MJ Pen Test

The Final Countdown: 10h 15m

2011-12-31T12:44:00.000-06:00

For those of you who have read my blog in the past, who are my friends (near and far) I want to personally wish you all Happy Endings and New Beginnings; thank you to all of you who have been a part of a year that didn't suck! Whatever you find yourselves doing this New Year's Eve, do it with a smile and excitement for the new adventures ahead.

I don't own a Mayan calendar (and don't plan on being done with this trip in a year) but just in case this next turn around the sun I'm working on my plans to: Make achievable goals and celebrate the little successes along the way, fall in love with something new every day, enjoy delicious food, make each day feel like a birthday and tell my friends they are ridiculously smart, talented, funny and important each time I realize it; stay close with my family and tell them I love them every time we talk, take more pictures, sing out loud even if I don't know the lyrics, wear lipstick, attempt to learn a language, go to the art museum and take a trip somewhere I haven't been. IT'S GOING TO BE A YEAR TO REMEMBER....I hope so many of you are a part of it! Cheers to you and yours, be safe, be happy and be excited!

Well, that sure sucked ass

2011-12-31T12:41:00.000-06:00

TWO posts for the entire year of 2011? That must change. That will change.

Hang on, I'll make it four posts....

What do Michael Jackson, the Hubble Space Telescope and my happy mouth have in common?

2011-06-11T14:42:00.000-05:00

You're trying to come up with something dirty, aren't you? Well, it's not, so stop trying. The correct answer is the year 1988.

Regan was president, the Hubble Space Telescope was put into operation, Sony Bono was elected mayor or Palm Springs, CA, and the US experienced a severe drought. Bettlejuice, Rain Man, and Die Hard were in the theatres and it only cost $3.50 to see them. Average rent was $420. A gallon of gas would cost you a dollar, stamps were 24 cents and a winemaker was putting a cork in a bottle of wine.

If I could pull a 'Back to the Future' move and get a message to my 12 year old self in 1988 that on the evening of June 10, 2011 I would have the pleasure of sitting down to a home cooked authentic Italian meal in Chicago (where the 35 year old me now resides) with totally amazing friends and enjoy a bottle of 1988 Chianti opened special for the occasion, my 12 year old self probably would have said something like, "So?" with a doubtful, crinkled forehead expression.

But it happened. And it was amazing. Take that, 12 year old self!

I caught myself wondering, was it the wine itself or the total package of good friends and a family recipe shared around a dinner table full of stories that made me smile and laugh and forget about everything but the moment? Was it because we were all sharing the experience of the wine that made it taste better? Did the deliciousness of the wine flavour our conversations in ways ordinary wine couldn't?

I've poured extravagant wine, wine that could be classified as an orgasm for your mouth, with no special celebration nor company even to toast with and enjoyed it just fine, but felt unfulfilled. I realize now it is because I am a firm believer that you can have the best experiences, but if you have them alone it's almost like they didn't happen.

Here, consider this....if you were given the opportunity to eat at a three-star Michelin ranked restaurant but had to do it alone, with no dining companion, or be invited to a pot-luck dinner on paper plates in the overgrown backyard with the best of your friends, which would you choose? Both are great and to some that would be a tough choice; without pause I know my choice.

Life can be really challenging, frustrating, boring or exhilarating, your call. Moving through this concrete jungle of mine with my best friends experiencing these events with me reminds me not to just go through the motions. Have something to say about it! Experience it with every one of the five senses! No matter if you choose three-star restarants or "not-squirrel" themed parties.

Left Lane Closed Ahead - Merge

2011-05-09T08:15:00.002-05:00

All good things need fixin' every now and again, including MJ Pen Test. Now, don't you fret...nothing but the design and the frequency in which I post is changing.

Well, that and the hopes that you, my readers, grow in numbers (but more about that little nugget later!)

For now, I'm working to get the layout spifted up and maybe when I'm through we'll have a little re-opening party or something.

I'll bake a cake.

Vacation? You betcha.

2010-10-26T21:54:00.006-05:00

I should really be packing. I should really be cleaning. Or making monsters, or cleaning up after other furry monsters. Because tomorrow I am going on vacation.

Vacation to Michigan - which isn't the first destination on my list, but I'll take it. I'll go anywhere anyone tells me as long as my sister is included in the destination.

I get to see my sister.

It's been almost a year and a half since I laid eyes on her. We've probably had 11 real conversations on the phone and a couple three dozen texted ones. It's been so long I forget how long her hair is, how loud and infectious her laugh can be. How meticulous she is with preparing salad and how she's much, much happier after coffee in the morning. With all the things I find myself forgetting, I'm never easy to forget how much I love her and miss her.

I can't wait for 15 hours to go by so I can get a little sister hug.

Paulina Supper Club #1: Pork Chops

2010-10-11T20:18:00.004-05:00

I have this weird reaction where after eating my brain literally shuts down once the digestion process starts; It's like I'm being plugged into my charger and getting my batteries renewed. I can't make conversation, I'm more distracted than normal and I just need to stare at something while things breakdown.

The boys and I (I should start referring to them as the youngsters) have devised this new adventure called the Paulina Supper Club. Basically, it's a Monday night dinner at the homestead but with all of us contributing. We have such different schedules but for all the right reasons our Mondays are free and sitting outside this Summer our plan was hatched.

For the inaugural dinner we made pork chops with sort of an apple chutney/compote and apple cider gravy and (boxed) stuffing. Mini pumpkin pies with cream cheese honey frosting.

Matt doesn't cook and Doug likes to watch cooking shows. It's one part creative, one part teaching and one part execution on the fly. I love it.

Next week: Pulled pork sandwiches with homemade slaw and some deliciousness on the side that I have not determined

State Farm's got nothing on this neighbor

2010-08-29T09:20:00.004-05:00

Let's add "good neighbor" to my life resume, shall we?

Oh, you want to know what constitutes a good neighbor? Well alright. How about we start with having to live below the "doin' it crew." This is a term, coined by the Prah's who also have this issue, which refers to two people engaged in sexual activity at a decibel loud enough to be heard by the neighbors. Living under a "doin' it crew" means you just get to experience the whole thing a little more intensely. But since this activity is normal in nature, I don't hold this against them or slip notes under their door to politely (or not so politely) request that their love maybe not be expressed at 3am on a Tuesday. See? Good Neighbor.

Or cleaning the lint out of the dryer after I take my clothes out so that it is ready to go for the next person. Interesting that I also must do this BEFORE I put my clothes in. Who do you think removes the lint, neighbors? The Lint Fairy?

The building has a janitor who comes by weekly and picks up, changes light bulbs, etc... but does it really take all that much effort to get your junk mail into the waste paper basket that they provide? I've walked into my vestibule some nights and wondered if the postman didn't throw himself a ticker tape parade in it. And on a separate note to all the restaurants hiring people to walk around and rubber band their menus to doorknobs and gate handles.....really this is a terrible waste of resources. They don't make it into the apartments, just end up littering the floor or the sidewalk until someone gets sick of looking at them and throws them away. There's this thing called the Internet, you should really re-allocate your efforts online. I promise you, even if you drop off a menu, if I can't order online, I'll choose one of the other nine Thai places I can. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the free rubber bands.

Then there's the recently new efforts of picking up bottle caps, cigarette butts, match books, Cheetos and the occasional Miller Lite can on Sunday mornings. This I don't mind as it's nice to have neighbors that know my name and whom I enjoy their company. Since one in particular is a recent college graduate, the transition from the college living to post college living (aka the "jobby job life") isn't totally mastered yet; he's in the adjustment period and things look like they are settling (mah baby's growing up!). Until early this morning.

I made the very adult decision to turn in for the night (it was well before 11 o'clock....on a Saturday!) because I was basically asleep on the couch -- though the one side of me would argue I was just resting my eyes -- and so I tried making it seem to my other half that we were going to utilize Sunday morning and accomplish a great many things before the rest of the city even scrambled their eggs. And by "scramble their eggs" I actually mean breakfast. Except for the upstairs neighbors which then I mean, REALLY LOUD SUNDAY MORNING WAKE-UP SEX.

I fell right to sleep and so when there was a very loud knocking on the kitchen door I was totally disoriented, freaked out and a little pissed off. And when it didn't stop I figured it was either:
a) morning

b) an emergency

c) a really stupid criminal

d) one of my neighbors home from the bar and not ready to go to bed

If you answered 'D' you would be half correct. If you answered 'B' you would be more correct.

The young neighbor was very adamantly asking me to open the door and I assured him (through the bedroom window which faces the same side as the back stoop) that I heard him and was working on it. Unbeknownst to him, I was trying to untangle the sheets, find my glasses and put on acceptable amounts of cl----I've started to sleep less involved, so I was trying to find my pants.

When I finally got to the door he was standing there bare chested with a tee shirt wrapped around his wrist and the palm of his hand bloody. He had had an altercation with a glass bottle and needed me.........not to dress his wound, or drive him to the hospital.....the words he used were, "I need you to cut this flap of skin for me."

Wait, what did you just say? I surely must still be asleep or there must be sleep still in my ears because I swear I heard you say you needed me to REMOVE A FLAP OF SKIN?! Oh, that is what you said? Are you F'ING CRAZY?! But as this past year has taught me many things, I am capable of a lot more than I thought. I do actually keep a level head, as long as it's not MY blood.

I'll save you the details but after arguing the pros of going to urgent care, I acquiesced and (ahem...) "dressed the wound." Since I am a worrier and a planner at my core, I made him promise to sit on the stoop with me for fifteen minutes so I could see if it was done bleeding. The last thing I wanted to add to my Sunday morning clean-up was a pool of congealed blood. Don't worry mom friends, I also made him promise me that we would re-evaluate it in the morning.

While I didn't get to start the Sunday morning the way I had promised my other half, I think the thrill of it satisfied her. It's good to be needed.

Hostile Hens

2010-08-23T06:52:00.002-05:00

News Alert posted from The Washington Post:

The Iowa company that federal officials say is at the center of a salmonella outbreak and recalls of more than half a billion eggs has repeatedly paid fines and settled complaints over health and safety violations and allegations ranging from maintaining a "sexually hostile work environment" to abusing the hens that lay the eggs.

Hmmm......isn't that the same allegation? I mean, it is to the hens at least. I have to wonder who filed on their behalf.

This just isn't working

2010-08-17T22:50:00.004-05:00

Dear Chicago,

We need to talk. You are beginning to get on my nerves. Every weekend this Summer has been like a non stop party to you. You constantly invite all your peeps over for a long weekend and trash the place. There's garbage piling up outside and it's not mine. You expect me to clean up after you and I'm so sick of it.

You have this skewed sense of right and wrong. You make up your own rules for what suits you and you don't play fair. You walk around like you are above the law, that rules don't apply to you and when you get caught you lie and bribe your way out of it. Sure I'll admit it, your bad-boy attitude is partially what I fell in love with way back in the day. Waking up in the morning to hear about your Robin Hood gallivanting the night before while everyone was asleep was seductive but I've grown up and you haven't. You are acting like a spoiled child and I'm over it. If you break the rules you have to pay the price.

I'm falling out of love. All you do is take and take and never give anything back in return. I'm sick of giving you money and it's never enough. I work so hard to keep up with you and I have nothing to show for it. Would it be so hard for you to go out of your way just once and do something nice for me in return? You are so damn selfish; even the neighbors are getting sick of your behaviour. You refuse to see what's right - it's like you are walking around with blinders on oblivious that your actions are hurting others. I don't want to be associated with you when you are acting like an ass. I've given you fifteen years of my life - some of the best times I've had have been with you - but I feel like I have nothing to show for it. Should I regret my decision? Don't you want me to be happy?

It's not me, it's you. Things are going to have to change around here or I'm walking out that door and not looking back. No forwarding address or phone number for you to try and get me back, if you lose me it will be for good. I'm not saying I'm perfect but if you don't make some serious commitments to me I'm not joking about breaking up with you. You are breaking my heart and there's only so much more I can take.

You should know, I have flirted with other cities. There are many that would love for me to belong to them. I've never cheated on you but I've had the opportunity. I have even gone so far as to meet up for a drink but it never went anywhere because I felt like you were there waiting for me and that deep down you still love me but I'm beginning to wonder. Could you please finish just ONE of the projects you've started? You promised me you'd have the road in front of the house finished up in just three months. It's been almost a year.

Take some time and think about what I've said. But don't take too long, I'm not going to wait around forever for you to change. Start acting like an important part of my life, remind me again of the good things you have and stop trying to impress the people that don't even live here, impress me. You can start by taking a shower, you smell awful.

I'm hurt and confused from trying to love you.

Mrs. Miyagi and the Warm Smell of Leftover Sunshine

2010-07-16T22:33:00.007-05:00

I'm going to do a little cursing. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I fucking hate flies.

I can't stand their damn buzzing and their little grotesque metallic green bodies.

I fucking hate flies.
I hate that they land on the rim of glasses and tines of forks. That they walk their dirty little feet over every surface forcing me to follow around behind and sterilize. I feel like a gang of rude offensive bikers have laid claim to my apartment and are inviting their friends to come crash. Where are they coming from?!

I've spent most of my Friday night sitting here swearing and swatting and missing. Cursing and swatting and killing. SPLAT! You would think I would feel better but I am grossed out. Itchy and sticky and down right ornery.

I should run my central AC. Yes, I have it. But I don't like it. I spend half the year being cold that when Summer finally comes around bringing its sunshine and warm degrees like gifts to a hostess, why the hell shut the windows and make it an artificial 68?! I suppose the flies are consequences of fresh air.

Erin and I didn't grow up with air conditioning. We had cheaper ways to cool down...window screens, box fans, sprinklers, slip-n-slides, Popsicles and Jello Pudding Pops, (what I wouldn't give for either one of THOSE right now), cool baths and sleeveless nightgowns.

We grew up in the country so when it was time to come in for the night it was dark. D-A-R-K. You could see glow-bugs everywhere -- for what seemed like miles across the corn fields. There were bullfrogs and cicadas that would start making noises at night fall; sometimes it would start to sound like high-pitched static and then it would abruptly stop. Silence. Dark wonderful, warm, silence. At those moments you could hear Ernie Harwell and the Tiger's game on the AM radio that Poppa would be listening to in the garage as we went in to get ready for bed.

We had two cats that were allowed to go outside and at night they'd come in from their day adventure, curl up next to us and bring the smell of sweet green grass and leftover sunshine from their wanderings. I can sit here now and faintly remember this if I concentrate. (It's the same way I can remember the smell of Great Grandma Myrtle's Avon hand cream or my sister's Tinker-bell perfume). Just around the time we were climbing into bed the humidity would start to break and the big Maple trees out front would filter the breeze and you'd feel it begin cooling off -- perfectly timed to fall asleep. Night time lullaby of bullfrogs and branches swaying in the wind.

I would never have chosen central air over any of those memories.

Let there be INTERNET

2010-07-13T21:35:00.004-05:00

The modem wasn't taking my calls.
I think it was screening my connection.

So I made an appointment with a private eye.
Then it came back from vacation; passport stamp and dirty laundry and sunburned.
And the Comcast private eye I had made an appointment with politely called and thanked me for my business but cancelled knowing I would soon be reconnected with my long lost Internet.

I love you, Internet. Please don't leave me again. I promise not to take you for granted.

(Well, that will catch you up on how my past five days have been)

I have this theory: Tuesdays suck.

My favorite day of the week is Monday. It's a brand new fresh start, a new beginning....a venture into the unknown. Tuesdays are both feet in, too far to turn back now -- but miles away from Friday. Nothing good happens on Tuesday.

For example, I have two bags of laundry that I had all intentions of doing on Sunday but ran out of quarters. Got quarters yesterday and then got home and chatted with my neighbor until it was time too late to start, no time to finish, the reality of the work week ahead setting in.....and I staggered to bed with the overwhelming depression that Tuesday was lurking only hours away. Woke up this morning feeling like I was being cracked out of delicate warm egg shell into a hot frying pan.

Didn't wash my hair. Forgot my Kleenex for the commute (the AC makes my nose run). Drank all my coffee before I got to my desk. Didn't leave my desk until seven o'clock at night - a tiring ten and a half hours sitting - got home and ate handfuls of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch. And now I'm sitting here reconnecting with you folks. It honestly wouldn't surprise me, the kind of things I experience on Tuesdays, if there really wasn't anyone reading.

My stomach hurts.

Ten hours at work, three hours of leisure, seven hours of sleep --- somehow that seems all kinds of wrong. I haven't had a true vacation since Calistoga, California four years ago. I have good intentions of doing something and no means. Or means and then no intentions. It's a vicious circle. Put my ass in a camp chair with a cup holder, a fire and a lake Michigan in front of me and call me stupid giddy.

Nothing poignant or well crafted tonight, just a girl sitting on her back stoop pleased that her internet is once again returning her calls and the Pandora is flowing like smoke from a tiki-torch. Have your best shot Tuesday, you've got thirty more minutes before I stop taking YOUR calls.

Wednesday, be kind to me. I've had my confidence tested and my intentions squashed by your nemesis, Tuesday.

Ya big FAKER

2010-07-07T21:35:00.007-05:00

Best advice I've recently been given, "fake it 'til ya make it, baby doll."

This works in a myriad of ways but I'm talking about one. Attitude. Yes, the big "tude." Mine is as meek as a Jabberwocky, timid as a striptease. Stings like whiskey. Soothes like a thunderstorm.

I can tell when I'm nearing the tank being empty, the short fuse approaching. Things that normally would roll off as easy as raindrops on window shields become boulders in the driveway of my life. I got bit by a mosquito or something this weekend and my answer to solving this minor inconvenience was to scratch it until it no longer looked like a tiny little red dot but rather a large red-hot scorch mark. What would have taken a day to heal is now a 56 hour reminder to put things in perspective.

I try to have a carry a decent attitude for the sake of those around me. Yes, the strangers I come into contact deserve a smile, a door held open, a seat given up on the train when they seem to need it more than I. But more than the strangers I meet, I do it for my friends. I believe that my friends validate my existence.

Hang on, hang on....I'm not saying I live for my friends, I'm saying I love my friends. Truth be told, I choose to keep the number to about that of a baseball team but I love these folks to the depths of the Pacific Ocean. I try to have something special I share with each one, too. Sometimes it's easy to come up with the bond, other times it's hidden like the needle in a haystack. That's the fun in it for me....trying to uncover the hidden feature.

Occasionally though it can be misleading. Season. Reason. Lifetime. Sorry to say, the little saltwater fishes of my friendship come with the Lifetime subscription. I don't like kicking someone off the team, but I'm strong enough to know a painful goodbye is better than a lifetime of disappointment. For those that get the uniform, we may share the strangest common denominator or even seem a fallacious pair at first glance but peel away the layers and there's a reason.

So here's why I love you: For telling me not to wear the duct taped jeans, reminding me not to be silly - that we are best friends and "that's why." For correcting my creative use of the English language, helping me embrace the PIBE theory, for future schemes that include both of us, for sharing history and making memories, laughing for the 976th time about that one day, giving meaning to randomness. Nicknames and pseudo family titles that mean something. Sharing family members before they're gone, not holding grudges, trusting me to find the best secret hiding spots in plain sight. Creative cooking when we should have gone to bed, big plans that fizzle into the best ideas ever. Co-creating Porch Counsel for the purpose of hearing what has to be said and not caring how it sounds. Eating acorns and fast forwarding commercials. For biting and forgiving. For showing up and opening the door. Listening throughout the night to the sad and frustration and never judging. For doing something even though it makes no sense whatsoever and not needing it to. For showing me places I'd never discover on my own. For always having an invitation even when you know I may decline. Taking the good with the bad, the awful with the fantastic. Truly loving my cats when you know you'd rather they be dogs. Challenging me to be better. Recognizing when I struggle to ask for help, congratulating me when I succeed.

You all give me the reasons I sometimes feel the need to fake it. As with the other myriad of ways to fake it, I hope you can never tell the difference ;-)

Some things glow, some things fade away

2010-06-15T21:22:00.004-05:00

Work has disrupted the better part of my Summer so far and for that I'm disgruntled, displeased and genuinely disheartened. I struggle to balance the life I want to lead and the life I am currently living. It's not all bad, I know this, but it sure is more than a stone's throw from where I want to be knowing.

So much of it is just not fitting together. Walking around inside myself it feels like an Amtrak train car on the elevated tracks of Chicago. Sure, it's 'A' mode of transportation, but it's not the 'same' kind of transportation -- walks like a duck, quacks like a duck......moves like a hippo.

Left work at 8 o'clock tonight and started the trip homeward. Got on a crowded train and luckily had a seat until the elderly couple came aboard and I felt that pull to be respectful. My job is sitting all day, I can surely stand to stand up for them. And I did. And it felt so good. I like to think my one small gesture of respect is witnessed by another and they reciprocate and on and on....an anonymous "paying it forward" of good intentions.

Have had family on the brain lately. Friend-family and Family-family, both genuine and real and true. While distance makes the heart grow fonder, it also breaks it into a thousand billion pieces of longing and wishing and dreaming distance was blocks instead of mile markers. I miss you sis and I wish it were different.

Swimming in my thoughts I shuffled away from the station and down my street. Thinking about so much of the days personal events: staying true to buying local at the Farmer's Market, caving and drinking delicious coffee, enjoying fresh air with company, making plans I'd give up coffee to see come to fruition, plans to see Pop this weekend, chores that have been stacking up.....and then seeing little brilliant flashes.......

They're home. The glo-bugs I miss so much when Fall comes around have come to light up my late night wanderings. My throat caught with that kind of happy that results in emotion saved for puppies and fireworks. Somethings fade away because they have to. Somethings come back 'round again because they are meant to. I've lamented so many things lately that have faded for reasons not entirely understood that I forgot....somethings will always be right there when you're not expecting them.

Welcome back glo-bugs. Brighten my walk home while you are here, I promise to pay attention until you fade away.

Double Down.....I DOUBLE Dare You.

2010-05-22T08:55:00.005-05:00

This should get your blood boiling – without even having to ingest one bite. Consumerism, gluttony, corporate irresponsibility, nutritional obligation……What is going on?!

Where does the fault lie – just because you CAN create and market something doesn’t mean you should. Just because you CAN order and eat something doesn’t mean you should. Why are we not doing more about this? Is it a need to feed on something so bad for you it feels rebellious? Are you rebelling against the ‘Man’ by ordering up a Double Down? Does the ‘Man’ care? Should he?

KFC's Double Down bet pays off
(msn.com 5/19/10)

KFC says Americans are gobbling down so many Double Down sandwiches that the fast-food chain will offer the bunless, meaty sandwich longer than it had planned
**what, did they intend to promote it as a dare?**

KFC said it has been one of its most successful sandwich launches ever.
**define success. Heart attacks? Blood pressure prescriptions on the rise? Double breasted-beakless chicken shortages?**

Later this month, KFC expects to sell its 10 millionth Double Down. They cost about $5.
**Hmm….that’s fifty million dollars. Yet they are only donating $.50 per bucket to the cure for breast cancer. I think KFC could step it up, don’t you?**

Some have questioned the sandwiches' nutritional value.
**Duh

The original version has 540 calories and 32 grams of fat, and 1,380 milligrams of salt. A grilled version cuts calories to 460 and fat to 23 grams, but sodium rises to 1,430 milligrams. By comparison, the Big Mac from McDonald's has 540 calories, 29 grams of fat and 1,040 milligrams of sodium. A daily 1,500 milligrams of sodium is recommended.

Full Lyrics. AS IF

2010-05-19T00:36:00.004-05:00

hey, hey, hey

My love, uh huh, my love, hey,

my love, hey, my love, hey,

my love, hey, my love, hey

Way to go Justin Timberlake.

And they said don't judge a book by its cover. Guess you proved them wrong, huh?

Must be nice getting paid a million per letter.

Let's crack some skulls

2010-05-06T07:51:00.002-05:00

Well actually, just teeth.

Stupid teeth. I can't wait for this to be done later today. It's no secret that I get really freaked out with doctors and stupid freaked out about teeth. You can imagine my general state of mind today....

So I'm getting ready to pull on my big girl pants, comfortable and not restricting. Drying my hair straight today because I doubt I'll feel like a shower tomorrow and putting all the smushy food I bought at eye level so there's no thinking involved. No thinking.

I hope side effect numero uno from percocet or darvaset or vicodin is giggles. It'll help when I look at the chipmunk cheeks in the mirror.

2010-04-25T22:34:00.003-05:00

447.......448.......449...................450................451.................452.....................453.....................454........

Well, I'm running out of sheep. So much for that trick.

Sweet dreams when you get there

2010-04-25T00:11:00.004-05:00

There were many nights when Corri and I lived together when we would stay up late talking and giggling, making plans for life or just plans for the Best. Lunch. Ever.....until we could hardly keep our eyes open. Sleep was giving us a curfew yet we would beg for "just 10 more minutes" like little kids. Finally giving in and calling it a night, the bedtime checklist was conducted: door locked? lights off? candles extinguished? cats accounted for? and we would head to our rooms. From down the hall I would hear her say to me, "Sweet dreams when you get there" and I would drift off, destination in mind. Except I have never been one to have all that many dreams -- some occasional running through forests dreams and the reoccurring nightmare --but mostly nothing to write home about that I could recall or even feel the imprint of when I woke up the next morning. I trust that they played and I watched without feeling the need to dwell or run an encore the next night. This system was all fine by me. Then I moved into my own place for the first time ever. Dreams have started being remembered, replayed and weigh heavy. Insomnia has become a constant bedfellow.

I'm miserable. Or, at least let's say I liked it better when I didn't remember anything exciting from the night. Sleep and I are at odds. It's like driving in a car a long distance with someone you are fighting with. You've got to acquiesce and know that being in the car is necessary to get you to the destination but it's not the place you are thrilled about spending time.

This past week in particular handed my ass to me on a pillow. It's UNBELIEVABLE how the stupid reoccurring dreams, two actually, are so easily understood and clear when I wake up. I want to stand in line at the dream counter and tell the sales rep that, "Yes, thank you I enjoyed the message and appreciate the opportunity to watch the re-run. Now could you please wrap it up and file it under "CRYSTAL CLEAR" for me?" Thanks.

But yet as I sit here not tired, or not wanting to go have another go around of the same fucking picture film, I know it's all cued up waiting. Cruel.

I wish I had a hallway and at the end of the hall was my fabulous roomie calling out "sweet dreams" because at least I had a fighting chance -- or someone to drag back out on the couch and keep me company through the adventures of Insomnia.

Too late now

2010-04-15T23:16:00.002-05:00

Facebook.

I did it. I'm either going to catch a lot of grief, or a lot of "it's about damn time."

Detour

2010-04-15T22:18:00.005-05:00

I was all set tonight to write about casually dating or my life as a contestant on the $10,000 pyramid. And then I got onto the internet and started bouncing around clicking on this link and that link -- feeling like I was back aimlessly driving around on the winding two lane country roads of my youth, no street lights, very few street signs, no destination in mind -- and I happened to check in on my high school buddies band, Small Brown Bike.

Which led me a side project, www.dragonstheshow.com

Which led me to their Facebook page

Which led me to familiar names and discovered familiar faces

And now I'm sitting here at my kitchen table in a haze of memory and emotion and I don't know what to do with myself. For 16 years I've only ventured back home a dozen times or so. I would fondly recall people, events, mundane high school days...wondering what those people were up to. Who got married, who had kids, what corners of the Earth they moved to, what careers they wound up in. Kristy B does a really good job of keeping in the loop as much as she can with the big things (weddings, divorce, babies and gossip) but I miss the day to day. I'm envious of them sitting on a bar stool at Dark Horse or the bleachers at a football game on Friday night. I know it sounds unreal but I didn't really consider the possibility that they would be accessible online, easy to find, easy to contact and catch up with. And now I feel like I've been picked up and set down in the middle of a reunion that I didn't RSVP to.

Is it too late? Do I walk into the pep rally 16 years late and try to connect with these friends from my past?

Some Facebookers I know have 1200 "friends." I only had 500 kids in my HIGH SCHOOL. Twelve of them I just found looking at OTHER Facebook pages. Names from the past that would flitter thru my head and I would just give up as though they were lost forever.

Technology has successfully played yet another little prank on me. Fool me once, shame on you...Fool me twice.......maybe it's time I do this. Four years until our 20 year reunion. Maybe there's still hope for me to make some connections.

Question

2010-04-08T23:21:00.003-05:00

If Asparagus makes tinkle smell very (very) bad, is it like garlic and should be avoided on a date?

ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!

2010-04-08T22:49:00.001-05:00

I haven't posted in over two MONTHS?! WHAT?! Oy.

Well, I'm going to have to get my arse in gear and remedy this.

Soon.

Very soon. I swear.

You love me, you know you do.

I think we'll need more cake

2010-02-05T21:43:00.001-06:00

Happy Birthday Februarians!

Robyn Coffin, Remee Morse, Me, John Basco, Jeremy Hirsch, Andres Marcus, Reed Maschevski (yeah, I spelled that wrong) and of all things, Happy Birthday Dunkin Donuts.

What?

Yep, Happy 60th you cheap-ass-donut-making-franchise with excellent coffee. Two more years and you can retire your ovens. Just keep the kettle brewing.

Headshaves, Horseshoes and Love

2010-02-05T07:55:00.005-06:00

Its weird, the things that represent strength.

In the past week I've watched my best friend face fear and become stronger than I think she realizes. She can rock a shaved head and I am in awe of her. I guess that's what got me thinking about this post's topic. I associate shaved heads with fear and ultimately strength.

My little sister had a life threatening accident when she was three. To this day I can vividly remember fragmented pieces of it. She went from a little smiley kid with pigtails to little smiley kid with a helmet. She had this huge horseshoe scar on the side of her shaved head where the Doctors repaired her fractured skull.

Her skull.

But oddly enough, the shaved head, scar and helmet only accentuated her little kid smile (just like it is doing for Crescent) the proverbial twinkle in Erin's eye was for real. Even though she was three and couldn't verbalize it, I believe she knew just how close she came to a different outcome and she was celebrating. (Okay, so she celebrated in the weirdest of little kid ways, like pretending the dining table leg was her pony, but it made her happy.....and they said there was no damage to the brain.......hmmm....)

As her older sister, I think about that day a lot. Somewhere deep down in the memory banks lies this image of her actually getting hit (by a softball bat....and NO I was not swinging it). Thankfully, I have made a deal with the memory librarian and she archived it so I can't consciously recall it.

**Side note: Librarians love caramels. If you ever need to bribe one, make sure to be prepared.**

I am so damn thankful I AM an older sister; I can't imagine having lost her. Ever since we were teenagers we've talked about the "one day" dream -- that one day we'll be neighbors with a gate made in the fence between our houses and her kids will run away to Aunt Sissy Pant's house where they'll eat fluffer nutter sandwiches in pajamas while we make forts with the couch cushions. And in the middle of the night Erin and I will carry them quietly back to their own beds so when they wake up they're back where they belong. I'll let you in on a secret, I don't care if she has kids or not, there would be a gate in the fence so I could run away to my sister's house and hideout in the fort we'd make in her living room.

When I look at her now, I don't see that little awkward scared kid in a helmet with a horseshoe scar, I see a beautiful strong sister with a lucky horseshoe mark she'll carry with her forever.

When you see a shaved head, you are looking at a strong woman. You may not see them at first because their hair has grown back, but look closely and I bet you'll see the twinkle in their eye and the strength in their heart.

What Weight Watchers and my Ex have in common

2010-02-03T22:34:00.003-06:00

Or.... "Does this Cheesecake make my life look fat?"

(For the record, I don't like cheesecake, not in the least. Not even if it were infused with ginger, dusted with macadamia and topped with Frangelico whip cream)

It's time for me to fess up because I've been holding back and I haven't been honest with you recently. I always said that I would write what I needed and wanted to with no reservations or modesty (tact, yes) but no editing content for the audience. Shoot straight from the hip (Lord knows I have them) and always tell the truth, because we all know, truth usually makes for the best material.

I hate this.

Ok, here goes.......ready.....set........go........I have gained some *noticeable* weight. Shocking! Why on Earth could this take me by surprise? Naturally good eating habits wouldn't lead you into such a predicament, and I've mastered those in the past. Like 80 pounds in the past. Pssh-yeah.

Wait, what's that you say? Cookie dough and red wine at midnight can't be considered good? Whatdaya mean I can't grandfather these in?! Well I'll be a turnip cart, I never would have imagined........ah, bullshit. I totally knew. Totally aware. It's as if I have given Power Of Attorney to my mouth, my tastebuds and my emotions. They're the evil step children I have to put up with and right now I feel like they've tied the rational, calm part of my being to a chair in the tool shed.

The thing is, I'm a stress eater. What a low down dirty vice this is. Everyone eats to sustain life. Everyone has stress. I just happened to introduce these two scoundrels on the playground one time and since then they refuse to go play alone. I want to be one of those people unaffected by my stress, or at least can I be in the group that gets stressed and can't stomach water? I'd love that. Built in willpower.

Now you see why I haven't written about this topic until tonight. I have a lot to say about this and all of it is extremely personal and probably uninteresting to you. I don't know anyone who is happy with their body condition. Ok, maybe two people. In the country. But I'm not going to lie, when I get to the point where I've reversed this gain, I will shut the hello up and just be content. I'll be the third person in the country.

So why write about this at all? Well, I've got to bite the bullet and go to my Weight Watchers meeting this weekend. I've had the same leader since I started in 2005 and she's tracked the successes over these past years right along side of me -- until I took a leave of absence in November and haven't been back since. And now I find myself dreaming of loosing 10 pounds before I next go to weigh in so that she doesn't know the extent of the damage done in 3 months.

Why is that? Why would I try and lose weight prior to attending a meeting? A meeting solely created to support someone who is actively losing or maintaining weight? It seems stupid. But then if that's true, why do we brush our teeth before going to the dentist? Or trimming before going to the waxing appointment? Or even cleaning the house prior to the cleaning lady coming over....all services we willingly seek out and pay (dearly) for.

It's for approval. You want to be given kudos for maintaining your (teeth/lady parts/house) items between sessions. Approval that you took care of your new clean teeth for six months! When you walk out of that waxing appointment you are going to use your power for good and when you return for follow up there's travel and excitement to share! Trust me, you want the same from a WW Leader. You want to see the smile of congrats when you've lost from the week before. That hint of jealousy that they themselves wish for a second that was their success we were celebrating. To be better than when last you met. To have something to bring to the table.

Same goes for exes. You always want to look better, smell better, seem stronger than when you last met.

I can't change what will register when I get back on the horse this weekend at the meeting. Just like I can't worry about what I'll look like the next time I see my ex. I should be thankful I don't have to be naked for either.

Why Gay bars have Kleenex

2010-01-13T22:56:00.002-06:00

It's not easy to admit that I've cried in some strange places for a myriad of reasons. Though I am proud to admit that it hasn't been often as of late. With the exception of tonight.

Add yet another bar. A bar ill equipped to handle an emotional outpour with a best friend. A PBR Irish bar.

Fucking Cancer. Fucking absent Kleenex. God Damn dog.

I am not one to cry in front of people. I hate it. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable - two things I just don't put up with in myself. Yet I'm not naive to think that it hasn't happened, won't happen....I just can't stand it when it does.

My best friend starts Chemo next week.

Fucking Cancer. I'd like to go two rounds with you in a ring. Two rounds. First round I get surprised by how dirty you fight and the next round I KICK YOUR ASS.

But it's like boxing smoke. Elusive and coy...one minute right in your face and the next not even a shadow on the mat. So instead, I pour my weakness into something constructive. A benefit for her. Something that can provide comfort to her and her husband. Selfishly it makes me feel good for contributing.

But there are nights that we sit and laugh until we cry - and then cry until we laugh. Tonight we started laughing over PBR and Chardonnay and bar pizzas. Then we started to talk about the benefit and the crying started - the, "I can't believe the amount of support and love that is out there" kind of crying. So we paid the bill at the PRR bar and decided to call it a night.

Unfortunately (or is it fortunate) that our train stop is literally twenty paces from a gay bar called Scot's. How do two girls sharing laughs and tears in a straight bar pass up a drink at the gay bar?! Moments after arriving we were bought a martini and shots. Gay men just aren't scared off by the prospect of crying; they are drawn to it like moths to flame.

So for those of you that I sent texts to that seemed odd or out of left center, I don't apologize but I offer the explanation of PBR draft beers, gay men and a dog named Wilson. If you'd been there with me in person you'd have appreciated the fact that Gay bars have Kleenex readily available.

Here's to you Crescent Prah. I will bring the Kleenex, kick Cancer's ass, and cry anywhere, anytime as long as it's with you. Just promise that someday it can be my dog that we take pictures of in a bar.

Boom! Rubber Band

2010-01-11T21:27:00.002-06:00

Here's a weird thing....rubber bands.

Tell me, when was the last time you remember purchasing a rubber band? Go ahead, think about it. I'll wait.

Waiting. ...............................................................still waiting.................give up? Yeah don't feel bad, I can't either. But I knew that (this is my topic after all) I just wanted to see how long you'd try. Even though you can't recall when you acquired a rubber band I bet you could walk to your kitchen or your desk and find a handful of these rascals scattered in the drawer. Rubber bands are like those dryer sheets that sometimes hide out in the crotch of your pants until at the most inopportune moment, say like when you are in line at the bank , it decides to make a break for it and shimmy down the pant leg and escape by sneaking past the sock. FREE AT LAST.

(What in the hell does a used dryer sheet have in store for itself after preventing static cling? I doubt roller coasters and pony rides are on the agenda. Maybe a sort of lining for a bird's nest possibly?)

I think about rubber bands all the time. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I "collect" bands (that's more than a little fishy) but I do know when and where I get them from. You can walk around my house and find a few bands hanging on random door knobs or cupboard knobs -- always handy -- and even one hanging in my shower, but that's a special one. These get used in a myriad of ways from long term to quick fixes. You just never know when you'll need one, a good band is hard to find.

(Get it? Good band....like man........wow, I've been away too long. Either I'm rusty or you've forgotten my sense of humor. Let's get it together people!)

Postal workers are NOTORIOUS for dropping bands all down the sidewalks of their routes in Chicago, like Hansel and Gretel and the breadcrumbs. All I have to do is walk two blocks out of my way and have enough bands to last the next couple months. I like to remind myself not only am I being frugal, I'm also doing a good deed by collecting these off the ground so some yippy little dog doesn't choke to death when he decides a chewy rubber band is a good afternoon snack.

(Only yippy dogs. Big dogs wouldn't bother with anything smaller than a fan belt.)

When I was growing up my parents owned a grocery store and my mom was the Non-Foods Manager. That meant on days when the stock came in we would have to help replenish the shelves. Boxes of Tylenol held together with a rubber band, bottles of cough syrup clinging together inside a rubber band -- container after container of the same. By the end of it you'd have rubber bands lined up from wrist to elbow. Enough rubber bands to last a lifetime. It was a bitch and a half to get those Mothers off your arm. Usually leaving a hairless forearm as proof of a job well done.

I venture to guess that after reading this you will catch yourself noticing the existence of rubber bands more. And, if you want yet more excitement, you can do what an old acquaintance of mine started doing. Every time he'd see a rubber band on the floor or sidewalk he'd yell, "BOOM! Rubber band" and pick it up.

I bet his forearm is hairless.

All Skate

2009-12-01T21:31:00.007-06:00

I don't know how many of you are out there reading my postings, I know for certain there are six of you. For you six, plus anyone else reading, I offer an apology for not writing more frequently. Even as I sit here apologizing to you for not writing I feel like this post is sucking monkey balls and I don't want to finish it. It's just that I haven't had a lot to say which is surprising since I'm not lacking things bumping around in my head -- trust me, it's like a goddamn roller skating rink in there -- thoughts just keep going round and round and round and round....getting dizzy...and I'm afraid of what will happen when the song stops and I need to make sense of it all. I'm avoiding it. And in the last 20 years I've crafted some very strong avoidance techniques so I'm really good at it. Huh, too bad there isn't some way to get paid to avoid things......what?

Honestly, I have been trying to decide what to write about for the last couple weeks and when I finally get a nugget of a topic started in my head, I lose it before I get the time or energy to start writing. To help explain how it feels, let's keep going with the roller skating analogy. It's like the thoughts that are going round and round in my head daily are the expert speed skaters, the kind that do all those fancy tricks and backward skating in the middle of the rink. They are effortless and unlimited. Then the creative ideas, the lists of things to do, the weekend plans and compliments for friends, care and concern to give, decisions and Christmas wishes are the little kids on skates for the first time flung to the outer edges of the rink. Barely able to stand erect, they cling to the shag carpeted walls on the outside and try to muster the strength to make it a quarter of the way to the next exit. Here their skates hit the worn carpeted safety zone and they feel that relief that the attention is no longer theirs. All the while the advanced skaters are doing bigger tricks and skating faster and more furious with the extra room that has been created with the exodus of all the carpet clutchers.

This is what is happening. This is why I apologize to you six (teen?) readers. I just don't want to write about the thoughts that are the speed skaters in my rink. And I'm afraid until they've exhausted themselves, or I cut off their feet, I have no choice but to wait it out.

That said, today is December 1st. It's almost a year since Test Your Pen's conception. I'm really proud and really thankful that you bother to come back and check it out, it means a lot to me. You should register and be counted with the other brave 6 souls that are "followers." While it won't get you a free meal or cup of coffee, it does make you a member of a very elite group. Act now and for anyone who registers before the end of the year that person can name the topic of a posting I have to write about. Your registration, your choice of posting topic. What a deal! Hurry, only 30 days left!! Just think, you could play a huge part in making the speed skaters stop so the newbies can come back to the rink and entertain you!

Just around the corner

2009-11-05T15:41:00.006-06:00

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort.
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.

The time will come. But until I get to raise a pint with you again, my friend, try and stay out of trouble. Remember, you still owe me that re-match; I'm going to miss the shit out of you until then.

Peter Ferrigan
November 5th, 2009

Holy Hot Strips!

2009-10-07T22:21:00.003-05:00

Hell, that fucking hurt.

Ladies, here are two tid-bits of knowledge for you:

1. If you should decide at some point in your life to begin waxing, realize you can never stop. Not for NOTHING. If it's a money issue, cancel cable or stop eating food. Always be sure to allot the time and the funds. If you are going to do it, it becomes priority numero uno.

2. When the aesthetician says, "Looks like I bruised you" don't giggle. She's not making a funny aesthetician joke and it is entirely possible she did.

Not only did I have a chance to reenact the Kelly Clarkson scene from 40 Year Old Virgin, I can also say proof-positive that there isn't a place on me that isn't capable of bruises.

I'm wondering if I got the tip right seeing how I was the one that left with bruises.

I wish I were kidding

2009-09-21T21:45:00.006-05:00

Thanks to a really great guy I now spend a lot of time noticing bikes and gear and stuff related to bikes. I am pretty regularly (and easily) entertained by this. Big bikes, little ones, custom made, tricked out, expensive, mountain vs. hybrid vs. road, clip shoes, messenger bags, saddles....the list goes on.

So not all that surprising that as I was walking to the gym tonight I came upon a lady -- probably in her mid-sixties with silver grey hair gathered in a loose ponytail, wearing comfy but functional attire -- putting a brand new awesome looking bike transporter on the back of a new-ish red hatchback car (probably eco-friendly) and looking quite happy with her accomplishment. Not at all surprising that I found myself starring at the contraption, curious about the brand and how it was attached to her city-appropriate, eco-friendly car.

No not surprising. What was surprising was that I chose to say the following words........out loud........while walking right past her and her proud new purchase........................................"Hey, nice rack."

Yeah, and I am not joking. Not even a little.

Blur

2009-09-17T18:59:00.002-05:00

AAAAARRGH. If I don't escape out of the city soon, I think there will be some serious issues.

I need to be away from my desk.......
Away from phone and email.........
I need open sky.......and a kanteen of wine.

I haven't sat in front of a campfire
or watched stars, rowed a boat
or walked on the beach yet this Summer.

My insomnia is back, I can't resist snacking and my face is a mess
I'm quick to lose patience and I can't make a decision to save my life.

I want to be excited and surprised; goofy and optimistic. If I continue with this current state I'm going to be thought of as that snarky ugly girl with dull hair and a bad attitude. I'M TRULY NOT A BAD ATTITUDE KIND OF CHICK!! WHILE NEVER MISS SUNSHINE, I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO BRIGHTEN SOMEONE'S DAY, I AM CAPABLE OF IT. I think.

But lately I find myself doubting my ability to be a good friend, a good daughter, co-worker or neighbor. I can't imagine why anyone puts up with my distracted behaviour and my total apathy toward making plans and arranging outings. I'm just so tired.

And it's all been so blurry. I need to get out of the city.

Fuck it

2009-08-27T22:44:00.005-05:00

I'm going back red.

Marilyn's Wisdom

2009-08-26T15:12:00.009-05:00

I read this every single day. Sometimes it registers that I'm reading it, other days I'm just skimming the words, habitually. Today is one of those days the meaning is not lost on me. I know someone for whom it will not be lost on either. You're a tough chick, my friend. This will be a part of your past and better things will come along.

I believe that everything happens for a reason.
People change so you can learn to let go.
Things go wrong so that you can appreciate them when they go right.
You believe lies so you eventually learn to trust yourself.
And sometimes good things fall apart so that better things can fall together.

- Marilyn Monroe

A True "Commuter" Breakfast: sometimes a hardboiled egg just doesn't cut it.

2009-08-25T18:21:00.004-05:00

My new favorite meal.

1 egg
1/3cup egg whites
1/4 cup chopped Canadian bacon
1/4 cup fat free Feta cheese
1/4 cup diced green pepper

Spray Butter or Pam*
4 slices fresh tomato*
2 slices whole wheat bread, English muffin or bagel*
Pepper/Hot Sauce*

In a glass Mason jar - with lid - crack egg and add the next four ingredients. Tightly secure lid to jar. Throw it in your bag and jump on your bike. Ride approximately 8 miles.

Spray a microwave safe dish with butter spray or Pam and dump in egg concoction. Microwave on high for about 3 minutes or until egg is no longer liquid. While microwaving egg, toast bread and slice tomato. Divide egg concoction between the two pieces of toast and top with pepper, hot sauce and tomato.

*Because I regularly make this at work, I keep fresh tomato, hot sauce and bread on-hand at the office rather than try and commute with it.

Deficient in more ways than one

2009-08-18T11:22:00.005-05:00

I've learned that I have a rather extreme vitamin 'D' deficiency. Since learning of my inadequate-ness I have decided all my troubles must be a result of low levels of Vitamin D......Physical, mental, financial and personal frustrations......they must all be affected by not having enough vitamin D.

All I have to do is get more vitamin D and everything will be perfect. I'm on my way to the drugstore, want me to pick some up for you too? Maybe that's all any of us need......more D.

Someone's Over Reacting

2009-08-13T21:14:00.003-05:00

Hmmm........who could it be now? Who could it be?

Me. I'm the over reactor. Add it to the list.

I went to the doctor today. Routine, mostly. Though I haven't been feeling tip-top lately. I experience regular bouts of insomnia and I've had it pretty consistent for the past month. I've tried to be excited about it -- think how much I could get done with an extra four hours every night! But it's really annoying. I want to sleep when I'm supposed to be working, I'm a zombie on the train in the morning....it's just not a good time. I decided it would be best to go ahead and have everything ruled out, so blood work was on the agenda today. I also knew that I had to get a booster shot. Tetanus, Diphtheria and Whooping Cough.

Whooping Cough? Yeah.

Initially I was more freaked out about the booster than I was about the blood work. I don't like needles. I don't like the smell of rubbing alcohol. And I make sure to tell the nurse that when she walks thru the door. Today was no different. Except that it was.

Things got all out of order and I ended up sitting in that horribly designed paper napkin night gown ----which I don't understand why they bother saying "ties in the front" because it's not like it stays tied or conceals anything. I'd say just save the forty-two cents and have the patients sit naked as a jay bird ---so there I sit and the nurse comes in for the blood work, except that I'm expecting Dr. B so then when she knocks and comes in its like a big party. And I look like the guest that thought it was a clothing optional soiree. Party foul.

So I sit there trying to be nonchalant and casual in my barely there dress and stocking feet while the two ladies catch up on the gossip around the office. When they remember I'm there they get down to business and start to prep my arm for the taking of the blood.

Now, let me state that while I hate needles I'm lucky that my left arm's vein is like Old Faithful. It's accessible and cooperative. With the exception of today. As I sit there with my eyes averted I feel the pinch and the burn and then I hear her say, "hmmm, honey did you not drink any water this morning?"

Great.

So now I start getting a little panicky and I feel her start rooting around trying to latch in and strike a vein. She finally gets it and starts sucking out the four vials she'll need. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. About the third one in I hear Dr. B say, "Honey are you feeli----" and then I was out. How fortunate that I was already seated on the table because it came in handy. Not only am I the party guest that shows up scantily clad, but now I have flashed the other guests. I'm never getting invited back.

I was only out for a matter a seconds but the nurse made the mistake of worrying about me and not the blood that was running down my arm from when I fell back. So when I come to and look at the mess the bees start buzzing and I feel like I'm headed back to the pass out palace. By the time the exam was thru and the booster came, I was as seasoned as a junkie. Bring it.

I deserved a gold star and a cookie. Instead, I got a non-latex band-aid and a co-pay. Life can be really unfair as an adult.

Giving all new meaning to, "Bend an elbow"

2009-08-04T21:00:00.004-05:00

Holy Crap.

I'm sorry fellas...this one's for the ladies tonight. I was sitting here thinking about the post I was going to make about Summer smells and Summer sounds.....but I just can't seem to get that started because my mind keeps drifting. It sort of goes with the Summer theme. Sort of. So let's put that post on the back burner and let me charge ahead with this other one.

White tee-shirts.

More specifically, men IN white tee-shirts.

Are you warm? Can you turn a fan on? Because it's getting hot in here. Stark white, soft grey, athletic grey.....oh my, oh my. I am not a chic who gets mad at guys for checking out other chics in dresses, tank tops, tight jeans-whatev. If it looks good, appreciate it. It would be hypocritical of me to get bothered by it because you better damn well believe that I check out those tee-shirt clad guys on the train or the sidewalk or the office building across the way.

Oh hell yeah I do. Specifically, I love that three inch space between the elbow and the sleeve.

SEE?! You can understand how I am too distracted tonight with these thoughts of tee-shirts to write a Summer post about fireflies, full moons, garden hoses and screen doors. Yeah, I'd rather contemplate elbows and sleeves. Simple, inexpensive, yet effective, turn-ons.

Don't worry, if this wasn't what you were expecting to read from me, I'm sure it will pass and I'll be back to my sarcastic witty self in the next post.........come back and see for yourself.

Just know it sure would be cooler if you have a tee-shirt on.

Whoops

2009-07-31T09:38:00.002-05:00

Dear Upstairs Neighbor,
My sincerest apology if I scared the beejeesus out of you this morning. Your apartment was not being broken into. I mistook your apartment, on the third floor, for mine, on the second floor. You can understand how easily that second floor slipped right past me as I was climbing the stairs, right?

If you suffered any trauma or damages to your property when I was banging on the door and cursing, such as shitting your pants or wetting the bed, I will gladly reimburse you. It's the least I can do for not realizing the reason my key wasn't working wasn't the doors fault, it was my own stupidity hard at work.

Were you able to get back to sleep? I know 6:30 a.m. is a bit on the early side for your morning to start. I usually don't hear you until at least 7:45. I hope you were able to enjoy a good breakfast with the extra time I provided you. Hey, maybe some afternoon we could even meet in person for the first time and share a laugh over this little incident. Whadaya say?

Sincerely,
The Moron Who Lives Below You

Can Tomorrow NOT Be Like Today?

2009-07-29T23:06:00.004-05:00

I firmly believe that every kitchen cupboard in every home should always have sprinkles handy. No matter if there are kids around or not. You just never know when there will be a need for sprinkles.

Rainbow colored sprinkles to be exact. They always seem to turn my mood around -- try swearing, or crying, while eating something with sprinkles, I think you'll agree that it's more than challenging. I've even started my day with rainbow sprinkled oatmeal with bananas. Or on my yogurt.

We've already established that I'm a pretty simple chic. I don't require a lot of maintenence. I don't need all the extra drama. I prefer things natural and easy going. So I like knowing that if I've had one of those days (I have) ....the kind where riding the train in an endless loop sounds like a good way to spend the remainder of the day....or playing hide and go seek, with no one seeking.....I like knowing that it will only take some rainbow colored sprinkles to make me feel better.

Clean up in aisle 7

2009-07-28T21:48:00.006-05:00

Ok WTF?!

Let's talk groceries. Specifically bad taste, band wagons, shortcomings and science projects. All of which somehow came into my knowledge within the past 24 hours. And I'm not joking.

I mistakenly selected a new flavor of Yoplait Light yogurt from the dairy case yesterday. I didn't realize until I got home that it was Cinnamon Bun flavor. I don't even like cinnamon rolls so imagine my disgust to find that I had brought home the cold, fat free, dairy version of one. But I'm sort of frugal. So I figured......it must have some redeeming quality since the taste testing focus groups held across the country voted yay to seeing it on the supermarket shelves.

Well, apparently this country's taste testers HAVE LOST EVERY LAST ONE OF THEIR TASTE BUDS FROM SMOKING ALL THE CRACK. Fuck frugal. It went into the trash faster than icing melts on hot buns.

Next: Little Debbie, yeah that whore, has apparently jumped on the 100 calorie band wagon and is now pushing her snack-wrapped crack-cakes to 'health conscious' snackers who can't bear the thought of denying their lust for Little Debbie while they work to take off that pesky 100 pounds they somehow picked up.

Take for example the Nutty Bar. The glorious ooey-gooey wafer bar drenched in chocolate and wrapped two in a package. Now there's a single wrapped bar option which short changes you on the chocolate and calls itself a 100 calorie deal. As if you should be THANKFUL that Little Debbie has provided you her baked goods in a healthier version. Sorry Debbie, you don't go to the strip club hoping to find someone to take brisk Sunday afternoon walks with. You go in knowing full well what you are getting into. And that it's going to cost you a whole lot. Same thing with your Nutty Bars. If I'm going to do it, I'll do it knowing damn well that there's a days worth of calories nestled between those delicious wafers of yours. You've always been better at playing the temptress, Little D. Now is not the time to try mend your evil ways.

Then there was today's embarrassment for my Sargento "light" string cheese. I was pleased as punch to find this lower calorie version at my Jewel. Normally I purchase the Trader Joe "light" string cheese but I wasn't going to make it there yesterday and I was out. Well, imagine my surprise when I took Sarge out of the package only to find that it was noticeably shorter compared to Joe. So much so that I immediately thought about what they say to middle aged men who drive sport cars...."Nice car. Sorry about your penis." I considered that what Sarge lacked in size he made up for in taste. Meh. So-so. I guess Sargento feels better about its shortcomings by marketing itself as "light" rather than "inadequate." Whatever works for you dear. I'm usually not a picky girl when it comes to these things, but I think I prefer my inch more from Joe. What a stud.

And last, you probably want to hear about the science project. Now, I will say that I have yet to validate this, but it comes to me from a trusted source. Apparently, if you put bologna in direct sunlight it will tan. Great. Just when I thought bologna couldn't be more disgusting I find out this gross little factoid. I promise if I'm ever walking down the sidewalk and there's a piece of bologna lying there, tanning, you'll see a girl hurl.

Alberto Contador, The Criterium and me

2009-07-26T21:04:00.008-05:00

The Chicago Criterium 2009

I spent the day in the loop today being a spectator at the 2nd Criterium held in Chicago. Cyclists from all over came to compete and many fans, friends and family lined the route to cheer their rider on. While I didn't have one rider in particular to cheer on, it didn't matter. The talent of all these athletes deserves cheering for.

I wish I had started biking along time ago. As it stands, I've really only been biking a few short months. Since starting back in May I've already participated in three organized Chicago events: Bike the Drive, Bike to Work and the L.A.T.E. Ride. I've also ridden the North Branch trail twice. Being on my bike makes me happy.

I am reminded of my mom telling me her story of how she became an avid cyclist -- and in the beginning not one with a fancy shirt and matching shorts or helmet or fancy clip pedals. She became a cyclist because she had to. Her bike was all she had to call her own after a very big life change. After I was born she continued to ride and I have many memories of being in her bike seat. I also remember the four of us riding the back country roads as a family. Her blue bike even became the one I rode when I was big enough to reach the pedals.

And now I find myself on the seat of another one of mom's bikes. This time it is a fancy bike that does have clip pedals and fancy upgrades. Some she added, some I have added. No matter what I put on it additionally, the bare bones frame and two tires represent something very similar to me that mom's first bike meant to her. It's what I have to depend on. This bike gets me to places on the day to day (work, grocery store, errands) and on those other days it gets me far away. As far away as my legs will go. I am starting again, on my own this time, and this bike accompanies on my journey.

Sometimes the road seems to end or the daylight runs out before I get to where I need to be. And I don't mean the destination. I mean where I need to be in my head. When I bike I find myself focusing on so much of the tension that swims in my head -- with each turn of the wheel, I fit another puzzle piece together and the picture continues to take shape.

I had a class in college that was a mandatory seminar for Seniors. Supposedly it was to prepare us for the stress that was to come with graduation and I guess the "start to life." Except that I had already been living real life --renting at 18, full time work and full time school-- so it seems this class was about six years too late on the whole helping deal with stress theme. Who's bitter? In this class, which involved a lot of journaling, we were asked to share what our "flow" was. Well, I couldn't come up with one. At all. In fact, I still have the journal and just flipped back to recall what I had come up with. I had written, "cleaning." Yep. How sad is that? But I wasn't riding a bike then. If I were to be asked to complete that assignment today I wouldn't even hesitate. It's biking.

So for all of you who are years ahead of me on this, I am happy to join you in the peloton. I'm really very comfortable here in the middle and I thank you for pulling me along while I learn the ropes and take in the sights. I'll do the same for you when I get stronger.

The peloton travels as an integrated unit, like birds flying in formation, each rider making slight adjustments in response to the riders around him (or her) (particularly the one in front of each). When developed, riders at the front are exposed to higher loads, and will tend to slip off the front in order to rejoin the pack further back. In some cases, with sufficient room to maneuver, this will develop into a fluid situation where the center of the peloton appears to be pushing through its own leading

I Double Dog Dare Me

2009-07-13T23:11:00.001-05:00

Shit.
I realize I've been getting a little too complacent in my old age. I get into my groove and look up to realize half a year is gone and I haven't done anything much out of the ordinary. I haven't sought any excitement. That's not how I promised myself I would grow old. New adventures, new experiences. Small ones, big ones, life changing ones....anything as long as it's constantly new. This time a few years ago I was stranded in the desert wondering if the tow truck would actually come find us and even if they did, would the bike start? You talk about out of the ordinary...try watching the sunset in the mountains of the Arizona desert and realizing very quickly that there are no street lamps that will flicker on once that sun passes the horizon. But eventually the tow came and the adventure turned into a great story to tell. And that's important. It's not my money or status or age or beauty (OK, yeah that matters some) rather it is is when I am in a conversation that my audience finds me captivating.

And captivating isn't easy. I know, because I am continually working on it.

You'd think my fear of being boring would overwhelmingly admonish the complacency trait. The small voice in the back of my skull (that we ALL have) is constantly wondering if the words coming out of my mouth are intriguing to the listener. I honestly will say there are many a time when that little voice will say, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP" but it's as if the words are riding an express bus out of my mouth. If there are interesting stories being delivered on that express bus it redeems my conversation.

But you have to do shit to have shit to talk about.

Don't get me wrong, I love my routine. I love that I only have to consider one source (ME) and I am really easy to please so I play well with myself....oh stop giggling, that's not what I meant. I don't have to check-in or worry about conflicts. I do whatever floats my boat. Granted it's a little old row boat, but it's afloat.

But I'll admit, it gets lonely in my row boat. I would love to row up to a passing dock and take on a traveling companion once in awhile. I love to hear stories. I love to share my stories. I continue to believe that you experience things each and every day, but if you aren't able to experience them with someone occasionally it will feel like you imagined it. That passenger can assure you that you didn't.

If you are ever interested in sharing some stories with a girl in her row boat, just wave from the beach. I'd be happy to make room for the adventure.

Completed List entry

2009-07-06T21:23:00.002-05:00

Night Swimming

Lifestyle of the clumsy and sleep deprived

2009-06-22T22:35:00.004-05:00

Just like the riddle, "which came first....chick or egg," I have to wonder if my clumsy ways are due to the sleep deprivation or if the sleep deprivation is there because I'm so afraid of rolling out of bed while asleep that I freak myself out just enough that I never get to the REM sleep.

You think I'm joking, don't you. Well, two facts remain: I haven't had a full seven hours sleep in about three weeks -- I'm averaging about four, four and a half on the outside. And the stupidest of self-inflicted injuries was added to the list as of Sunday afternoon. While folding laundry.

Which brings me to the post. I was asked tonight, after giving all the sordid details of my latest dumb-fuck move, if I was generally a clumsy person. I quickly answered an emphatic, "No." I mean, we all slam our fingers in the silverware drawer or get papercuts from time to time. So perhaps I answered a bit quickly wanting it to be true, knowing it wasn't. Though I will say that of the Zimmerman girls, I will ALWAYS come in second to my sister who is the undefeated champ in the pissing contest with gravity. The girl nearly broke her collarbone FALLING OFF A STOOL showing someone her new shoes, her head was mistaken for a softball when she was three, she fell off my bed at five (allegedly due to a misplaced chair she was sitting in. Which may or may not have been put there by me. Allegedly.) and split her leg crawling into her apartment through the kitchen window.

.....Ok, so that may have had less to do with gravity and more to do with vodka, but I think you can see how even sober that could have played the same.....

God help us all if I ever manage to defeat her title. But obviously it's not for the lack of trying.

Take for example my attempts: Stepping on razor, barefoot. Being taken for a walk by my Granddad's black lab...through the hedges. Mistakenly putting lip cream on my eyes and eye cream on my lips after a bad sunburn and having my eyes swell shut. Laying in insulation because it looked like cotton candy (by the way, anything that color pink should be edible, not be made up of glass shards.) Punching myself out with a right cross in a group fitness class. Coming up to a red light and stopping my bike precisely next to a pot hole and almost falling off my bike when I set my foot down into it. Introducing my face to a slippery pile of wet rocks, twice.

.....Ok, so that may have had less to do with gravity and more to do with beer, but I think you can see how even sober that could have played the same.....

and my latest feeble attempt....Nearly breaking my wrist slamming down on the back of couch frame. I'm brilliant I tell ya, brilliant. I now realize my previous answer tonight must be retracted and, "Yes, yes I am clumsy" must be noted for the record.

Don't think for a hot second that I don't appreciate what hasn't happened to me, self-inflicted or other, because I know damn well there are much worse things out there. Please, please, know that I don't need to experience any of them. Not when I can just go ask my sister.

And you can keep the belt, sis. I don't want to defeat title.

Hold on Dorothy, Oz is just around the next bend

2009-06-17T21:35:00.003-05:00

Miss me? I've been around, just not able to collect my thoughts long enough to post. I've been feeling a bit like Dorothy caught in the tornado on her way to waking up in Oz. When last you checked in with the Pen Test site, I was feeling the effects of gigantic plastic mugs of PBR. Since then I've been finalizing some details. I can finally announce that it's finished. I am moving.

I wish I could announce it was to the other side of the Pond, but not yet. However, I'm proud to share that I have found a new apartment (in Chicago). I know the six readers I have may understand why that's a big deal, maybe not, but many of you who I have not yet met (and I do hope there are at least 15 of you) may wonder what the hell the big deal is? People move all the time. Well, not this people. That's why I feel a little like Dorothy.

It's been seven years that I've lived in my Lincoln Square apartment. My home. I've had laughs and heartbreak, hangovers and recoveries, dinners and board games, showers and fights here. I've watched one occupant leave and another replace him. I've shared many a sorrow and made more memories than seem possible. If the walls could talk, I'd be in trouble. It's time to leave and I think dwelling in this one place for as long as I have, while unexpected, was necessary. There's been a good deal of truth and reality had here, it's time to take the lessons and put them to use. In my own space. White walls, ready to soak up my new experiences like paint. I've never lived alone and while it seems daunting to spend even more time with myself, I can't wait.

Corri, I have loved having you as my roommate and friend. Somehow Porch Counsel has to find a way to continue. There's a special place in my heart for you and I know the reason for our move is a good one; Congratulations on the engagement! And while he's a boy, Scott will make an even better roommate than me. Come visit me in Oz sometime....

Pass the Schnitzel and the.....PBR?!

2009-05-30T10:11:00.007-05:00

May Fest (LNSQ): Drinking PBR out of a giant plastic mug doesn't make it any more German or any less disgusting. It will, however, make it easier to hear oom-pah music for hours and be less hostel when getting jostled around in a crowd of 1,500 other giant plastic mug carrying drunkards.

Good times.

Realization....

2009-05-21T18:57:00.003-05:00

I live in a cool city.

Go ahead, open your umbrella indoors

2009-05-20T23:00:00.004-05:00

Had one of those moments on the train today. You know the one, where you're reading along in the paper and all of a sudden your brain actually comprehends what it's reading and had it not you would have just kept skimming over the sentences pretending wholeheartedly to read the paper.

Yeah, I knew you knew what I was talking about. One of those moments.

Anyway, when the mental brakes engaged, I threw it in reverse and traveled back to the beginning of the horoscopes.

What? Yes, I read the paper including the comics, horoscopes and the weather. So what if the most redeemable part of the Chicago Tribune happens to be everything outside of the daily news? As a side note, here are two interesting facts:

1. The sections I read, in this order: Sports, Chicagoland, the "fun" section (Food, Live!, or the Friday section etc...) Business and then the Front page if there's time.

2. I only have the paper delivered Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday. I find that it's challenging enough to stay current on four days let alone all seven. I, too, find myself with unread Sunday papers at brunch.

Anyway, back to the Horoscope section this morning because it concerns you.....and you.......and you over there pretending not to be paying attention with your sunglasses on and your earphones in.....I know you're starring at me. Listen up. You'll all be interested to know that not one of us, not the Capricorns, or the Aquarians, the Libras, Sagitarians or Geminarians are in for anything less than a "6" day today.

See why my brain went, "Whoa!?"

Typically I read this particular section and search out the high sign, the sign that gets to have a "Today is a 9" day and I think, "Lucky bitches" because it's most always NOT my sign. I don't take this personally because I happen to know quite a few Aquarians so I feel that we can bond over our unfortunate ranking. On the blue moon occasion when I find out the Aquarians happen to be Prom Queen, I get all giggly and can't sit still. Like it's a birthday party or something.

After looking for the big number, I'll skim to find the sign that should quite possibly not get out of bed, the "Today is a 2" day. What sucks ass is when it's my sign and I'm already dressed and on the train, reading the paper. Sometimes it pays to sit leisurely at home and read the paper BEFORE getting dressed and heading out. I mean, if you read that your entire day's success rate is only going to top out at a 2, wouldn't you give some serious consideration to a sick day?

So imagine my perplexion (it's a word) when I can't find the niner and there's no little pip-squeak two among any of the signs. We are all either a 6 or a 7. The only explanation I came up with is that the Zodiac was either feeling apathetic and couldn't be bothered to dole out anything more than a tiny bit better than mediocre (which would be a 5) or it was still in bed and not alone....if you catch my drift *wink, wink* *nudge, nudge* and just needed to finish assigning success rates so it could get back to bizness. Either way, I guess you could say it's a win-win for all parties involved.

That would be all of us, people.

Hope you took advantage of your 6 or 7 and made choices you might not have made had today been a 2. Or paid a little closer attention to detail since you weren't given the gift of a 9 today. I bet it's just one of those wacky coinky dinks that won't happen again for a coon's age.

Or until the Zodiac gets lucky again.

Expense Report

2009-05-09T13:45:00.006-05:00

Job-related trauma. It's a common occurrence. There is even worker's compensation to provide assistance for someone injured while "on the job."

Police persons are at high risk of being shot at. EMT's could easily get in a car crash. Chefs, burned or cut. Athletes, jock itch. Vegas dancers, bunions. Lifeguards, ending up on a new version of Baywatch (shutter!) these are all traumatic injuries.

So when I discover that my elbows are chaffed, from sitting at a desk......

Chaffed elbows. From typing. At my job. What?!

.........I wonder what worker's comp I could qualify for. Probably not more than a soft gauze pad or maybe a flexible band aid. My luck I'd be handed a maxi pad and told to tape it to my elbow for extra padding. Which got me thinking of all the things an office professional such as myself would expense given the chance.

Weekly massages. Without hesitation I put this at the top of the list. Forget pretty coffee mugs or fresh cream. I could care less about free soda in the kitchen or bagels on Friday. Give me ninety minutes being rubbed and pressed and stretched.

Ergonomic chair. Seeing how I sit for such extensive periods, I may as well be comfortable. I'm not asking for an Easy-boy.

Hydraulic desk. In the event the ergonomic chair isn't adequate enough on its own, I'd like the option to stand. This shouldn't be hard to convince my boss. He has one.

Coffee. I try not to drink a lot of afternoon coffee but sometimes it's a necessity and if I am buying it, chances are I'm looking for a good excuse to leave the aforementioned ergo chair and desk, so the right to expense it seems fair. Not to mention the fact that we have an employee who'll make the occasional afternoon pot of coffee and applies the Kellogg Raisin Bran slogan, "Two Scoops in Every Box" as her measuring guide.

Pencils. Yeah, I realize this is old school but my love for Ticonderoga's isn't going anywhere. Technology has a tendency to have intermitent outages now and again.

There's probably more, but you're probably reading this thinking, "But I have these things at my company."

Consider yourself spoiled and don't complain about the long wait at the elevator bank in your building. And if you could spare a couple of cotton balls and some flexible band-aids, I'd appreciate it. My elbows aren't getting any softer.

Can I get another?

2009-05-08T22:45:00.007-05:00

It's no wonder that booze is readily available at funerals and going away parties.

Why don't we turn to brussel sprouts for comfort? Is there something unfriendly about things that are pulled from a garden? Is comfort best felt when it comes from something derived in a barrel or concocted in a barn?

Any emotion be it frustration, sadness, anxiety, stress is all the more manageable when we wrap a warm soft blanket of alcohol around it. The brutal week, the rough patch, the unexpected goodbye....they all seem easier to conquer when we feel a little blurry......our breath is slow and easy......our reaction time lethargic.

It's as if we've been caught in a flash from a camera. The tracers linger and for just a moment nothing can be seen, it's all a wall of bright reflected light. Like static for the eyes.

Then, as quick as the shutter opens, the eyes blink and the scene becomes focused, no more soft fuzzy edges. And then we order another hoping to get right back under that blanket. Oh boy what a day today has been. What I wouldn't give to be on the beach in Manistee wrapped in my personal blanket and starring up at the stars. The beach coupled with the whiskey I've entertained tonight would do this girl some good. Open space tends to calm me.

Before my last ice cube sucks the glass dry, I raise my glass and bid a fond farewell to a rockin' co-worker and friend. Here's to tamales, injury reports, cussing, cackles and sunshine. Safe travels and many happy successes to you.

Chicago on my mind

2009-05-07T15:00:00.007-05:00

I am unbelievably happy sitting here having had an outrageous whirlwind afternoon. It's amazing what can be done in 122 minutes. I've been on the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier (check!) and had bonafide sushi (check!) which included eel, smoked salmon and super white tuna. There's a chance there was some Tobika, but I'm highly doubtful. Or suspicious that it would have agreed so well with me. All I remember is sitting there while I was humming with pleasure. **Shout out to Meiji

I know you may find it hard to believe some maki and an eight minute ride around a wheel would make me so reflective, but it does. I truly feel, as I sit here at my desk considering how many unknown, unexplored streets and corners and pockets of the world there are out there, thrilled to have done something grand with a random Thursday.

Yes, I find that it is terribly unfair not to be out in it doing and seeing and experiencing....right. this. minute.....It just makes me appreciate it that much more when it happens. The whole "Stop and smell the roses" theme is beginning to be clearer and clearer to this chic. You can't take anything for granted. Each and every minute can be exhilarating, you just have to pay attention.

The List

2009-04-27T21:46:00.028-05:00

Throw a dinner party - soup to nuts
Visit the Makers Mark Distillery (Kentucky)
Go camping
Ride the NYC Subway
Ride horses in Montana
See the Aurora Borealis (Northern Lights)
Buy Original Artwork of an artist I meet
Boat Cruise on Lake Michigan
Water taxi down the Chicago River
Have BBQ in Louisiana
Go to New Orleans, New York, Boston, Austin, Amsterdam, Valencia, Italy, Ireland, Vancouver..........
Ride in a Hot Air Balloon
Take a burlesque lesson
Perform burlesque lesson
Makeout in a pool
Skinny dip in a lake
Night Canoeing
Canoeing down the Chicago river
Prom re-do
Be painted on like canvas
Go back for Masters degree
A career position in the Nutrition field
Learn to play a Theremin
Paint my own original artwork
Make tamales
Ride in a convertible
Learn to drive a stick shift
Go to a shooting range and practice
Laser Tag
Make Freezer Jam
Volunteer to rock babies at the hospital
Attend the Symphony
Go to Ravinia
See Keith Carter's photos
Go to a Masquerade Ball
Learn Italian or Spanish
Adopt a dog
Seattle Space Needle
Tattoo
Underground Dining

xx - Take a tour on the other elevated trains of Chicago
xx - Belly Dancing Classes
xx - L.A.T.E. Ride (July)
xx - Night Swimming
xx - Ride the brown line from Rockwell to the loop to Kimball station (loop)
xx - Bike The Drive (Chicago)
xx - try 100% true Sushi (not fake veggie maki)
xx - Wake up to play in a night rainstorm
xx - Sing in public -- karaoke not included
xx - Watch the sunrise on Lake Michigan (Chicago)
xx - Ferris Wheel at Navy Pier

Tinkle Tinkle Little Star

2009-04-23T21:47:00.006-05:00

There are 33 quick steps from my desk to the ladies room at my office. I know. I counted.

What? I'm a thirsty girl. Thirsty girls have to pee. All day long.

Good Golly Damn Criminey, I must make more trips to the bathroom than the guy who smokes* goes outside.

I wonder what smoker guy thinks of my frequent dashes past his office (on step 25) and if he keeps count. First of all, if he is keeping count that's just creepy. He should stick to surfing his kid's friend's Facebook profiles (this too is creepy, it just doesn't involve me so creep on smoker man). Secondly, I hope he's timing me. I'm super fast.

I'm so fast that I once had a line of guys chip in and buy me a drink because of my super fast ability.

Ok, that sounds superbly dirty. But honestly, this is one of the innocent stories.

Here's what happened....It was Mardi Gras at the Venice Cafe in St. Louis a few years back. Myself and about 200 other close drinking buddies had been celebrating for about a half a day (seriously a good time was being had) and there were two bathroom locations: one down a flight of rickety stairs and another up a wide staircase to the second floor. The downstairs toilets were separate boy/girl rooms with a few stalls each. The one upstairs was a single unisex bathroom. As any of you half-day celebrators know, falling up stairs is a lot less painful than the opposite. I headed up.

When I got to the top there was a decent size line outside the ONE STALL UNISEX TOILET. So I took a spot behind some of my fellow half-day drunk friends and waited.

And waited. And then waited some more. Oh, and guess what? More waiting. The line was moving pretty damn slow. Then I realized that standing in front of me was a group girls. Giggly, drunk girls. With large purses.

About the same time this situation became apparent to me, it also dawned on the guys lined up behind me. When the door opened, the giggly drunk girls (with purses the size of overnight bags) slid right in...all together as if they were carpooling to work.

I kid you not, seven minutes went by. Seven painful, bladder-close-to-erupting minutes shared between me and my new friends in guy-club. Ok, actually they didn't really start off as friends, they were more like angry enemies looking at me with disgust. They thought I was another one of those giggly drunk purse carrying bitches who was going to take another painful seven minutes of their lives with my turn. Except I don't travel in a pack to the bathroom and I only bring a purse to places that my backpack is out of place.

I had to clear my name before I cleared my bladder. So I turned to the guys and said, "Do you see me carrying anything? I guarantee there's no makeup hiding in these pockets...no cell phone for texting while I'm supposed to be drying my hands....and no gossip drama I have to share. I'm here to do one thing and do it fast."

A few of them looked quite hopeful. One guy who might have been their club President did not and said, "How can we believe that you won't fuck around in there like the others?" Who by the by, still have NOT come out of the bathroom yet--I get why the girl/bathroom stereotype exists. The bet became that I could do the thing, wash and dry my hands and be out of the bathroom in under three minutes. They were doubtful and said they'd buy me a drink if I succeeded. I did.

I think I set a record that night, at least that's what it seemed like from the responses of guy-club members who consequently bought me a beer and a shot for my excellent, super fast ability.

*Yep, just one smoker in our office. We're a healthy bunch.

Staycation -- who's genius was this?

2009-04-16T08:54:00.008-05:00

I sat there reassuring myself, "This IS exactly what you should be doing."

I sat there feeling, "Megan, you are reeeally late for work."

It's Thursday. I took two days off for me. My coworkers asked where I was headed and what I was doing and my reply became, "Nowhere. Nothing." And that was really the plan. Just the way I had wanted it.

That is, until I find myself here. Feeling guilty, like I'm playing hookie. Listing things in my head that I should be doing. Beating myself up for still being in my pajamas at 9am. "Take a chill pill!" I hear myself say. "You are on vacation."

I have trouble with the execution of a "Staycation." In theory, it sounds marvelous.....no money spent on transportation to another city, where you'll sleep in a hotel room and try to find the cool places to eat and shop and take souvenier photos. Wouldn't it be a privilege to stay in the town that you've lived in for so many years yet taken for granted? All the special things that made you fall in love and stay this long happily together? As if it was my 14th anniversary and I rediscovered the hidden treasures of my relationship. Yet, in practice.....much more difficult to get started. Somewhere along the way I have convinced myself that when I'm laying around watching movies, putzing around window shopping, napping, taking a bath, or walking the lake that I am truly avoiding my real life's responsibilities. Unless you do these things with someone, in which case they become "plans," or activities and that's much more acceptable.

Maybe I'll just log into my work email for a mi----I'm not supposed to do that!

I decide to pack up and head out into the beautiful day; see where my feet take me. That's when my luck changed. I walked right into Wrigleyville and realized the Cubs had home field advantage. Work....Shmerk! I can't tell you how in love with Chicago I was when standing in front of Wrigley Field, on the corner of Clark and Addison, blue sky sun shine and a "Staycation" as my legitimate excuse.

Play Ball!

Megan Jeanne's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day Award

2009-04-14T21:56:00.006-05:00

We all have bad days. Don't fool yourself that you are alone in that parking lot. Look around....there's a shitload of cars parked out there with occupants sitting inside screaming obscenities and accepting their own award for Most Craptacular Day.

It became so frequent an occurrence that I was personally nominating myself and accepting the award for having a T.H.N.G.V.B.D. that I had to purchase a whole storage locker to hold my collection. But then things leveled out and I quickly became the second-runner up many times over. I even retired the rant that was my acceptance speech.

While this is most always a self-nominated category, I am making an exception. In light of recent events, I am nominating and also choosing the recipient. The winner of this T.H.N.G.V.B.D. title is being presented with a sash and a crapcake crown all his own. Hands down he wins. Unanimously.

I'm regretfully accepting this award tonight on his behalf. I'd like to believe if he were here he'd have a mouthful of obscenities which would make us laugh uncomfortably and possibly cry and most definitely applaud his ability to stand up and say, "This award sucks giant blue monkey ass and I hate having been nominated but moreover hate winning. "

I'll sadly give him his envelope and crown and then offer to be the on-going winner in this category if it meant his days would be free of T.H.N.G.V.B news. I'm just so sorry.

Thought while walking....

2009-03-27T16:16:00.003-05:00

Do you think that the Afterlife has technology? Will there be upgrades and updates like in the Nowlife? How advanced are they already? Will it remind me of the first time I sent an instant message or heard, "you have mail!"

Will it be as foreign a concept as Twittering?

Or will it revert back to old technology so things are slower. Like using the card catalog?

Trapeze swinging fishes

2009-03-24T22:53:00.004-05:00

I'm good at alot of things. I make my bed, I recycle. I say hello to neighbors on the sidewalk. I make a good bloody mary and I can grill a steak. I know when it's time to stop fast forwarding thru commercial break of a recorded show. I can grow plants, flowers and vegetables. I can make strangers feel welcome at a party (even one I'm not throwing) and I remember my Grandma's birthday. I can mostly tell when someone needs a joke, a hug or to be left alone.

I remind myself, I am good at many things.

However.

Taking things at face value is not one of them.

It's so stunning the level of energy I use trying to come up with a hidden message. It can not possibly be as simple as it is stated in words. I must decipher what is clearly not being said. It is my paramount need to understand something that I know to be there but it's just missing. Give me time and I'll find it. I know I will.

I swear, if there was a secret language that no one spoke and no translation existed, I'd be the expert.

Why yes, I have received a PhD in Deciphering Nothing. It has taken many long years and required hours upon hours of debating and re-reading with furrowed brow. But as with any other degree, it's only in hindsight that I realize I dedicated time and effort that was overall unnecessary and at great expense I now hold a degree in something that does not prove useful to me.

I'm like a kid learning to ride a bike. Until I get used to the idea of falling, I won't ever want to take those training wheels off.

Washing Windows

2009-03-21T18:05:00.007-05:00

I've always been fascinated by things in which order is created upon completion. I admit, this stems from a mild case of OCD. It's not so much turning the light switch on and off 43 times before walking clockwise three times around the bed before getting in OCD, it's more that everything has a place. Things look better to me....more in focus, clearer....peaceful....when in order.

A very close friend of mine (yes you, Anne) is the direct opposite of me. It's not really all that surprising that we are friends, opposites attract. Except when it comes to works of art. Our current game is finding art for her office. She'll search online and then email me at my desk (we work together) that she has some choices to show me. I prepare myself and go in.

"Ok, here's the first one...."

Please believe me when tell you it was as if someone had blindfolded the artist, spun them around and instead of "pin the tail," it was "paint the canvas."

(I think my eyes started to water)

"Not so much? What about this?"

Oh come ON! That's just not a good use of paint. Imagine the artist painting the pile of Pick-up Sticks.

(My head hurts)

"Duly noted. Here's the final pick...."

Evil. Just down right wrong. If someone could paint the sound of screaming, this would be the result.

(I may have passed out)

My idea of art, she reminds me, is B-O-R-I-N-G. Snoozefest. Really? I don't see how a perfect horizontal line running across the canvas is wrong. Starring at it makes the radio stations that seem to playing in my head (simultaneously, sometimes non-stop) quiet down. All broadcasting ceases to exist. It's so wonderful.

I'm not crazy. Pinky swear.

I know my habit of creating order is apparent to others. A perfect example is the dishwasher. Loading and unloading is a form of art to me. I was unloading it one time and my mom commented, "I just like to watch you. Every move you make plays off the last move. It's choreographed so beautifully." Aw, shucks... thanks mom.

She's right and I hate admitting that, but I know what she means. I feel it. I know when things are lining up right -- I don't have to pay attention, it's fluid. It's how I imagine dancers or jugglers, guys who toss/catch the fish in Seattle, chefs or speed freaks on the highway feel. Things line up and it allows you to just do what you know.

That's why I love watching the window washers who do the outside of high rise buildings. It's systematic: Soapy water, squeegee, swing to the right and repeat. What's left in their wake is a streak-free clearer picture.

What got me started thinking about all of this happened on my way home from the loop today. Being a Saturday, the Thompson Building (aka: the State of Illinois building) was empty and there was a group of guys working on washing the windows.

HAVE YOU SEEN THE THOMPSON BUILDING? The windows are like, forty feet up and on a slant. These guys had the most amazing equipment and talent I've ever seen. Being awe struck at the process, I headed to the train. As the train pulled up and the doors opened, the song on my satellite radio changed.......to Van Morrison's Washing Windows. Seriously. No shit. And I can promise this to you because while I like VaMo, I only know a handful of his songs and wouldn't have ever given this title as an answer in a trivia contest.

So I dedicate this post tonight to the redheaded-window-washer-master and Van. Thanks for giving me some much needed clarity.

French Horns and Accordions

2009-03-11T21:31:00.004-05:00

I really like to laugh. Which is good because when I laugh everyone around me knows. I laugh like I hug, every part of me joins in, it just comes bursting out from somewhere inside. I like how it feels just after laughing. You know what I'm talking about, those little tremors that if not heeded would bring about a fit of giggles and right back into full-on laughing all over again.

Man! There can never be too much laughing for me. Chances are, if you and I don't share a laugh, any from the list below, I probably wouldn't be expecting a Facebook friend request any time soon.

There's the small smile from seeing someone do something sweet or kind for someone else. Offering up their seat on the train, picking up a dropped item or random litter, offering an umbrella or an arm across the street, even catching someone do something silly and think (or hope) no one noticed. Come to think of it, this small smile (not to be confused with a smirk) is also the reaction I have with compliments. They're great to get, just hard not to squirm around when getting them. A small little one sided grin which doesn't mean I don't want it, it means I don't know what to do with it. Like Anne tells me, "Just say thank you."

Then we've got the full toothy grin. Even my eyes will join in and light up with this. It's real. I've seen it in pictures that I didn't know were being taken. I have a smile like this from when Robyn and I celebrated our 31/32 birthdays. I look at that and immediately get the same goofy grin. I like to think that this grin makes people wonder...what's gotten into her?

Occasionally this happens when I am riding on the train or walking around. It's when I'm quiet and reflective that I can take time to really see my surroundings. I love noticing someone do something crazy and out of the ordinary. Catching someone cartwheeling down the sidewalk or getting good news on the phone and doing a little jig. Often little kids can make this happen. Or dogs. They are both always so damn happy to just run around. Who wouldn't smile wide from such innocent play?

But then we get to the silent laugh. You'd think the silent laugh is the polite laugh -- when something is not all that funny but you have to pretend so....and you would be incorrect. The polite laugh, a.k.a. the uncomfortable "it's not funny or I don't get it" laugh is more like the character Janice on Friends. It's awkward and too loud and just feels metallic to your ears.

Kinda like chewing on tinfoil.

No, the silent laugh is the kind that I have to hold in or it's going to go everywhere....it's just that damn funny. Most times my shoulders get involved. I really like this one because it minimizes the number of unexpected audience participants (those folks unfortunate enough to be close by when the out loud laugh breaks).

And now we come to the last two. The doozies. My very best friends, family and unlucky co-workers know these all too well.

There's the Cackle. A full out loud laugh that might be likened to a machine gun. Rapid bursts of laughs. I wouldn't liken it to that. But I know it is. It usually starts with the hard burst of laugh and progresses into the next stage. This is when the unexpected audience participants turn their heads to see who's laughing and begs the question, "What's so funny?"

Which precedes the final stage....the Mt. Everest of my laughing.....the Wheezies.

Yup, I'm one of those. Imagine your Uncle Al, the Lucky Strike smoking, whiskey drinking Uncle. Tell him a dirty joke and see where it takes him. Now, add some tears from laughing and you'll have a fair representation of me. I know it sounds obnoxious and it's probably damn annoying if you aren't a part of the fun, but I can't help it. I don't know how some people have a great laugh -- the kind you could listen to all night long -- and others have, well, the Wheezies for example. But I know for sure that won't stop just because it sounds ridiculous. I don't remember laughing like this when I was growing up, though I do remember trying to practice laughing -- yeah, that didn't last long. I wonder if it will morph again into something down the road a few years. God I hope it's not worse sounding than the Wheezies!

Until that should take place, and I wouldn't hold your (laugh!) breath, please feel free to join in with me. Shake what your Momma gave ya, and all that jazz! I mean....even an Accordion has a place in a pop song every once in awhile. You just have to accept it and decide if you like the noise it brings to the table.

Whatever it is, take it back!

2009-02-19T17:51:00.003-06:00

Walking from the train to my office this morning I almost collided with the oncoming traffic of the morning commuters on the sidewalk.

(it's a very busy intersection...)
(even when it's not, I have to dodge pedestrians...)

It would have helped if I'd been paying attention. But I was distracted. By the woman with the hat. The stark white hat. The stark white hat that looked vaguely familiar?

Hair.

Maybe a certain kind of wool?

Hair.

Maybe an old sweater or hat of my own perhaps?

Hair.

Could it be possible it was.....nah.

Hair.

A stark white hat that I'm pretty positive was a bad dye job and a perm gone horribly wrong. I don't mean to bring more attention to what was probably a salon failure and resulted in tears and possible loss of employment, but it was awful. I have seen a bad color or two, a perm that was left on a little too long and bangs that looked like the stylist was "in the cups" if you get what I'm saying...so it's not just that. It was catastrophic because of the odd shape that it was. The shape that threw me at first glance to think it was a stark white fuzzy (shapeless) hat.

I apologized to the lady I had run into but who was equally apologetic for doing the same thing to me. As we situated our bags and coffee cups and newspapers we parted ways, eyebrows raised, sharing that brief non-verbal conversation.....was that a hat?!

A dedication of sorts: Calling all Courage. Come in Courage.

2009-02-17T21:56:00.005-06:00

If courage is the car, than strength is the fuel.

Problems. Humungous, teeny, petty or possibly life-altering...they come in many different packages. They come at many different times. Sometimes one right after the other with no remorse.

It takes courage to pull the blinds up and peer into the hot mess that is your life and realize shit needs to change. Courage helps to admit that healing steps must be taken. If left alone, fear and denial can build up and make your stomach seize or your mouth go dry. Courage stops by, knocks on your door and offers you a breath mint and a chance to help you take the first step out the door.

But just because courage gets you to take the first step doesn't mean you won't turn and retreat at the first sign of difficulty. That's where strength enters in. It keeps you moving forward. Holding onto the banister and steadily taking one stair step after another.

You can't successfully have one without the other.

I applaud you. I raise my glass and toast in your honour. I know you wanted to find comfort and safety hiding out in your living room, secure behind a locked door and a loud television keeping you distracted, but yet you chose to get in the car (proverbial car) and hit the problem head-on.

Yeah, okay so it was a total collision...but hey, I say go big or go home! The result? A fiery mess of problem being dealt with.

Take that you dirty, pissy, no-good sissy-ass problem!

You are strong. And as I sat and listened to us volleying the "life can be sucky" ball back and forth I realized the depth of your strength. Your gas tank must be huge to hold all the strength it has taken over the past year. It's astounding.

Here's my way of telling you that you inspire me to be courageous. To have strength. And to remember that I must stop by the gas station and refuel every now and again.

(By "gas station" I mean conversations with good supportive friends, like you)

Thank you for this insight. Thank you for the fill-up.

The Panic Room

2009-01-20T21:35:00.011-06:00

Jody Foster may have her fancy totally-titanium, fully-computerized secure panic room, but I have....my bathroom.

In years past I have had the unfortunate luck of a Winter Mouse. It's like the coming of Santa Claus, only smaller and more hideous (And I don't think children run screaming in the opposite direction from Santa).

Well, okay maybe a few of them do. Maybe I did.....but never you mind my old fat men in red velvet suits paranoia. We are talking about the nasty mice, people.

I should mention that I share a family phobia of mice. I know that there are very few people that actually enjoy finding a mouse in their house, but when I say my Dad and I have a phobia, I mean the break-out-in-hives-sweat-dripping-from-head-to-toe-pale-I-can't-breathe sort of F-O-B-I-A. You don’t believe it’s true? Ask Corri. She’s seen it happen, twice.

Last year I had a mou-----wait, did I mention there's a warrior cat? How fucking stupid of a mouse are you to hideout in a house with a feline warrior? I should really give him a little tuna cake for earning his Boy Scout Hunting badge two times over. It is true that for all the shit I give Owen, he deserves my love and admiration today.

So, last night I was making some dinner while my roommate was getting ready for her class. Quietly focused on reading the directions from the back of the box of noodles, I was totally caught off guard when the fucking mouse leapt from somewhere off to my left across the counter in front of me and scurried off in the direction of the coffee pot. I can only assume to hide behind the coffee pot at the other end of the counter. I’m assuming this last part because the second it jumped I started screaming and running.

Screaming. And running. In blind PANIC.

When Corri’s heart started beating again she lovingly tended to her whacked out roomie (THANK YOU AGAIN) and asked what happened. I tried to explain that the monster had shown itself and it looked like this: When we braved the kitchen we couldn’t find it and Corri was late for class. Bidding her a terrified and frightened "Goodbye, please come home soon" she was off. Not five minutes later I was looking for Owen "the Hunter" and couldn’t find him. As if he heard me mentally calling him he trotted out of Corri’s room with Winter Mouse dangling from his mouth. And even though it makes NO DIFFERENCE WHATSOEVER in my panic covered head, Winter Mouse looked like this:

Being the phob-a-riffic chicken I am, I made a B-line directly into the bathroom (aka the Panic Room) and into the tub. I called Corri-- because she’s step two of my emergency plan after first securing myself in the tub – and she made a quick call to Scott -- her step two in an emergency plan -- and she assured me he was on his way. I kid you not Scott rectified the emergency Winter Mouse 09 crisis in a matter of minutes armed with only a pair of rubber gloves, a soothing voice and a blue plastic shopping bag. Scott deserves my love and admiration today as well.

While I rationally know that this crisis has been taken care of, a large part of me still has the heebie-jeebies and I can’t bring myself to go into the kitchen for any long period of time unaccompanied. Tonight’s dinner was peanut butter and a spoon because it was the first thing I could grab. I just keep seeing this:

That’s why when Scott and Corri walked in the door tonight my hearbeat calmed and I knew I would have sleep. No panic tub for me tonight.

31 Days of December

2008-12-31T11:04:00.004-06:00

As the last day of the month and of the year ticks away, I wanted to recap for all of you my events which helped to create the new tradition of "31 days of December" that I have decided to celebrate instead of Christmas. Overall, I think it was an enjoyable success.

Parties: Having not accepted (or receiving for that matter) any invitations, I felt it was necessary to crash a cocktail party in the Gold Coast where I only knew two people. The food was put away about 20 minutes after arriving and so basically it boiled down to a couple glasses of wine and a spectacular view of Lakeshore Drive and Lake Michigan at night. The other plus to choosing this particular party was the host had subscribed to HBO's De La Hoya - Pacquiao fight at the MGM. Good start.

Home cooking: In continuing with the tradition of Top Cheeeef Wednesday, my cohorts and I were able to squeeze in two viewings this month. In celebration of 31/Dec I prepared two homemade dinners for the girls. Always a good time.

Game night: A little competition gets the blood pumping during the frigid weather.

Christmas music: I want to see a performance at the Opera House but did not want to shell out upwards of $75 for a ticket during this month so I was fortunate to come across the Lyric's Chamber Choir Christmas program. I got to sit in the balcony and enjoy the beautiful singers that perform during many of the operas for half the cost of an opera. Also a co-worker of mine belongs to the Chicago Chamber Choir and they had a Christmas sing-along concert in a Chicago neighborhood church. Not only did I get to sing-along and laugh-along with Anne (a professional singer herself) I was also able to cross off "church" which I had on my list of things to do.

Volunteering: While I wasn't able to arrange wrapping or reading or cooking volunteering in the city somewhere, I was able to volunteer to babysit for Lil E and read her Christmas (bedtime) stories while her mom and dad went to the Bears vs Packers game at Soldier Field...great game, but I got the better deal.

Cookies: What's December without a sugar-high? I wasn't able to get to this until after the holiday--just when my co-workers thought it was safe to go back into the kitchen!

It's A Wonderful Life: If you've been following along you'll already know this was probably the "big" event for 31/Dec.

The rest of the activities were less noteworthy but included: Peeking in on houses with decorated trees, photographing lit-up holiday yard decor, staying up late and sleeping in, classic movies on TV (White Christmas, Home Alone, The Family Stone, Fred Clause.....), Christmas cards and holiday music.

I know that my 31/Dec will be continued (and improved) next year. I hope you enjoyed your holiday traditions and events and are looking forward to making the most of the new year ahead. My love to all of you and I hope for many great and surprising events for all of us in 09.

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la....leak

2008-12-26T23:03:00.004-06:00

It's 11 o'clock PM and I am sitting here listening, not for sleigh bells, but to the drip-drip-drip of melting snow leaking onto my furnace. It's annoying.

For those of you out-of-towners that aren't aware, it's 53 degrees in Chicago tonight and all of our snow....the piles and piles.....is melting. Tonight and tomorrow we are going to get heavy thunderstorms and wind. Tomorrow night it's going to be 27 degrees. This is bulls#!&.

Oh, and here's a kick in the apples....my landlord moved to Colorado so she no longer lives downstairs, the upstairs neighbors are gone for the holiday and no one can get into their apartment to access their leak situation. I have this wonderful fear that when I wake up (at hour intervals all night to dump the containers) that the upstairs floor will have caved in and their furnace will be sitting in my hallway keeping my furnace company.

Good times.

About Last Night

2008-12-24T11:17:00.007-06:00

I liked it. It was......dare I admit........somewhat "wonderful."

I have to add on some nostalgic points because I saw it at an olde time movie house, with a sold out audience, a drunk Santa leading sing-along accompanied by the organist and it was snowing outside.

I will say that I was doubly (is that a word....even I am questioning it) entertained because the cult followers of this tradition have included sound effects like hissing whenever Potter talks, clapping and cheering when each new character is introduced and ringing bells during random scenes -- I never did quite figure out the rhyme or reason to the bell, I mean I get the whole Angel thing but it sometimes didn't coincide with any Angel reference. Guess that's the more advanced viewer status. There was also the thing about the hot dog. I don't care how much of a die-hard Wonderful-fan you are, leave the processed meat at home.

All in all I think that finally seeing this was a good thing. I am glad I waited until this year so that I could appreciate it for what it is and not because it was someone else's tradition.

God Bless us one and al---wait, that's a different movie. Maybe I'll see that one next year.

Only 3 1/2 hours to go...

2008-12-23T15:29:00.002-06:00

As part of the "31 days of December" project I have a ticket to see "It's a Wonderful Life" at the Music Box on Southport tonight. Makes sense, right? I have been told repeatedly that it is the holiday of all holiday movies.

But I wouldn't know. I haven't seen it. Ever.

I may be one of the last (of my age at least) to see this film. I didn't set out with this as a goal, but when the umpteenth person raved and tearfully told me I didn't know what I was missing....I decided to go right along missing it. Until now.

With this attempt at trying to bring new traditions to my holidays, I have decided this could be one of them. The jury's waiting to see if this Jimmy guy can win me over.

Welcome

2008-12-22T19:35:00.007-06:00

It's good to have you here. I'm glad you could join me. I hope you like what I have to share. It's mostly mundane and it's not entirely unique, but sometimes when it's happening to someone else you either feel better about your situation or you see a solution to try for yourself that wasn't apparent before.

I promise as much wit, sarcasm and insight as this blog can possibly create. Please drop by often or even daily -- but I doubt you'll miss anything life changing if you stop by once a week. And I'll try my damn, I mean darn, hardest to watch the colorful language. Though sometimes the best way to paint the picture is to dip your brush into some foul language and paint. I'll just apologize now.

Oh, and I should get this on the table before we venture any further.....Perfect is overrated. There are only so many mistakes I can catch before posting. I will probably spell words incorrectly, use the wrong grammar or punctuation and will most definitely make so many wrong choices in my daily decisions that I lose count. Please feel free to make a drinking game out of the latter.

As for the spelling and word choices...just follow my lead, I'll get you to where we are headed eventually.

Thank you for stopping by and reading this new blog page. I know you have many blog choices these days and I truly appreciate that you chose mine for reading.