just realized that my Hawaii posts were extra double lame because I was trying to write them while watching Lost, and if you have ever watched Lost, you know that doing anything while watching that show is pretty damned near impossible.

But I am back! And I am jet lagged! And I am sun-burnt! And I am bruised!

It was by-far the most active vacation of my entire life. Where I come from the most aerobic activity you get while on vacation is turning over so you tan evenly. This time I hiked and climbed and got beaten up by surf and hiked and climbed some more.

It was amazing, even though I am pretty sore all over, both from the climbing and the falling down a volcanic rock face. I did not fall far, and the damage wasn't too severe, but man are these bruises serious.

And we Lost-nerded. it. up. Like Whoa. Let's be real folks, if you let yourself get into this show, it will get you. It will take you in and beat you up like a Pimp named Slickback. And you will crawl back begging for more.

I spent a lot of my time wondering why in the world Maimees would ever even consider moving back to the Chi, but then I remembered my life in Nantucket...and how having true, amazing friends is what it takes to make an island a home.

And now some more pictures - the rest will be posted on Picassa in a hot second -

Luau and Ohana

Lost locale searching, and Hawaii experiences continue. I went to THE swap meet, and A Luau today both were amazing. Blogging seems like a waste of my time as I have a lot of other things I want to spend my time doing - like sleeping and watching Lost.

Blue Crush

So. First of all, I am fine. You may have heard that there is a tsunami warning for Hawaii, which ironically, is exactly where I am.

At 5:15 AM (Hawaii time) my mom called to wish Boyfriend a happy birthday and to tell me that an earthquake in Chile and now there was a tsunami warning for Hawaii and that uh, she loved me and go back to sleep.

Luckily, we had been planning to get up at 5:30 or 6 anyway to start our Boyfriend Birthday Adventure...so going back to bed was not really option. Simply because that was enough to scare the ever loving crap out of me. So we're up and terrified.

R- "So you live up in the Mountains right?"
Maimees - "Uhhh, I live eight blocks from the beach."

Maimees's roommates are up and there is massive confusion for about an hour. What to do? Boyfriend and I had already pretty much decided that the only option was to get the eff out of the 8-block from the beach house and up into the mountains.

After what seemed like a lot of dilly-dallying we peaced out with our stuff (holla back for packing light) half of Maimee's pantry a few bottles of water, some doughnuts and two half-full bottles of wine (we like to be prepared).

And then we got the eff out of there. We are in the cushiest evacation situation ever. At a very nice private school with wireless internet, running water, clean toilets. And so we've just been waiting for nearly 4 hours now. Which is pretty weird. We know that something is about to happen but we don't know how big or how bad. And we don't know how long it is going to affect us but it is pretty exciting. And terrifying.

Happy Birthday Boyfriend. Its a once-in-a-lifetime one.

Mahalo

So it seems super dumb to blog from Hawaii, but I made a promise.

I love it here. Mostly because its Sunny. And hot. And there is an ocean!

I've done fun things like shop and eat and go in the ocean. For the next little bit we're watching Lost and losing some of the sand before dinner. Then it is early to bed for us because we have a day of crazy things to do.

Aloha

After 14 hours (without time change bull honkey) I am in Hawaii. It is wonderful. I have a teri(yaki) beef sandwich and onion rings and I am watching Lost.

Good Night.

Travel Bugs

As you probably know if you've talked to me in the past three months - I am going to Hawaii tomorrow. My excitement is really beyond comprehension right now. I'm so excited that I've looped back around to sedated and calm.

I have a lot of work to get done before I leave, but of course, I'm too excited to work! So instead I'm playing on the internet. Typical.

I'm excited to go to Hawaii, because I get to cross another Ocean off my list. So far I've hit the Atlantic and the Indian. After this I might have to go to Nova Scotia or wherever the Arctic Ocean hangs out.

Also I get to go west! We have a 5 hour layover in Seattle. I have not decided if this is long enough to get to leave the airport. Probably not, but I'll get to wave at it. While catching up on as much LOST as possible on my computer.

I realized today that we're really only going to be in Hawaii for 4 days. Which does not seem like enough time. I did London in 4 days though and I feel like I got a very British experience. And I have to keep reminding myself that there is no goal to this vacation except to get as tan as possible in 4 days. And no matter how long we were there, its not going to seem like long enough.

Mostly, I'm excited for February Flip Flops.

Fo' Real this time...

This blog post is NOT about Moving...or packing or painting or complaining. I promise. I don't know what its about yet. But for sure not any of those things.

This is about my jobS.

At the age of 25 I do not know what I "thought" I'd be doing...I mean, I guess as a kid, I was pretty sure I would be rich and famous by this point but The Powers That Be I guess decided that they like Rachel McAdams more. C'est La Vie.

Anyfart, now I'm 25 and I still don't have anyone paying for my health insurance, which is a major bummer and I think I've decided that it is the barometer for the rest of my life. My goal is to have someone else paying for at least some of my health insurance by the end of the year. I am completely terrified that this is going to mean I have to get married on Dec 31st so I see this through, but fingers crossed it won't come to that.

The funny thing is, I have two fairly good jobs. Their epic flaw is their lack of full-time-y-ness. I kind of fell into both of them in a swirly slide kind of way, and I think that lack of a "real" application-interview-hiring process is what tripped me up.

And they both are kind of awesome. Weird, for sure, but kind of awesome and very interesting. It's pretty great to walk into a room full of strangers and know that the whole awkward, "so, what do you do for a living?" opener will probably actually facilitate some sort of interesting conversation.

As you read this blog, keep in mind I am not going to post what either of my jobs are (as I want to keep some semblance of privacy on the interwebs, but if you are sluthy enough you can probably figure it out).

The most awesome thing about my jobs is the lack of attendance responsibility. For the three-day a week number I really do not have to ever show up at all if I don't want. I can almost permanently work from home. I would never do that, because I wouldn't actually get anything done but I can come and go as I please.

The two day a week jobber requires just that, two days a week (most weeks). Since job 1 is so flexible it makes the rigidity of job 2 a little bit easier. Most weeks my two days are Wednesday and Thursday but if something comes up, I can do a little switcheroo and most people don't even remember, much less care.

What does this REALLY mean? It means I have no qualms about going on a shitton of vacations. Since I started this duo-career business (in I would say April of last year) I have taken no less than 15 vacation days. This year I will have easily racked up 40 by August.

You have to admit, you are kind of jealous of this. Do you get 40 vacation days? Unless your business cards say "Hobo" I'm going to guess not. Okay now, run back into the arms of your 401(k) and Dental and snuggle in their warmth and security.

There are other nice things about them - mostly how different they are. At one, it is me and one other gal (as Granny would say) and we sit in our office and work straight through the day. This is the job where when I am at work, I work, and I get things done. This is the job with a good title and a lot on my plate and being able to consistently see that I am having an impact on the organization at large. Also, there is a trampoline. And on Fridays I get to jump on it. Do not discount how important this is to a healthy work enviroment.

The other job is in a HUGE building and it is full of people that are nice and fun and tend to stop by my desk to say hi and find out how its going. This is a job where we have mandated scavenger hunts and relay races some mornings. Where I learn new things every day. Not new abstract things like. "how to deal with difficult people" (although that comes up) but new facts. Like why you should reverse the direction of your ceiling fan in the winter (helps keep the hot air from rising and escaping. Fun Fact!) At this job I have tasks that need to get done, but they are managable. The list is always finite, and if I really buckle down I can get most of my work done in about 2 hours. Of course a lot of my work requires the imput of others and when you involve those variables that's what takes up all of my time. But I get to write blogs and read the internet and wander around and do cool things like eat ice cream made with liquid nitrogen.

It is hard to have two jobs that should be full time and yet...are not. I spend a lot of time working on one job while at the other and having to play catch up. Also, sometimes I have no idea where I am supposed to be on any given day (okay, this is not entirely true, but I have woken up some mornings in a panic thinking that I have overslept, when really I'm just working somewhere else).

Eventually there will come a day where I will have one job. I am leaning towards one now more than the other due to the vacationbonanza I mentioned above. And even though it will be nice to be singularly employeed. I will kind of miss my dual life.

Believe it or not, this post is about moving.

There are some bright sides to this whole disaster. Mostly the fact that I find it perfect acceptable to eat whatever I want until we're completely done with this whole shebang. Completely - like every box unpacked, every new storage container purchased...

Seriously, since we really started moving which I will considered Thursday - the "healthiest" thing I've eaten is a southwest blackened chicken wrap...and a chipotle burrito bol. I say these things are healthy because the ratio of vegetable to cheese is higher than anything else I've consumed.

Currently we are eating a Whole Foods Toffee Chunk cookie and drinking a Blue Moon as we finish the last of the painting.

In non-Moving news, today I was in meetings pretty much back to back all day until 4 PM. For some reason saying that makes me feel like I have a job that matters. In some respects I do, but mostly I am totally in denial about the fact that I now have responsibility and a mid-level job. But I also lost a car key in the snow. So don't worry, I'm still a jerk.

moving shmupdate

-Clothing is now out of trash bags that were stored in the bathtub and into the closet. I consider this a success. I own a lot of clothes, but not enough to fill up this closet. I consider this a challenge. Also I need hangers for all my skirts.

-Kitchen is organized. Told boyfriend that Cuisinart takes counter-space-presidence over quesidilla maker. He is not happy.

-Missing particle board is found. I should have bookshelves by the end of the day.

-Living room is a disaster and we still have no idea how we are going to organize it.

-Kitten is adjusting well, or at least better than last time when she peed all over everything I've ever owned.

-Am attempting social life for a few hours. Have no moisterizer or make up. This should be awesome.

blog your mom

I do not have the time or the energy for this right now. Currently I am (ironically?) sitting in my home office chair, a place I rarely sit when I am on my computer. I am sitting here because its one of the only places in this apartment not totally covered in crap.

The painting is done, the moving is done and now comes the real ridiculous part. I am trying to unpack. It actually feels like trying to put a square peg in a round hole (or whatever) as nothing quite lines up with my old apartment. The kitchen cabinets are wider but not as deep, and there aren't as many. The closet in the mast bedroom is not evenly divided (like last apartment) so we're going to have to figure out some other way to divide it. Although, that is a challenge for another day...right now there is some particle board somewhere that we need. Otherwise I don't get bookshelves and really to me, the most important thing is getting books up in shelves. Everything else can wait.

I am also still shameless stealing internet from neighbors (and will be until we get back from HI) so I do not even know if this is going to be posted tonight. Fingers crossed. So long suckers.

Scrambling...

So for the first time in my whole life, I have a job where when I am at work, I do work pretty much all day. I will take the occasional cnn/facebook/gofugyourself break but for the most part I am busy all day.

While this does have its merits (like feeling productive) it also has its downfalls (like being tired and stressed out).

Also it means that blogging is going to be hard on the days that I am here (at this very moment, this job is only part time). So I am blogging right now mid-email, so I don't forget.

My apartment is not even close to being done. We needed 2 coats of primer in the nook and we didn't notice until like 10 PM last night that our bedroom ceiling is like 13 feet high. Sweet, except for painting. But we are optomistic, particulary because this is a great excuse to eat crappy delivery food and not feel bad about it. So tonight we are going to roll our faces off (not in the cool way, in the painting way).

In other Friday morning news, I suggested we use "Daydreaming" by Lupe Fiasco in our Spring childrens show and my co-worker laughed. Then he made me go look up the lyrics. Damn you, Lupe, you are a filthy fast-talking bastard. Its still a real good song, despite the line about making cocaine cool. Cocaine is not cool, kids. Unless you have a trust fund. Even then its really kind of a cliche.

More blogging later? Maybe... Except probably not, so I'm going to leave you with this:



nataliedee.com

Paint the town

No Seriously...

Sometime before February 25, I will have moved my entire life into a brand new apartment. But before I move, I have to paint. Yes. HAVE.

Back when I was young, I did not find value in chosing the colors of my walls. My bedroom in my Mom's house was this pinkish-purple color with an unfortunate accent wall of stripped wallpaper. It was fine while I was growing up until my penchance for posters and other crap on my walls totally destroyed it. Now there are these giant sploches of exposed plaster everywhere. Luckily, its my baby-sister's problem now.

Anyway, occasionally I would want to paint it, but my Mom always said that I didn't keep it clean enough. So I wasn't allowed. Touche, Mom.

So in every apartment and living situation I've always just accepteded the colors and moved on. I've lived in rooms that were coral, orange, green, and various shades of dirty-white.

This was fine until I moved in with the Boyfriend. In our first apartment (a year ago) - the master bedroom was this atrocious shade of mustard yellow. I still, to this day, cannot figure out why anyone who wasn't cracked out on European Interior Design magazines would think that was an acceptable color to paint ANYTHING.

At this point we were still in the woo-ing stage in our relationship and I told Boyfriend that I would never live in a bedroom this color. So we picked out paint and painted it (and the attached bathroom which was the SAME color. Horrifying.) - and it turned out really pretty.

So now we're moving and in our new apartment there is only one room (techinically its a nook) that is painted an unfortuntate color. The bathroom and the bedroom are both white, not great, but not terrible.

I figured since we are two very busy people with careers and theater engagements, we would just leave them the sad droopy white and go about our lives.

Inc ase you haven't figured out by now - I was gravely mistaken.

So we're painting. But of course, we don't have "days off" and we only gave ourselves 10 days to get everything done - so we're painting at night. I got home from seeing the Joffrey's Cinderella at 10:30 last night, only to spend the next three hours covering the bathroom with blue tape.

Tonight I will spend a cool 6 or 7 hours (after work) painting the nook (which was orange, and so really needed the paint job), bathroom and bedroom. One can only hope we'll get it all done, but I am not holding my breath.

This is, naturally, before any actual moving happens.

Last night around 12:30 the Boyfriend (who, bless his little go-getter heart had been working since 6 or 7 PM) turned to me and said, "are there people we can to do this for us, like Power Movers but with paint?"

"Yes. They're called painters."

"When are we going to figure out that its worth our time to pay people to do this for us."

"Um...soon?"

"Good."

Challenge Extended

So yesterday was Mardi Gras - and so in celebration I saw 101 Dalmations on "Broadway" (or what passes for Broadway out here in the Windy City - so Randolph St...not quite the same ring). It was...disappointing except for the puppies. And the idea was kind of cool, but didn't work... don't see it. Let me describe it to you in detail and you'll enjoy it more, especially if you give me a puppy to play with.

And I also decided that for Lent this year I will be giving up Facebook. Which is a very intense decision for me. I spend a really absurd amount of time stalking friends, and old classmates, and occasionally strangers. This is probably unhealthy (and yet, totally accepted). So I decided that I was going to give it up. Its only 40 days right? And I used to give up TV. I am hardcore during this Lentent (?) period.

Of course I am immediatly sad because I won't be able to post pictures of my upcoming trip, new apartment or even of dumb every day things like my just in time cakes yesterday night (I had forgotten to eat pancakes - thankfully I live in a house where we freeze leftover pancakes).

And then today AnnieBelle demands I become lifepartners with her blog and I oblige (its easier if you just say yes). And in doing that we made a wager...if you will...we are each going to post in our blogs EVERY DAY for the next month. This will keep me occupied until March 17...which is St. Patty's Day! So at the end we get to drink! Horray! Perfect! Stupendous!

My other goal is to take at least one or two pictures a day. I don't take enough. So, I'll post pictures from the day before...maybe it will inspire me to write?

Yesterday's Just in time cakes:


Challenge Accepted.

Super bummer...

I've only been on the losing end of a Super Bowl once. It was 2007 and I had only been a Bears fan for about eight minutes when suddenly there they were in the Super Bowl. I really was so brand new to this that I was just kind of cruising along for the ride.

By the time Super Bowl Sunday came around I had been on a three day bender and while the D. Hester kick off return for a TD was flippin' sweet, once the Bears started to lose it was a nice excuse to stop drinking as I was sweating Miller Lite by this point.

And then of course, the Bears became terrible and I became accustomed to a life of wanting to make the playoffs and not so much making the playoffs and understanding that that was the life of a Bears fan. Sucky, but, when a few years down the road, and things got better, I would have earned the right to cheer for some Super Bowl Champion Chicago Bears.

Which is why I find it so absurd that people are all of a sudden Saints fan...and if you just don't give a shit, or are rooting for the underdog, Fine. I can get behind that... but if you decided that you are a "Saints Fan" this year because they crapped out a good season then I am calling Shenanigans.

Because while being on the losing end of the Super Bowl was sucky in '07, it wasn't nearly as bad as watching someone you love be disappointed in the outcome of the game. And it was just being a fan, it was a lifelong commitment to the Colts, a childhood of being hopeful and disappointed time after time.

I know the Colts ruined everything good and nice about Baltimore, but really, if the Colts are all you have and you're left with a cesspool of syphilis and underwhelming bars, than I don't think a football team is really to blame.

And so I had to watch as the Saints won and the Colts lost. And, it was pretty shitty. Not so much the game, but watching the disappointment on someone's face as he watched all his kid-dreams come tumbling down.

And let me be real, it was a fun Super Bowl. There was cake, and dip and juice boxes of wine. And I really enjoy watching Drew Brees play football. Just like I really watch Peyton Manning play football.

Anyway, this is what the losing side feels like, its not fun, but in a month, it'll just be a statistic.

Football is silly and it makes people crazy. However, I will say that the whole game was much better than pretty much every commercial.

Not funny?

Apparently, I said some things in a recent post that got people upset. Which is weird, because I don't know why anyone reads this utter crap...but to those people who are mad - I am sorry. Everything is this blog is to be taken in jest and with a proverbial grain of salt.

Apologies and margaritas all around.

Oh, Brother

My brother recently tweeted that he is going to donate plasma because, "[its] The only way [he] can think to make money."

Apparently the plasma industry is a booming one. You can make $25 a donation, and you can donate twice a week. That's fifty bucks...which is, good? I guess for bodily fluids.

This is the difference between my brother and I, while we share the same sense of humor and nose and you know, genetic make-up, if I was in a position where I needed to make money (which is what some people would call, "getting a Job.") one of the last things I would probably come up with is, take fluids out of my body for cash. It seems impractical for one (I don't really do needles)...and kind of like a not answer...

I mean, I guess if you only need to be making fifty dollars a week (and, not to belittle the point but, he owes me $75, which means I can either get cash or plasma donations apparently. I'm taking the green backs because everytime I hear the word "plasma" I think "placenta" and am immediatly grossed out beyond belief) than plasma donation is better than, uh, working at McDonalds for 10 hours, or working behind a desk for 5 hours or mowing 3 lawns...

except its not, because its not a job, and eventually, Baby Brother, you're going to need to get an actual one of those. You know, you fill out an application and make a resume and take a shower and shake some hands, lie a little about your qualifications and then show up, consistently at the same scheduled time on the same scheduled days...

Now, don't think this has to be boring - you can do ALL kinds of dumb shit and people will pay you for it.

Example - you can tutor kids. You might think you would actually need to know how to count and read - but no, if you do it through a tutoring place they give you all that crap...you just read out of the book and change a life. BAM!

There are a vast array of retail options where you can spend most of your day trying to look busy so your boss won't give you stuff to do, and the rest of the day playing with money. Sometimes you can eat stuff for free.

And then really, let me tell you, in my experience, sitting at a desk with varied amounts of responsibilities does have its benefits. You get to interact with people, sometimes, and do "fun projects" sometimes, but also, you get to write blogs and ponder the great mysteries of the world, like really, why anyone thought Snow Dogs was a good idea.

Naturally - this is a little bit more mentally challenging than donating parts of you body, but I think you will find it equally as rewarding.

And if not, you should look into what else you can donate, as I have heard kidneys go for a few dollars AND you already have two of them. Bonus.

The very first principle

While I am a great many things - I would never call myself principled. I have morals (no cheating, no killing, no white after labor day) but I don't really have principles. If that makes sense?! I figure there is a time and a place for everything, so I try not to limit myself...while I do love me some hyperbole I feel that saying that I am "never" going to do something is really just impractical, because with a drink or two and a "you won't" I can be game for pretty much anything.

Until today. I have found my one principle.

I refuse to buy tickets on Ticketmaster unless I absolutely have to. I understand that there are some festivals and what not that don't let you buy tickets at the door (or are so likely to sell out that trying to get them day of would be fool-hardy). But really, these exceptions are rare and for the most part I am now totally embargo-ing ticketmaster.

I am going to see the Joffrey's Cinderella in February with the lovely and talented Cindy Loo-hoo. This was my idea so it was my job to buy the tickets. No biggie - they're not that expensive for dress circle seats (although I did have a moment where I had to decide between dress circle - good view of everything, or far right balcony - amazing view of feet. I am such a ballet nerd). I even found a code online for 10% off the ticket price. Yippie! Hooray!

On Monday, while avoiding work, I logged in to ticketmaster and went about looking for tickets and after I did everything I noticed that there was a $4.50 convenience fee per ticket. Now, the tickets themselves were $37. And then 10% off, which means that the discount basically paid for (some of) the convenience fee. Well, that's kind of ridiculous when you get right down to it. And that doesn't include the tax that they added on for shits and giggles.

I decided to wait, thinking that I would just go buy them on my way to/from Hyde Park on Wednesday or Thursday, since I am going/coming from that direction anyway.

The rest of Monday happens and then some of Tuesday and then I am feeling stressed out and grouchy and lazy. Then I check the times for the Box Office and realize that they're only open until 6 PM. Which is fairly useless for me since I don't normally hit that neighborhood until about 6:15, unless I rush (which, in my lazy haze I decided I never do). So I decided I would suck it up and drop the extra money.

I decided that I would have the tickets mailed to me, because for some reason putting a 44 cent stamp on an envelope costs $2.50 LESS than me printing them out at home (really? really ticketmaster?) and that I would forgo any sort of insurance figuring that if the City of Chicago loses my tickets then I should probably take it as a sign and stop living here - because seriously, how do you live in a city that can't even deliver mail correctly).

Then when I'm all done and getting ready to give them my credit card I realize that there is another $3.30 fee that's tacked on at the very end. A 'handling' charge or something - I don't know what they're handling, but they need to knock it off.

At this point, my $66 worth of tickets has sky rocketed $79. Now I get that to all you rich white folks out there, $13 is not that much, but you have to understand that it is the PRINCIPLE of the thing (also, I am dirt poor).

How can they go about charging $13 of convenience fees??! And if I wanted the convenience of printing the tickets out on my own printer with my own ink and my own paper it would cost me an addition $2.50 (I don't know if that's per ticket...and really at this point it doesn't matter)...

Anyway - so this got me so enraged that I left work (this is all because my boss still isn't back from winter vay-cay and when you're your own boss...you get to do whatever you want including be an asshole on principle) took the train down to the theatre, had a conversation with an actual human being, picked out my tickets, handed them my credit card, and then was given a set of real tickets in a real envelope handed to me with a smile and a "Have a nice day."

You cannot BUY that people. And so now, I will continue doing stupid stuff because I live a mostly unprincipled life, except I will buy all my tickets in person...because that is what is really important.

If I were this, I would be that.

If I were a month, I’d be May.
If I were a day of the week, I’d be Thursday
If I were a time of day, I’d be 10 PM.
If I were a planet, I’d be Pluto.
If I were a sea animal, I’d be a starfish.
If I were a direction, I’d be east.
If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be a big comfy chair.
If I were a liquid, I’d be champagne.
If I were a gemstone, I’d be an opal.
If I were a tree, I’d be a dogwood.
If I were a tool, I’d be a phillips head screwdriver.
If I were a flower, I’d be a hydranga.
If I were a kind of weather, I’d be a blizzard.
If I were a musical instrument, I’d be a recorder.
If I were a color, I’d be sparkly pink.
If I were an emotion, I’d be gleeful.
If I were a fruit, I’d be a raspberry.
If I were a sound, I’d be waves crashing.
If I were an element, I’d be copper.

If I were a car, I’d be automatic.
If I were a food, I’d be an avocado.
If I were a place, I’d be a volcano.
If I were a material, I’d be paper.
If I were a taste, I’d be sweet and spicy.
If I were a scent, I’d be lavender.
If I were an object, I’d be a key.
If I were a body part, I’d be an foot.
If I were a facial expression, I’d be grouchy.
If I were a song, I’d be in a minor key.
If I were a pair of shoes, I’d keep your feet warm.

Fiiiiiive golden rings

Sha-ZAM.


People, I have written this blog One Two Four and now FIVE times.

I have very little to be personally proud of in my life, everything I accomplish seems end up being a group effort with other people, but once a year I have the opportunity to tell myself, "Look, look what you can do! Its kind of useless, but you do it! Some people write dissertations or movie scripts, but you! you write unreadable novels. Wa-hoo! You go girl" And that is kind of awesome.

I say this every year and every year I totally mean it, this is getting harder and harder. I do not know quite what that says about my life but it is still totally true. If you look at this bar graph you will see how this almost did not happen.



So you can see that seriously it was not until today that I was anywhere near my goal. Mostly because this year I (finally?!) have a job where I have to do work the WHOLE time I am working. At none of the jobs I have had in the past five years have I been required to actually give my 110%, this is kind of sad but also kind of awesome, until this month when I had to spend five days a week writing for a job and then had to go home and find the inspiration to write. It was a challenge (as you can see...).

This is why I will never haterate on any of my friends who have real jobs and try to do this. It is hard as shit and I'm only doing it because I am super, super stubborn.

I also realize that these become less like novels and more me just getting my writing demons out as much as I can in 30 days. This year's novel took place in about 24 hours. Less even. It takes place from 7:15 AM to 1 AM. I'm like friggin Jack Bauer over here. And really nothing happens? Well, okay the protagonist gets to Vermont, and goes to a Friendly's. She also goes to a bar and hollers at a governor, but really there is just a lot of sitting around and talking and introspection. A whole lotta introspection. Turns out a good mental diversion can eat up 2,000 or 3,000 words.

Even though over all the writing is fairly terrible there are some sentences that have a glimmer of potential and for a month of work, that's enough for me.

And of COURSE - my thanks go out to:

The boyfriend (and his family) for letting me spend most of the Thanksgiving weekend writing instead of being social and/or putting up Christmas lights. Also for the food. And I got wine AND a cookie tonight for celebration!

MB - for letting me bail on so much stuff these past few weeks and being perfectly cheerful when I tell her that I am not coming into work so I can write my novel, or I'm going to leave at noon so I can write my novel and for also for trying to win me street cred with the kids by telling them that I was writing the novel.

Pandora - Oh man, can I tell you, I have the girlest, most embarrassing personal Pandora station. It is all Glee, broadway musicals, Adele and Taylor Swift. No joke. So humiliating and yet apparently good for writing.

Dollop - I only went there once, but it is an awesome, and funky and inspiring and I can't wait to go there for real work.

Hazel - There is not a better writing kitten in the whole world, for reals people. She is so snuggly and warm and just wants you to succeed. Also she fights with tinsel and it is hilarious.

Courtney - for being there, forever and always. See you in a few weeks, C-bomb. I'll be the one with the Bears Santa hat on holding a sign saying "SOLID GOULD."

My goal is to actually post a real blog between now and next November. Also, to finish writing all the things that were due before November.

NaNo-lazy

So, once again I am writing a novel this month, BAM! And once again I am procrastinating like whoa. I am incredibly over confident in my capacity to churn out 30,000 words in 4 or 5 days.

Its very strange to talk about this with new people, because inevitably the first question is, "Well, what is it about?" And when I pause for like 10 seconds before answering, they start to think I'm full of shit.

"I...don't...know?"

Then they know I'm full of shit.

Here's the thing, I have an idea for a plot and so far, the narrative is kind of going in that direction that I wanted it to, but the plot is kind of weird (because it was the first thing I came up with) and anytime I try to explain it to someone they give me a look of, "uh...listen Novel-girl..."

And the thing is, its not really about that - what this "novel" about is writing. I've spent pages discussing things like, Friendly's, being in a cab, and the waiting room of a hospital.

I am comforted by the fact that this piece of work will never see the light of day (or anyone else's eyes for that matter). Its a way for me to sculpt sentences, to play with metaphors and just explore thoughts.

I used to make my novels run a close parallel to my life as a way of trying to figure out what I should be doing, but now its fun to explore the paths I didn't take - the things that might have been and the things that would have never been but are fun to write about.

So I just write and write and occasionally think about how this is going to align itself with the plot I figured out. Its similar to improv in this way except longer lasting.

See you guys at the end of the tunnel.

Stranger Danger

So, quite suddenly and with very little warning, I find myself playing host to an 18 year old girl from Argentina for the rest of the week.

This girl worked with the Artistic Director of my company a while back and he suggested that she come work here- apparently she's got some mad skills and the boss man thought we could use a little Latin Flavor (its true- for such a diverse group of kids we work with, no one can actually speak legit Spanish on the entire staff).

So like three months ago I started working on this girl's visa application (after getting one in a mere 24 hours, the powers that be could tell I had a serious skill when it comes to visas) she was just this hard-to-remember-how-to-pronounce name, an e-mail address, and a little bit of job security.

Now, after a surprising amount of work and a gajillion e-mails, she is finally here. In America. For the very first time. Currently the number of people she knows in this country can be counted on one hand. And I'm the one who has known her the longest. I picked her up from the airport, took her to the grocery store, the bank, gave her a map, packed her a lunch, started explaining essential things like public transit, the bike path on Lake Shore, what a Jewel Osco Preferred Card is and how she has to keep the door to her room a little bit open so the cat doesn't pee everywhere.

She seems to understand what I'm saying for the most part which I find surprising, only because I know how fast I talk and while I have been making a concerted effort to slow it down, when I get going, I see a very glazed look come over her face.

I have started to think back to when I was 18, while I was a very mature 18, if I had gone to a new country where I knew no one, had a very tenuous grasp on the language and was relying on the kindness of people I had never even spoken on the phone with, I would have been terrified. Which she must be, and she's doing a really good job of rolling with the punches.

I feel kind of like I have an unannounced foreign exchange student and no one really told me what to do with her...Its only for a few days, but they're pretty critical first days...I keep worrying that I'm going to mess up some how, that I'm not going to give her some piece of very critical information and she's like, going to get lost, or stranded or mugged...

Luckily its only for a few days.

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.