attack

A few nights ago (or more precisely a few mornings) - I had my second real honest-to-Betsy anxiety attack.  I've had minor melt downs before, but nothing that compared to this feeling of total helplessness.  Of truly feeling that I am not in control of my own body or mind.

Its one of the most terrifying experiences and I am bummed to the max that it has now happened twice.  Had it only happened once (which was about a week and a half ago), I could write it off as a crazy fluke.  But twice in two weeks - that's a pattern.

To be perfectly honest, I am not 100% sure that what happened to me last week, and a few Sundays ago, was truly a anxiety attack.*  But I don't have any other words to describe the sensation of alertness and dread that came over me.  I woke up suddenly and every nerve ending, every fiber of my being was on alert - except for this one part of my brain that was tired and wanted to sleep (all of this was happening at about 2 AM).  It was this bizarre tug-of-war happening and I felt completely powerless.  Which is the strangest, hardest part for me to understand, because I was powerless against myself.

How upset and stressed does your body and mind have to be to turn on itself?

To be powerless is the worst feeling in the world.  But to be powerless against yourself goes beyond what I could image hopelessness to feel like.  If even your own body and mind are in revolt, who can you turn to?  I remember feeling my fingers kept reflexively clenching into fists either to start a fight or to release some of the energy coursing through my veins.

I attempted some breathing exercises I had been taught to calm myself down (fun fact - if you ever find yourself in the middle of an anxiety/panic attack - your first instinct is going to be to take deep breaths, but that is actually just going to make it worse.  You want to take a deep breath, hold it in for a few seconds, and then let it out.  This way you are ever-so-slightly denying your body of oxygen which slows everything down and, with any luck, relaxes all the panic away).

They helped a little, but I was still feeling the strange pull of exhaustion and yet being totally awake.  So I did what I have been doing since I was a kid and couldn't fall asleep.  I went into the bathroom where I could turn on the bright light and not bother anyone, and I lay down on the cold tile floor with a towel in a ball under my head. And I read.

How I wished that I had access to a Blackhearts in Battersea or a Wild Magic - something I knew all the words to.  But it was the New Yorker I found next to the bed - specifically a literary review, boring as all get out but melodic and calming.  For some reason the panic and anxiety dissipated when I was reading.  The distraction of the words did more to calm me down than the breathing and the trying to be still.  Which shows you just how big a nerd I am. Words have healing powers for me.

Eventually I fall asleep on the cold tile floor and then eventually I wake up, and the anxiety has left.  So I pick myself up off the floor and head back to bed.  I don't know if this will ever happen again.  I'm hoping that the act of writing about it (though not writing about what I think may have brought it on, which is really neither here nor there) has massaged out the mental knot that is causing it.

**So after talking with a few people, it seems like what I had maybe labeled as an anxiety attack rather than a panic attack.  Which is fine.  Apparently panic attacks are worse.  So, yeah, I'll take what I can get in terms of nocturnal meltdowns.

Great clothes

Tonight when I was brushing my teeth (where most of the brilliance happens) I realized I was wearing two pieces of clothing that belonged to my great grandmother*

I considered taking a picture of myself wearing these "pieces" but after a few cell phone photo test shots, I realized this was a terrible, terrible idea.  I am a pretty girl, but right before bed is not a super attractive time for anyone.  So a vivid word description will have to do (I will do my best to keep it under 1000 words).

I am wearing her old tee-shirt with a B. Kliban cat in a tub.  I've sported this shirt out in public before, so there's a chance you've seen it on me - but its getting old and I'm afraid of getting food on it.  The design is so old I cannot find it on the internet (even when I add vintage to my google search).  Which means it's probably from before I was born.  Great Granny wasn't much of a t-shirt kind of lady, so I don't know if she ever wore it.  But its super comfortable.

Over the shirt I am wearing one of the most recent additions to my closet - an excellent LeRoy black cardigan that hits me a few inches above my knee.  It doesn't have buttons up the front, but it does have excellently large pockets.  They're good for a cell phone and chapstick.  Or about 20 tissues, when your nose is still all snotty.  This sucker is also probably older than me.

Anyway!  The clothes themselves are kind of irrelevant except for the fact that they are probably around 30 years old and still kicking!  How great is that?!  Great Granny must have done a phenomenal job taking care of her clothes because I end up with holes in most things after about a year.

Also, I feel crazy lucky that I've ended up being the only girl in my family who fits into Great Granny's clothes (some of my younger cousins probably would also fit, but they are too busy loving Justin Beiber to really care).  I also have two other shirts that belonged to her in my closet but I am terrified that they're not fashionable enough - I should probably get one of my trendy friends to check this out for me.

Weight and clothing size is such an Issue with my Mom's family (a bajillion girls will do that to themselves) and I've never quite felt like I was really the right size, especially since I have a gorgeous older cousin who is/was/will always be taller, skinner and more glamorous than I am.

But if I was any taller this tee shirt would ride up too high on my stomach.  And if I was any smaller, this sweater wouldn't be as warm and comfortable (okay- that's a bit of a stretch, but it fits quite perfectly).  Anyway - Great granny was an awesome, awesome lady - and I am incredibly lucky to have these reminders of how wonderful she is around all the time, keeping me warm and cozy.

Good night.


*At least this is what I think I have been told.  After someone in my family reads this blog, I am sure they will correct me with a quickness.

in and maybe out

I have been thinking about breathing a lot over the past few weeks.  For a variety of reasons (some of which I will eventually get into on the blog) breath has been on my mind.

I came down with a post-Green River cold on Saturday that is still lingering (and will probably continue to make me grouchy for the next week or so).  My nose has been conquered by massive globs of mucus that my sinuses are powerless against, making it nearly impossible to breath in and out through my nose.

Which means that I have taken to holding my breath for minutes at a time.  It isn't until I start to get a little dizzy that I remember to breathe through my mouth.  It would make sense to just breath through my mouth all the time, but that leaves me with my mouth hanging open for fifteen or twenty minutes at a time like a particularly dim bovine. 

I'm not sure what the best option is in this case...assuming my nasal passages will continue to be held captive for a day or two more - how do I keep myself from eventually passing out?

green city

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

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

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

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

all the things

There's been a whole bunch going on in the past few weeks - I apologize for the lack of posts, but life keeps getting in the way.  It seems that with life and exercise and the need for cat food (how are we always out??), I can only manage to spend an hour or two at home before bed and that hour, I've decided, is best spent away from my computer and with Boyfriend and the hungry, hungry kitten.  And of course - on the never ending search for the missing drill bits.

Anyway - here is some stuff that is happening.

1-Last weekend Kristin and Howie got engaged last weekend.  Making them the 7th couple I know to get engaged since Christmas.  Congratulations KristinandHowie!! and the rest of you - and the 4 couples getting married this year.  I am totally happy for you - and also wondering if there is some sort of Kool-aid or water or something that I should be steering clear of.

2- I had blood drawn today and x-rays.  Nothing too big, but it required me to fast from midnight last night to 9:45 AM.  For normal people this would be no biggie - but I am an emotional wreak when it comes to food.  I am used to eating by 7 or 8 AM, if I'm awake.  So the fact that I did not get to eat until 11 (after all the testing was done) - meant that I was completely irrational.  There was a farmer's market inside the hospital (a bizarre occurence that I never even though to question while I was experiencing it). And so I had to buy 2 pounds of organic, free-range bratwursts and a loaf of banana chocolate chip bread.  This, in hindsite was dumb but I was so hungry!  They say not to go to the grocery store hungry. I say - don't put the grocery store inside a place where I am forced to be hungry.

3- I am excited that people are deciding to visit me this year.  Cougar AND Buttmunch might be coming, and my big 'Cuz!  Summer in Chicago is amazing, but its a bajillion times better when you get to share it with other people.

4- I finally bought a day planner two weeks ago.  I thought that maybe this would be the year I would become a digital planner, but since I STILL don't have an iphone (come on July!) this is not the case - because I have no way of synching my computer with my phone or anything else.  At least 5 days of the week - when I am glued to a computer, this is not a problem, but on the off chance you try to plan something with me on a weekend, for the entire month of January and most of February - There was a chance we would make plans and by the time I got home and powered up the laptop, I would have forgotten.  So I went to Borders and bought at $1.00 planner.  I keep forgetting I have it though.  At 10 cents a month, I still feel like I am getting my money's worth...

5- E! plays Sex and the City from 7 - 8 PM every weeknight.  It has made my hour on the elliptical far less tedious.  Even though I think I've decided I hate Carrie Bradshaw - its a nice walk down memory lane.

6- I think this might be the year I go downtown and watch them dye the Chicago river green for St. Patrick's Day.  I have a meeting that morning, so I won't be down there until noon, at which point it might be back to its normal green color.  I have this funny feeling that if I don't make a concerted effort to go see it in the next two years, I will be moving away in a decade or so and realize that I never saw them dye the river green.

That's all.  See you in a few days.

Book 5 - Quite A Year For Plums

We are just humming right along.  Thanks public transit!

To be completely honest, I never would have picked up this book if it hadn't said "Author of 'Mama Makes Up Her Mind'" on the cover.  That was one of my most favorite books when I was 11 or so (I had NPR nerds for parents).  I loved Bailey White's short-possibly-some-what-autobiographical stories and hoped that Mama might make an appearance in this one.

Sadly, there was no Mama.  There was a whole bunch of other characters that I could never keep straight.  Ms. White provides a handy who's who list in the front of the book - but I was switching back to it so much that I got impatient.  Ultimately, not quite knowing how all these people were related did not really affect my enjoyment of the book.

And I enjoyed it a fair amount.  The tone was remarkably different from MMUHM - in a way that kind of disappointed me a little bit.  Part of the reason I loved MMUHM was because she was so frank and immodest about these crazy people, where I feel as though in this book - she was very delicate with these people who were pretty nutty.  It seemed as though she was worried she was going to offend, maybe? I don't know.

Anyway - Its an okay book.  At the end of it I was kind of meh - but also in a good mood and not sobbing my eyes out, so we've made some progress since the last book.

could use a timer

How to hard boil an egg when you're me:

1- Make Boyfriend buy eggs.

2- Wait about a week because you're too lazy to figure out how to boil eggs.

3- Run out of acceptable alternative proteins for your daily lunch salad and figure now is as good a time as any.

4- Google "how to hard boil an egg."

5- Get judged by Boyfriend for never having hard boiled an egg.

6- Retort back that in Your Family, hard boiled eggs are an "Easter-only" food and it's not like Boyfriend could give you accurate instructions so who is he to judge.

7- Decide how many eggs to hard boil - this is especially challenging because you know you want to make scrambled eggs or maybe omelettes or maybe french toast this weekend, so you have to chose carefully.  Because there is no possibly way you can go to the grocery store between now and the weekend.  Its IMPOSSIBLE.  New neighborhood sucks.  Select 5 eggs.  Because there is nothing like the frustration of having a single egg left in the carton. 

8- Put eggs in saucepan and fill saucepan with water so the water covering the eggs by about an inch or two - or really just "some" is fine because you have bad depth perception and the water isn't really helping.

9- Turn on heat under saucepan of eggs and water.

10 - Wait 3 minutes.

11- Remember you were supposed to put salt in and so throw some in and watch it gracefully fall to the bottom of the already heated pan where it can sit there uselessly.

12- Go back to watching Top Chef: All Stars, playing on internet, and looking for Boyfriend's missing drill bits (not a euphemism). 

13 - Remember that you are hard boiling eggs.  Run over to stove to see water boiling away happily.  Wig out a bit because you read that the water is only supposed to boil for a minute and take eggs off heat immediately.  Cover the saucepan with lid that is too big for saucepan because this is FAR too stressful a situation to find the correct lid.

14 - Worry a bit about if the water had just started to boil and so maybe you actually took the eggs off too early.  Judge yourself.  Eat some home-made whipped cream straight out of the blender. 

15 - Eat dessert, continue to search for missing drill bits, fold clean clothes that have been in hamper for 6 days, unpack single box and feel incredibly successful.

16 - Remember that you are hard boiling eggs and that you were supposed to take them out of the water 20 minutes ago.  Decide against using the kitchen utensil that is made Specifically for this task and use your hand to drain the water out of the saucepan.  Fill and then drain the saucepan with cold water a few times. 

17 - Realize it takes your cold water almost as long to get cold as it takes your hot water to get hot.  Decide that this is super strange.  Fill and drain a few more times. 

18 - Put eggs in tupperware container.

19 - Decide that eggs are not cool enough and put them back in the saucepan with some (actually) cold water.

20 - Brush teeth, floss, put on pajamas, read book, get into bed, turn out lights.

21- Remember that you still have eggs in a saucepan of cold water on the stove.

22- Ignore Boyfriend's laughs as they follow you down the hall back to (now dark) kitchen. 

23- Take eggs out of saucepan, put back into tupperware and put tupperware of eggs into fridge.  Leave saucepan of water on stove to instill bad habits in cat.  Realize that you thrive with cooking that either requires strict concentration or 5 hours of simmering and you can't really handle anything in between.  Except Pasta, but that doesn't really count.

fancy ketchup

There is very little in the world that feels as satisfying as being all caught up on New Yorkers.

I am assuming this sensation of accomplishment is akin to conquering a small land-locked country or perhaps winning a People's Choice Award.

The past year and a half it has been a struggle to keep on top of this monster.  Back in the day when I was on public transportation a solid 3 - 4 hours of my day, I could finish one in about a day and a half - but once my commute became on foot - I was lucky if I made it through one in a week.  This meant that I no longer read many books because if I was reading a book, I was abandoning my New Yorker responsibility and they start to pile up and you start coming home late and your wife smells like someone else's cologne...its a slippery slope.

Anyway, with my new commute (Still think its okay!) I knew it was a matter of time before I conquered this particular monster.  And I will be real with you, I did not read all the articles.  And I did not read most of the fiction (I am very picky about my New Yorker fiction - for absolutely no reason at all - in case you were wondering).

The problem with stuffing this much knowledge down my retinas is now I have no idea what I am talking about - but I totally think that I do.  In one week I read articles about....a whole bunch of things that I cannot remember right now and I won't be able to remember them until I start talking and getting all confused.  And then there is judgement.

Anyway, I am feeling quite accomplished and like there is nothing I can't do...except maybe get my ass into a gym.

work it.

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

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

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

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

Here's some math for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book 4 - Little Bee

So, I know I'm a little late to this particular party, but just in case I'm not the only one.  Read this book.

I started this book Sunday night and I finished last night around midnight.  Now, I am a pretty fast reader, but 3 days is impressive, even for me.  This is the first book I've read since probably the Hunger Games that has kept me so engrossed.

Its hard to talk about this book without giving everything away.  As I tried to tell Boyfriend last night as I was bawling uncontrollably, "Its about a girl and a lady and their life and its sad."


Anyway - I loved the whole book - cover to cover, despite the crying.  Its wonderful and everyone should read it.  I am curious if Chris Cleave's first book is as good.  Also, I challenge you to read this book and not feel more aware about the world.  What's frustrating is its such a pessimistic awareness.  I don't know if that's what Mr. Cleave was going for, but I woke up this morning with an even heavy heart that usual.  Not only are all the silly minute things wrong in my life, but there is a world out there full of terrible, terrible things that I am completely powerless to stop.  So what do you do?  How do you live with this new awareness?  And how do you get over the fact that it took a novel to open your eyes - as if 26 years here wasn't enough?

Four more years

I think my love of voting stems from watching too much West Wing as a teenager, and assuming that if I voted enough times eventually Jed Bartlett would be president and Allison Janney would be my friend and everything would be perfect.

It hasn't turned out that way - but voting is still one of my most favorite things to do.  Up until this year, I voted absentee in every election, which is fun and convenient, but does not really hold a candle to actual voting.  Which is why I am probably one of the only 26-year olds who gets truly amped to head to my polling place.

And!  In the past four months I've gotten to vote in two different elections!  And they're not your run of the mill elections either, I am responsible for picking the first mayor in approximately 4 billion years who doesn't have the last name Daley.  Apparently, this is huge.  I've only been here for five years, but people say he was mayor when the only constituents were cave people, and his Dad was mayor of the Dinosaurs.  The Dinosaurs!

The last election did not turn out so great - because we apparently live in a country/state where everyone has lost their goddamed mind, or just quit cold turkey on caring about anything.  This was all fun and good in November when I could just be morose about the future, but now the future is here and I am angry.  For a million bajillion reasons, but mostly just - I am angry that people don't realize that they caused this...this funding of what's really important (NASCAR) and this refusal to fund the fluff stuff (Planned Parenthood, NEA, blah blah thing) - wait, strike that.  Reverse it.

Not voting in America is kind of like not drinking in Canada or another ex-British colony (or really anywhere in Europe).  They practically give the booze away when you're, like, a toddler, and you stick your nose up at it?  Wait, what?  Why?  There is really no reason.  "Oh, I'm not drinking because it'll take time out of my busy day of playing on facebook."  "I'm not voting because if I have one ballot I'll have to work out twice this week."

Anyway - so I'm all voted.  And I will be totally honest - I did not have time to make a fully informed and educated choice in my alderman election, which is distressing because its pretty important, but I was busy moving and knew that almost anyone would be an improvement over the current alderman.  So I voted with the person who had the funniest sign in their campaign headquarters window -

back story - there was a rash of window breaking in campaign offices back in the Fall.  I like that this guy had a sense of humor about it.  If nothing else, this ward full of gang violence, mismanagement of public funding, and disaster-crap needs a little humor - and probably more cops (also he kind of looks like Colin Firth).

I do feel like I made the best choice for mayor.  Its distressing to know that the person you're voting for has no chance of winning, but refreshing to vote for someone who has ideals that you agree wholeheartedly with (also - he's the ONLY person running who has not been or is not still a criminal - stay classy Chicago).

But none of it really matters - what matters is I did it.  Its so awesome that we live in a place where you get to vote.  And if you don't think that's true, look at the people all over the world who are fighting for that right, right now.

Book 3 - A Country Called Amreeka

This was a book club book - I wasn't at the meeting where we selected it, so I had no idea what I was getting into when I started it.

 

image via

I felt pretty embarrassed as I read this book that I no real working knowledge of the modern day Middle East conflict.  But now I feel incredibly educated and with that education comes sadness at the overwhelming nature of it all.  But the book was an interesting read - if not necessarily written in a style that I liked. The author would build up each short story to a important historical climax and then stop.  While I understand the method - I feel like for a non-fiction book that is trying to share information, there should have been more about what happened to these characters after these big, life changing events.

Also the stories had a lot of exposition at the beginning which makes sense, as she's writing for an audience that is unfamiliar with the subject, but it made it super hard to slug through the first three pages of each story.

I recommend this solely on the fact that this is an important subject matter, and I feel that if you live in America and are not searching out to discover both sides of the story then you really have no idea what is going on. 

thank you

I've become obsessed with looking at the stats of my blogger because I am incredibly self-involved and I need mathematical proof that people are reading this crap.

Anyway - one of the things that you can discover is what people google searched that lead you to this.  Most of it is pretty obvious, but one person - one faithful person got here by searching "beautiful fijian women."

To that person I would like to say thank you - for clicking on this link, realizing your tragic mistake, and then not hate-mailing me to tell me how disappointed you were at the total and complete lack of hot fijian ladies up in this piece.

coat crisis

On my first day living in Chicago - it hailed.  Pearl-sized snow bombs fell from the sky and I wondered if perhaps this was some sort of epic sign of what was to come.  Naturally, I ignored it - but what I did not ignore was the fact that I was in the midst of a fashion crisis.

After spending all of my years on the East Coast - I was completely unprepared for how to dress in a midwestern Winter.  Scarves as a necessary rather than trendy fashion accessory?  Uggs are not snow boots? (No, they are not).  And mostly - a real winter coat?

I've always despised coats because they're bulky and I have to not lose them and in general they indicate cold weather and miserableness.  If I have to put on a coat to go outside, I'd much rather just stay inside if its all the same to you.

When I was a kid my mom bought be a beautiful cranberry-colored full length coat from LL Bean.  And, because I was a moron, I hated it.  Because it wasn't an Adidas coat.  And you went Adidas or you were shunned by the girls in my home town.  So I avoided wearing it - prefering to be cold and miserable rather than unfashionable.  How I wish that coat still existed because I would wear it every single day. Sorry, Mom.

And so I've had these crappy coats that did the job in New York winters (including, finally, an Adidas coat did not bring me the riches, popularity and attention from boys that I had stupidly anticipated). But when I moved to Chicago - I knew something was going to have to change.

At first I really wanted a North Face, because all the girls had them.  But my Mom (who was there with me on that first day) convinced me that the red-headed stepchild Michael Kors coat was equally as cute and about $300 less expensive.  So I listened to her (finally) and got the Michael Kors coat - and it has been with me every terrible winter day since then.

So now, in the February of my fifth Chicago Winter - my beautiful coat has a malfunctioning zipper.  Its doing that super annoying thing where sometimes it works totally fine, and sometimes it starts to zip but then gives up like four inches later, and sometimes it doesn't even put on its cleats. 

This is not a real crisis in that I have a variety of totally rational options available to me - but I am sad to know that the coat that got me through my absolute worst days might not be around much longer.  Its a reminder that this is my home now.  Crappy winters and all.

in my step

I owe the universe a blog.  But I don't have one.  So instead you get this:

Saturday was the first day I've worn anything but boots outside in the past three months.  It was a little soggy, but so glorious.  Spring is coming.

From this angle you would totally think I'm a hipster, but I'm not.  I just look like one from the knees down.

Also there is something so satisfying about muddy Converse.  When they're clean it just looks like you're a poser, but if you purposely try to get them dirty then you're trying too hard.

Grandpa

Today is my Grandpa's 80th birthday.

For some reason I thought his birthday was February 19.  But it isn't.  It's February 9.  Its okay though.  I don't think he would have minded if I got it wrong.  Especially if I got it wrong every year.  In fact, he would probably find it funnier that I am so insistent that his birthday was the 19th, then he would be offended that his own granddaughter doesn't know his birthday.

Grandpa wasn't big for celebrating birthdays anyway.  The cakes and the presents and the singing - they were for us.  If it was up to him he would have spent every birthday alone in his truck driving down two lane alternate highway routes.  But Grandpa loved us more than he loved himself, and that was the amazing thing about him.  He was surrounded by all these women who wanted to celebrate him.  These women who worshiped him.  And so he celebrated because he loved how happy it made everyone else.

For some reason, when I imagine Grandpa and his four daughters they're all wearing swirling full-skirted dresses out of the 1800's.  I have no idea why, since they were a bunch of hippie/cowboy/beachbums but its a lovely image that I can't really get away from.

Grandpa would laugh at me for writing this blog at 11:30 at night.  He would have told me to go to bed.  He'll still be 80 tomorrow and then I'll have had a good night sleep and can celebrate him properly.  Or at least, that's what I think he would have said - thinking of my adult relationship with him is something I can't really wrap my brain around.  Its too sacred and sad to think about for too long.

I think one of the reasons I love Boyfriend as much as I do is because there are these flashes of Grandpa I see in him, this silent stoicism in the face of an overload of very noisy estrogen.  This dry humor sliced paper thin, so subtle that you almost don't notice it.  This terrible singing voice.  Naturally, this makes me Granny.  Which is a little hard to swallow, and yet - exactly right.  A love that defies the laws of just about everything. 

 

When I was a kid, I was pretty sure Grandpa knew all the secrets to the universe and that we were all so busy running around we never got around to asking him about it.  But even if we had, he probably would have shrugged and said, "ask your Grandmother, she knows everything."

Book 2 - Pride and Prejudice

Can you believe I've never read this?  Can you believe that this is the first Austen book I got through?

 image via

Yeah - me neither.  I picked up P&P and Emma a few times during my childhood and could never slug my way through the language long enough to enjoy the story.  But now that I am older and infinitely more patient (...maybe).  I did it.  And it was totally worth it.

This book gave me heart palpitations.

I must say - it probably did not hurt anything to have already seen the Keira Knightley-movie-version of this book.  I thought it was meh (well, I did not like Keira Knightley OR Jena Malone but everyone else was lovely). I also saw the Wishbone version back in the day, so occasionally I would imagine Darcy as a Jack Russell Terrier which was great (also that TV show was awesome and should come back because it probably gave me a more solid foundation in classical literature than any English class).  And they gave me at least the foundation to know where the story is going.  And before you ask, yes, I have the BBC version at my house.  I am waiting for a particularly vicious bout of the flu or a broken leg or something to give me an excuse to lie on my couch and watch the whole thing end to end. 

Anyway, the book!  The book!  It took me a while because it is not a good read before sleeping book - as it makes me fall asleep.  The Austenien language is nothing if not soothing and melodic, not unlike a lullaby but when I did read it, I enjoyed every moment.  And there was some squealing.  I mean, there are parts of this book that are every young girls dream (I am not going to give away what happens - because I don't want this blog to be a cheat for some punk kid not interested in reading the book and just looking for a plot synopsis.  Do your homework).

Also, I don't know if you know this, but this book was written about my maternal grandmother, Granny.  I do not think I am kidding.  I am pretty sure Granny was the mold for Mrs. Bennett (I'll let my mother and aunts fight over who gets to be Elizabeth and who is stuck being Mary).  How the crazy things that she said sounded like things that could have come from Granny - how ones behavior so eerily mimics the other.  And how desperately they are just trying to do what is right by their daughters in their own crazy head.

It helps that Mr. Bennett also resembles my grandfather.  In both spirit and daily practice.  Not everyone gets a Jane Austen book written about her beloved grandparents.  The comparison ends there - as none of my aunts/mother really embodies any of the daughters (my mother is livid right now - insisting that she does too embody the character of Lizzy.  Sorry Mom). 

Anyway - it was delightful.  And when it did get slow, I pushed through knowing that good things would happen.  I am excited to wait a few books - and then pick up the next one.

Other things I like:
-Lady Catherine de Bourgh.  Oh man.  So much crazy in such a big lady.  This is obviously the part that I would want to play.  I bet you get to wear some sweet hats.
-Descriptions of "the grounds" - I dig large houses with gardens.
-Now that I have read the whole thing I can buy things from this Etsy store without feeling like a poser.
-Dudes that brood.  Mmm.  Brooding.

image via

snotography

For real this time (at least until my camera ran out of batteries).

snovision

Here are the pictures I took with my super crappy cell phone (when I am going to learn that I need to use my actual camera for things??) of our snow.  I am much to lazy to go outside - but you can catch the general drift (hehehe, drift).

Out our front windows.  Some background info - we live on two fairly major streets in the some-what North part of the city.  When we first woke up they were both plowed pretty well - and then it started snowing again and I guess they gave up.

Same view - but here you can see the bus stop shelter (bottom right corner).  Last night a Ford Escape-esque Cab ran into the side wall (the skinny side) and totally shattered it.  When I walked past there was glass ALL over the sidewalk and the teenage passengers and cab driver were trying to push it out of the snow bank.  It was a total disaster and I just walked away (since I was completely frozen and very close to being home).  Now I am terrified that if there are people walking around out there they are going to slice open their feet on glass that is now buried under about a foot of snow.  I have tried calling 311 but its been busy every time (no huge surprise there).

And then I was going to take a picture of our back deck but when I opened the back door there was a surprise.  Snow INSIDE the apartment!  Not enough inside that I am going to do anything about it - but just enough inside that I am not planning to go out any time soon.  Also the entire top of the screen door is covered in snow so you can't really see much anyway.

I plan to spend the rest of my snow day inside.  Boyfriend and I are working at our wee little kitchen table that we never use because it was easier to drag close to the fire than our huge dining room table.  We're both in our jammies sipping tea and being quiet.  Just enjoying our very, very lackadaisical snow adventure.

snomg

Okay Chicago.  I am calling uncle.

I spend a lot of time giving East Coasters a hard time about being such weenies in the snow.  As if the universe hasn't been dropping dump truck loads of snow on the East Coast for the past hundreds of years.  You would think that maybe, at some point, you would buy a plow or two.

Chicago, though, Chicago defies the snow.  It laughs in the face of snow.  It plays the game, "let me tell you about yourself," with the snow.  And for the most part I agree with this philosophy (if you don't like snow, why would you live here?  And further more - why do you think you can complain about it? You knew it was coming).

But there is a time and a place for everything.  And this was the time AND the place for recognizing that you are really no match for Mother Nature.

While I do give the East Coast a ton of crap, I also have to give them credit - they cancel business.  They know that you shouldn't drive in the snow and so they will tell you not to.  And then you will drink hot cocoa and stay in your jammies - and it is quite simply glorious. 

Right now - Chicago is in the middle of a snowstorm that EVERYONE said was coming.  Everyone has been talking about it for days and I know that there have been occasions where these storms do not live up to their hype BUT when the storm has already started other places there is a pretty good chance that it is going to happen.  Like, you don't bet the house but you take into account that if you stubbornly decide to pretend like everything is fine, there is a very real chance that things are going to go poorly.

CPS - You cannot decide to cancel something an hour and a half before its going to happen.  Especially when you are the third largest school district in the country.  Why?  Because you can't call all those people that make you the third largest in an hour and a half.  So what happens is that people who shouldn't have had to go out in the first place are stuck going out because the schools are like, "I know its supposed to be canceled by the parents are expecting them to be here and we can't call all the parents and we can't pay the teachers to stay here any longer and we're paying you any way EEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeee, sorry." 


And its not just CPS - there are other schools that were like "We Are Having Programming No Matter What."  Oh - okay, so are you going to pay people for the additional 3 hours it takes them to get home?  Rules are rules, but when your rules put lives in danger - then guess what?  they're bad rules.  No two ways around it.

Today was pure awful - for the most part because I spent nearly the whole day Waiting to find out if I had a snow day tomorrow (I do - thank the thing high atop the whatever).

And there people in Chicago who are STILL saying, "Its not that bad out."

Guess what - you're wrong and you're kind of crazy.  It is that bad out. There are things flying off the roof of Wrigley Field.  There are 25 ft. waves in Lake Michigan.  YOU CAN'T SEE.  Literally - you cannot see because of the snow and the wind and your own misery blocking your view. It is that bad.

McKim: It is a blizzard.
              Stop trying to be a hero, Chicago


me:        seriously
              Seriously

check in

Hey Rachel,  you're doing really well with writing blogs but what about those other two resolutions?

Sigh.  I had a funny feeling this would happen - I managed to do so well writing and I'm really enjoying it - but I made THREE resolutions this year.  And so far from numbers 1 and 3 we are seeing a fat ton of nothing.  What gives?

Well.  I am BUSY.  

That's a weak excuse, but for the moment its what I have.  I can also say that I see the opportunity for massive improvements once I move (did ya hear, I'm moving??!  Its all I FREAKING talk about these days).  In the midst of not having built in reading time - and a gym/yoga studio/boot camp HQ that is not even close to being convenient I am not getting these things done like I thought I would.  

But once we are in the new place - I will start having a glorious 30 minutes purely dedicated to getting books read (and playing on my phone and listening to music and people watching).

AND!  My gym will start being smack dab in the middle of my commute.  My yoga studio will be some what awkward to get to from work - but an easy bus ride home afterward (there is nothing like sitting on a bus for 20 minutes after a bikram yoga class).  And the boot camp place will be a sweet 8 minute walk from the apartment - which will be nice because while getting up at 5:00 AM to get to boot camp is unfathomable, waking up at 5:40 is totally feasible (please note, both the yoga place and the boot camp are living social/groupon type places and so only require very, very temporary commitments).  

So check back with me in, like, March.  And see how I'm doing. 

But you're eating healthy and focusing really hard on work and not wasting all your time on Facebook, right?

Shhhhh...pass the guacamole

le cirque

So my boss has been gone for exactly one week of the four weeks she is leaving me to fend for myself.  This is not the first time that I have been left in charge - but it is the one with the most happening.  We are undergoing some personnel shifts (nothing bad or unexpected knockonwood knockonwood) and on Wednesday we had a field trip to Cirque Du Soleil.

Cirque is a totally bad ass organization with a huge social and outreach focus (betcha didn't know that!) they are really, really fantastic and love what we do (bonus!) so they give us free tickets to take kids, primarily kids who are from the not-so-great neighborhoods who may not ever have the chance to see a Cirque show, to whatever show they have going on in the Chicago area, which means that there are kids who have been our program for six or seven years and so have seen like 10 Cirque shows - which makes them this rare breed of pretentious, snobby asshats who are also eligible for the federal free lunch program.

Anyway - in my life I have dabbled in teaching but have always backed out when things got to serious (life imitates life in that way), why?  because I am not a huge fan of being responsible for other people's kids.  Its fun and all to teach them neat tricks like pirouettes or forward rolls or plate spinning but once people want me to take more than a passing interest, I kind of fade out.  Is this terrible?  Maybe... I have found, though, that when placed in an administrative position, I am far, far more interested in the lives of the youth of America.  As long as the direct contact is kept to a minimum - I am more than happy to change your kid's life for the better.

So ANYWAY - we have this field trip to Cirque and since my boss is gone - I am left in charge.  The macadamia nuts  she sent to me from lovely Oahu were nice, but they do not really make up for the epic strain this has put on my psyche. 

Here's the thing.  I am an epic, epic worrier.  I find that the best course of action is to spend most of my time worrying about the worst possible things that can happen, so that when they do happen - I am at least anticipating them (and if they don't at least maybe I've burned a few calories with all the worry and hysteria).  So for the past week or so, I have worried about this trip: worried about losing a kid, about the bus not coming, or getting lost, or all of us getting stranded on the side of the road, or the tickets not being there, or me being shot before I got to to work that day (which is not, like, out of the realm of possibility in this neighborhood) and that messing up the trip because the tickets are in my name and then I ruin all these kids' lives and they become gang members and thus do not break the cycle of poverty.

That has pretty much been how my head sounded over and over for a week - and then the trip came and everything went totally fine.  There was some shenanigans over parking (that were totally my fault) as well as kids running around cracked out on free, unlimited popcorn and soda (fail, Sears Centre, fail) but the kids all loved it and they all got on and off the bus, in and out of the theater and picked up by their parents in one piece.

Which means my worrying was exactly what the doctor ordered, because had I not worried then terrible things would have totally happened. 

And so now I am back to my regularly scheduled worrying about normal things.  But, the blog posts for the next few weeks may be a little light as I attempt to do both my own job and my boss's (ta-da!).

my pride and joy

On Sunday night as I got ready for bed I took off my bracelet.  I took a poll of my friends that I watched the game with and they agreed - it probably made more sense to take it off and then put it back on before the season opener next year.  Embroidery floss does not really keep.

Biiiig Siiiiiggggghhhh.

Am I crazy sad that the Bears aren't going to the Super Bowl?  Of Course.  I am fairly certain that the fans of approximately 30 of the teams in the NFL are sad that their teams aren't going to the Super Bowl.  But it stings to get so close and then watch it all fall apart and have no one to blame it on but your own team.

This is the epic downfall of liking football.  I have enough disappointment in my life without relying on multi-millionaire professional athletes to do what I want them to.  They don't understand that I painted my nails blue and wore a ridiculous hat in excitement.  They don't really care that I was sooooo careful not to shittalk too much the week before the game because I didn't want to jinx anything.

And now its all over.  A Packers - Steelers Super bowl is going to be equally as boring as the Cardinals - Steelers super bowl two or three years ago.  The best part of that Super Bowl.  That was the first time I ever had my friend Alex's mint brownies - which are the best brownies in the universe (I will not listen to any arguments on this topic).

I did just find this (well, my friend J-dawg did) and I think it may be the funniest thing I've read in a few weeks.  Funny - and true for the most part.  I am sorry to hate, but I tend to call a spade a spade when given the opportunity.

This blog is kind of wandering - when I started writing/thinking about it on Sunday night there were a lot of emotions (mostly sadness and disappointment  - oh and pure rage) but its kind of all over now.  I'm over it - if the stress I felt over the NFC title game was a good indicator - I probably would have passed out due to Super Bowl stress - so maybe its better that the Bears only got this far.

And I'll put on the bracelet next Fall and we'll see how it goes.

dressy dresses - UPDATED

My lovely friend T-bone is getting married in June, and she very sweetly asked me to stand up for her.

I am excited to get to share this day with her for a butt load of reasons, and one of them was - I like the opportunity to buy a new dress.

I know that most girls have horror stories about having to purchase bridesmaids dresses - and I totally empathize with them - its a crappy scene.  I seriously (seriously) do not understand why David's Bridal insists on making their dresses different than normal people dresses.  If I wear a four or a six in Every Single Other Brand then Why (oh Why) do I wear an eight at the DB?  It basically just complicates things and ruins people's lives.  And most of what you find is just boring.

T-bone and my bestie Beans (who got married two Septembers ago) have both been amazing about bridesmaid dresses.  Some vague ideas about what they want but in general fairly low key and just wanting their bridesmaids to be comfortable and feel good.

Anyway, in looking for a dress for T's wedding I came across this amazing website - LaRoux's Closet.  I bought my bridesmaid's dress AND my rehearsal dinner dress (both of which I will probably wear a zillion times before they wear out) and in total (including shipping) it cost $80, for both!  They are both pretty casual - but the bride loves them, and so do I.  Win. Win.

LaRoux's deal is they want to give you a good deal - and I think that's awesome.  I think that deserves a sweet blog plug and so here it is.  I wish I had bought a few more things but I am hoping that they'll be around for awhile.

AND AND AND as if this bomb ass website could get any better - I have a referral code, which means if you decide to order stuff drop the code "rgrandi" at check out and I'll get LaRoux cash to buy more adorable things.  E'rrrebody Wins!

Anyway - blogs about my epic devastation at the bears loss to come later.

my turn

Hyperbole and a Half has a new blog post up which is enough to totally make my week most of the time.  If you aren't reading her you're making a huge error in Internet judgement.

My favorite post is this one for the very selfish reason that it totally happened to me (sort of kind of not at all)...

During my junior and senior years of college I was living in Prospect Heights in Brooklyn.  It was a lovely little neighborhood that bordered on one of the swankiest BK neighborhoods and one of the most dangerous.  I would get off at my train stop and I could see a White Castle just a few blocks down Atlantic Avenue but I never went there (despite my deep and insatiable love for small food) because it was, in general, a poor choice to go to places that, "Jay-Z talks about in his early work."

Anyway- my neighborhood felt safe enough but I heard plenty of stories of robberies and other stuff you don't tell your parents about so that I always was very aware of my surroundings (you don't not spring from the womb in the District of Columbia without some solid street smarts).

SO - at some point in that time I contracted a very serious case of the flu.  Having been a fairly healthy kid, I am not very well versed in how to be sick without being totally pathetic and ridiculous.  I was feverish and miserable and stayed in bed moaning.

At one point, around 10 or 11 PM I decided I was feeling better and decided I needed some ginger ale and orange juice immediately.  There was a 24-hour diner catty-corner to my building that delivered, so I called them.

"Hi, can I get a bottle of orange juice and a bottle of ginger ale."
"We don't have bottles, only cups."
"I can't get a bottle?"
"No."
"How much would a cup cost?"
"It would be $6 total."
"For a cup of ginger ale and a cup of orange juice?"
"Yes."
"That is ridiculous."
Click.

Even with a 102 degree fever I am a bargain shopper.

After I hung up I put on my coat.  Down the block in the other direction there was a bodega that was also 24 hours and I knew would be able to make me a better deal for more of the liquids I so desperately craved.  I had been wearing the same clothes for about two days but made no effort to do anything except put on outerwear and find some money.

I made it down the block and into the bodega just fine, but something, I don't know if it was the smell of the slightly rotten deli meat or the hundreds of virgin mary candles but I knew something was not going right.  I found my juice and ginger ale and tossed some dollar bills on the counter.  At this point I could not hold myself upright without leaning on the counter but I took my purchases (because we all know that the best thing to do when you can't handle your own body weight is add a quart of OJ and a 2 liter of Canada Dry) and walked out.

This is where things get hazy.  I know I made it across the street before I faceplanted.

As a kid I was always epically jealous of girls who fainted.  It was the way to get attention.  I used to wish that I could do it just once so that when I faked it it would at least look realistic (I was very method in my pretty, pretty princessness).

I don't quite know what happened when I really did faint - I do hope that there was an instant where I was having my teen-queen-movie-first-kiss moment where it was like, "This is it!" but I spent most of the way to the ground unconsious so there is no way to know.

Once I hit the asphalt I regained as much consiousness as can be expected pretty quickly.  At this moment, this could have taken a very SVU turn.  A smelly-ass 20-year old, with no identification on her, is passed out on the street corner at like 11:30 at night, and when I first opened my eyes I was totally disoriented (probably because I was lying on the ground) and so I kept saying, "this is not where I am supposed to be."

Luckily, the first person to come upon me muttering to myself wished me no harm.  Once he realized that I was still talking about not being in the right place he probably wished himself away from this sketchtastic scene.  But he very nicely asked me if he should call an ambulance.

"No, I'm fine."

Like I said- not super good at being sick.

I managed to stand up, fall back down and then stand up again while still insisting that I was totally fine and that I just needed to go one block and I would be home.

He was super wary about all this so, naturally, I negotiated, "listen, you can watch me walk to my apartment and then if I fall down again, you can call an ambulance."

He seemed fine with these terms so I stumbled home as fast as I could with the thought that the faster I walked the less likely I would be to pass out.  This logic managed to work as I made it in and up two flights of stairs, through my unlocked door and into bed before passing out again.

But Rachel, what about the orange juice and ginger ale?!

Don't worry.  They made it all the way through this journey unscathed some how and were incredibly restorative, making this entire adventure totally worth it.

dinner time

So Boyfriend and I are moving (DUH.) so in preparation we are doing the one thing we've managed to forget the past two times.

We are eating everything in the house so we don't have to move it.  This is all fun and games until you run out of normal food and are eating everything else.

So tonight's dinner is tater tots, baked beans and the piece de resistance - store brand velveta (that expired in July) mixed with salsa.

Do you eat it all together, do you eat everything separately with tortilla chips and/or ketchup or do you cover everything with Costco brand giardiniera and wash it down with a Miller Lite?

mark it

Today is the day I lost all my self respect.

Its been a long time coming, and it wasn't all my fault - there were a fair number of environmental causes that lead to my inevitable down fall but never the less - its gone.  All of it (or maybe just most of it and the rest of this feeling is residual hunger and low self-esteem).

Today is the day I spent $4.02 on a 12-oz drink that I knew knew was going to make me sick.

That's right.  I spent almost $5 on something that while, super fucking delicious, has the necessary ingredients to make me extra gassy and complainy about my tummy (we call this a yummy ache).

I love the Gingerbread Latte.  I have to assume that this is the same kind of love that people feel for their first born child.  I've never had a first born, so maybe I love the latte more, I don't know.  But I love it.  Always have, always will.

Back in my day - the tall skim ginger bread latte cost about $3.00.  It was a steep price for a broke-ass college kid.  But I made sacrifices and saved for my weekly treat.  Sometimes when it came down to it, I would pick coffee over college books (and by sometimes I mean most of the time).  And I came out fairly well adjusted.

In the past 7 years that I have been drinking these monsters the price has managed to go up $1.00.  That, my friends, is totally bogus.  The price of the McChicken sandwich has gone down in that time and managed to not lose any of its disgusting deliciousness.

In the past 7 years, however, I have lost the capacity to digest milk products successfully (at this point you want to interrupt my ramblings to tell me to drink gingerbread americano - and I am here to tell you that I will not, because it tastes yucky and makes me sad and there is no reason to do anything in the world that makes you as sad as watery espresso makes me) so when I do indulge, I make life pretty miserable for the enzymes and friends mariachi band in my stomach.

For some reason paying $3.25 or $3.60 to give myself a yummy ache and a caffeine buzz seemed totally rational, but when the girl perkily announced $4.02 this evening, my self-respect nose dived into the tile floor.

That's two subway rides (almost), 4 McChicken sandwiches, a PBR at most Clark St. establishments, a bowl of chili at my favorite dinner.

$4 buys a whole crap ton of stuff that $3 does not - and so I am left feeling bad about myself, but also elated and wonderful because I just had a delicious ginger bread latte and so I know nothing can go wrong.

of thee I sing

Today I took four kids from the organization I work for to a Martin Luther King Jr event at a local church.  The kids were going to be performing in the middle of the event which meant we had to sit through a bunch of singers and speakers that were interesting for an old fart like me, but epically boring for a 12 year old boy - especially one who is from Africa, so is no real stranger to struggle or overcoming obstacles. 

At one point everyone stood up to sing "Lift Every Voice and Sing." and the 12 year old stayed sitting.

His older sister: "Stand up!  We're all singing "Lift Every Voice and Sing."
The 12 year old: "Why?  Its not February yet."

This struck me as funny more than anything else.  Should I be horrified that he thinks that the only time you sing "Lift Every Voice and Sing" is during Black History Month?  Maybe.  But, I am not his parent or teacher so its not really my problem.  I did then explain to him that you can pretty much sing any song whenever you want as loud as you want and its totally fine.

This nugget of info kind of blew this kid's mind.

Happy Monday.  Please feel free to sing or talk about the dreams you have or how you want the world to be different any day you please.

long ago and far away

 Cape Point - the very Southernmost tip of Africa

 

Penguins at Boulders Beach

 

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

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

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

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

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

problem solved

We picked an apartment.  We went with the new adventure in the fancy apartment.  You only get to be in your 20's once - with expendable income and giving in to your childish whims.  The next place will probably be much more practical as it will (with any luck) be something that Belongs to us.

Get stoked for pictures!  And words about commuting (something I haven't really done in almost a year)! And the adventures of Roscoe Alexander Chompers I - the baby alligator who is going to live in our overly huge bathtub!

another dilemma

I feel like I have dealt with some epic dilemmas on this blog.  Its all what should I do, what should I do?
 
And how here I am, faced again with that epic question.  This time we're talking about picking an apartment.

I'll preface this by saying I (once again) understand that this is a totally cosmetic problem to have.  I have a bed, I will continue to have a bed, in a house, with heat and love for the foreseeable future.  And I don't thank my lucky stars enough that that is my lot.  I know I worked incredibly hard to get myself to this point of self-sufficiency but it doesn't hurt to be dealt an okay hand of cards in the game of life.  And for that I understand that I am blessed.

So here's the choice.

And also - I should mention that both apartments have exactly what we need.  They are both 2 bed/2 bath with washer/dryer in unit.  They both have decent kitchens with bar style seating at the counter.  They each come with parking, a fireplace and a place to put our bikes.  We are incredibly lucky to have the opportunity to have all these things.  We are lucky sonsabitches.

To the debate! 

Apartment 1-
Location- Is located in my current neighborhood, which I love.  Its close to the red line (which is easily the best train line for many reasons), and the lake.  It has a sprinkling of delicious restaurants close by and we are within almost-spitting distance of Wrigley field (close enough to take in the spontaneous game, not so close that people pee on my lawn) It keeps me within walking distance of a grocery store, and a Target.  Plus one of my besties is around the corner and I can walk to iO, and beyond on a nice day (or even not so nice a day). 

Apartment Pros - It has a Murphy bed in the 2nd bedroom which is kind of awesome and gives us more space in that room to work with.  Also pretty good hall closet. And the location.  The location is huge pro.

Apartment Cons - It has negligible outdoor space (a small deck for a grill - that we would have to buy again since they don't allow gas OR charcol and then a rooftop deck that we would have to go downstairs & outside to utilize), it has no basement storage (it does have a huge hall closet which should fit all the out of sight/mind stuff but then its not really out of sight/mind - this might make us throw things away - could also be considered a pro).  The master bedroom closet is weak at best.  The landlord would live next door which would be kind of convenient but also make us always on our toes about noise and such.  Also its on the 3rd floor.  I am not used to climbing stairs.  Wah wah.

Apartment 2-
Location - This apartment is located in a totally different neighborhood, kind of on the outskirts.  It for sure has a different vibe but has far more delicious restaurants and a wider variety to boot.  Its much trendier and closer to downtown.  Its closer to the blue line, which is practical for getting to the airport and downtown, but not much else.  But its not really near any big chicago landmarks - and spontaneous baseball games would have to be decidedly less spontaneous.  And I would go from being a 15 minute walk to work/iO, to a 30 minute train-bus combo to work which would help me get some reading done, but would mean that the nights where I am at iO until 1, are followed by a cab or a rather long wait for the bus.  Also, for some reason, this apartment is located in like an abyss where groceries are concerned.  There is not a normal person (read - Not Whole Foods) for at least a mile (see also Target).

Pros- The most amazing view of the city you've ever seen.  I've always been a sucker for skylines and this one just takes my breath away.  Its so panoramic that you could not even really do it justice with a photo.  Also - it is, as I put to Boyfriend, a princess apartment in many ways.  It is more overly fancy than I really need.  But I mean, if you're going to offer me a fancy bathroom and a fancy kitchen, I am going to have a hard time saying no - especially when it is the same cost as a non-fancy apartment (I am a princess at heart).  It has a garage for the car, which means no more snow scraping, and some storage space.   

Cons- Location, smaller than I had hoped (but still usable) closets, 3rd floor (seriously lazy).

And well, that's really it.  It is almost like they cancel each other out, the niceness of the apartment cancels out the niceness of the location.  And the meh-ness of the other apartment cancels out the not-so-great-ness of the other location.

We've gotten ourselves into a pickle.  All suggestions welcome.

cat bunny happy

Things around the world and the country and right in my own facebook page have made me very sad and frustrated these past few days.  I have been carrying this heaviness around and have yet to shake it for very long.  I am fairly sure the only true prescription will be time and a few doses of thoughtfulness and common sense (and maybe, maaaaybe some cowbell).

But on Sunday morning at 8 AM, as my boss and I skyped back and forth about work (Work!  On a Sunday morning!  Sans omelettes! I HATE being a grown up sometimes!) she sent me this video.  I've watched about seven times in 24 hours.  You don't need to have sound, its super short and totes safe for work.

Enjoy.  Feel free to watch it several times as it does not really get old.  And have a good week.

a Saturday adventure

"Don't worry, Mom.  I'm seven, I am totally prepared for this adventure." - Mia

I have found a whole slew of really amazing things in the time that I have been in Chicago, but by far one of my most favorite has been improv for kids (I am lucky enough to play with two amazing groups Hogwash and Storytown).


Performing for kids is about one trillion times more rewarding than performing for adults.  You have to work a little harder on the offset, but once you have them, its almost impossible to disappoint them and they will tell you how much they love you.  I don't know when it became uncool to applaud and be excited when enjoying live theater, but its lame.  We should totally be clapping and cheering and coming up to people saying, "you were awesome."

And performing for kids is far more fun than adults.  You don't get the easy outs of dirty jokes and political humor.  You do, however, get the joy of fart jokes, the enemy of homework and the endless excitement of a chase scene where when you ask, "where did they go?" and everyone pointing one way, insisting that the person went the other way.  "Over here?" "Noooooo! Over there!" "Over here?" "Nooooooo!"

This morning, My name was Mia, and I was seven. I got to go to Narnia (which has been a dream of mine for well over forever) - and I got to save it from the White Witch, who on, my birthday (of all days) was making it the coldest day ever.  I went on an adventure to figure out a way to make it warmer, because all I had at my house was a blanket with a hole. At first there was an air conditioner that was sent by the White Witch to make it even colder!  And not the good kind of cold, the kind where you have to be inside ALL day AND do homework.  Then I was joined on my journey by three hilariously ridiculous snowmen who told terribly hilarious stories.  At the end of the journey we found the sun AND two Aslan the Lions who warmed everything up and made Narnia livable for ALL the animals.  As a thank you for making Narnia warm again and defeating the White Witch, all the animals and the snowmen made me Queen of Narnia.

And that all happened before noon.  There are very few things I can think of that are better to do on a Sunday morning than be made Queen of Narnia.

A shell on my back

Boyfriend and I are yet again looking for an apartment.  This our third apartment hunt in three years which is some sort of sick record.  We've had such good luck with the last two (well, except for the fact that we haven't been able to make them permanent) that we are having a hard time settling for anything less than really, really awesome.

The hard truth about not settling, especially when it comes to real estate, is that it requires an absurd amount of effort.  Real Estate, particularly rental real estate is about 98% crap.  And every so often you find a gemstone in the mounds of pooh but it takes so much effort.

And where does this effort come from?  Well, like any good virus or parasite, it sucks up effort and energy from wherever it can find it.  Work projects that should be started already have been pushed aside.  Our apartment looks like a very nice winter-themed tornado came through - leaving Christmas presents, coats, boots and other stuff littered everywhere.

 We do not even have the capacity to make food right now.  We are living off of leftover spinach dip and Christmas stocking candy.  Boyfriend has started taking a can of soup for lunch.  A Can of Soup.  Literally.  Today for lunch I had the class and sophistication to cut three or four pieces of Sommer Sausage and Cheddar cheese off their respective logs and bricks and throw them into a baggie with some stale pumpernickle.

Also there is a piece of pie, wrapped in tinfoil - I don't know a ton about you know, physics - but I am pretty sure that the density of pie cannot withstand my backpack.  It will probably be a pile of goo by the time I get around to eating it.  But I didn't think of that as I packed it, because my brain is going a hundred miles a minute about apartments and appointments and rental applications all the time.

Even this blog has felt the effects of the apartment parasite.  I started this blog at around 10 last night, with full intention of finishing it and posting it before the clock struck 12.  But no - it very much lost the battle with the other open tab on my browser - the craigslist apartments page.

Anyway - with any luck the hunt will be over soon.  Which does not make the insanity stop.  If anything - apartment hunting is a treat compared to packing, painting, cleaning and moving.  But here we go - one more time.

one two three four

JED 
[walking away] Numbers, Mrs. Landingham. 

MRS. LANDINGHAM
Excuse me?

JED
If you want to convince me of something, show me numbers! 

Its true - numbers are essential.  On the 31st (or the 1st - it was so long ago) I outlined my goals for the year.  Gym, writing, reading.  But after three days of being like, "yeah!  good things!" I realized I need to make things far more concrete for myself to have any chance of getting them done.

So here  it is - the numbers post.

42 books in 52 weeks.  That's less than a book a week - this will probably be the hardest thing as I also have to keep up the New Yorker and such as well.  I am hoping that this will also help keep me off facebook and the interwebs, except of course.

150 blog posts in 365 days.  A random number, sure, but I got so close last year to 100 that I had to up the ante.  Plus 42 of those posts are going to be freebies.

200 days of exercise.  Exercise includes: going to the gym, yoga class, biking (at least an hour, even if its broken up throughout the day), walking more than two miles in a stretch.  This will also be hard as we try to figure out where we are living and what we are doing this year.  And let's be real, this is the one where at the end of the year I am going to have to spend like 50 solid days working out.  One can only hope I'll have a gym membership again by then.

So here we go - for reals this time.

Book 1 - One Day

So this is kind of cheating, because I started this book in 2010, but its kind of like when you had the chin-up tests in elementary school gym class and you would jump a little bit to give yourself momentum so you could at least do one.  I am just giving myself some momentum.

I read this book on recommendation from McKim.  I enjoyed it.  It is a quite perfect lazy reading book.  It is probably meant for beach reading, but it was also nice for the airport and early winter mornings with tea and a blanket and some leftover pie for breakfast.

By far the most enjoyable part of the book was that it was written in British dialect.  It was like reading a language that you are almost fluent in, but do not quite grasp the idioms.  There were words or phrases that gave me pause - but overall, I loved being able to read the book in my head with a British accent and use phrases like "rolltop jumper" and "half five."

Without giving too much away - I felt that the end of the book was kind of a cop-out on the writer's part.  As if he did not quite know where to take the story and so took the very, very easy (for a writer) way out.  It makes you realize why When Harry Met Sally ends where it does.

Apparently they are making a movie of this book.  While for a moment I thought I would go see it in a theater, the fact that Anne Hathaway is in it, makes me think I'll probably wait until I can get it at the Red Box.  There is nothing wrong with Anne Hathaway - I am sure she is lovely girl, but she is 1-NOT BRITISH.

McKim and I already recast the movie with Emily Blunt and Ed Westwick.  Sadly, I just read that they have already wrapped on filming and so my wishes will probably not come true. 

On to book 2.