Monday, December 31, 2007

Me At 32

So, here I am. New Year's Eve.
At work.

Which, yeah, pretty much epitomizes the year for me. Work.
While it's good to have a job with a paycheck, this particular job leaves much (MUCH) to be desired. And yes, I could go out and get myself a different job but that is really not as easy as it sounds people. What with all of the dressing up, and the uncomfortable shoes and the interviews and the making of first impressions.
Plus, and I feel really strongly about this, if I'm going to go through the trouble of getting a new job the year I'm getting married it's going to have to be something I really want to be doing, with people I don't feel like gutting every 20 minutes. So, that's a little limiting as far as career choices go right now. I suspect that if I were in a different city I could probably find something I like doing at a place I would enjoy doing it. But here? Chicago has limited industries. Mostly I am qualified to work in advertising and I, yes, hate advertising.

But, other than this stupid job in this stupid office filled with (mostly but not all) stupid people, 2007 has been a pretty good year. Nothing dramatically terrible has happened and I found the perfect wedding gown!

2008 will be...challenging. There's a lot to do. I think I'm up to it. I mean seriously? I've managed much bigger productions than this wedding is going to be. I should totally be able to handle it. Of course none of those past productions have involved my mom so that might be the the plan? That sounds mean but I don't mean it to be mean. I just mean that...well, you know. I mean, some of you know. The rest of you KNOW. So...yeah. Anyway...

If I can get a handle on the guest list I think everything will be AOK. Also a DJ. And a florist....and a bakery. Crap. Well, whatever. I have the perfect wedding gown!!

Yesterday I took some time to clear out old paperwork from some storage bins. I came across a stack of journals from high school and college. Yeah, those were about as painful as you would expect them to be. Which, I decided after the fact, was a good thing. I am not nearly as melodramatic as I was 10 or 15 years ago. Thank God because apparently I was a little insufferably melodramatic. I mean really, all of the declarations of undying love for boys I don't think I was even speaking to when I reached the last page of the journal. I certainly haven't spoken to some of them in years or so. Which goes to show you Cause no one knew that yet.

Look at me! Full of New Year's Eve revelations!!!

I am a head with a hat and all I say is Ho, Ho, Ho.

No one is gonna get that joke except Kevin, and that's OK.

Right. So, progress has been made in the last 10 years. My hair is a normal color. I no longer have an unnecessary number of holes in my ears, nor do I continue to feel the need to hide under low slung baseball caps. I am marrying a man I am 95% certain that my 15 year old self would approve of (that other 5% of me really thought I would marry Morrissey.) I have mastered shopping for my own clothes. And I have gotten much better at shopping for my own shoes. I only buy shoes that actually fit me now. OK, that last pair of loafers was questionable but they really seemed like they fit in the store - must have been the lighting.

I could take this space to make up some meaningless and, probably, unobtainable new years' resolutions but I stopped making those around the same time I gave up giving up stuff for Lent. Plus, even if I did make resolutions I'm not necessarily going to share them with the blog reading public (all eight of you.) 2008 is putting a lot on my plate. If I can get through the year without needing to heavily sedated at any point I will feel completely victorious at this time next year.

So, 2007, in a nutshell. Work sucks. Love is grand. Food is good, I like food. Reading is sexy.

End Report.
End 2007.

See ya'll on the other side!

Monday, December 10, 2007

The Mind Killer

I have been meaning to post about turning 32 and be all witty about aging and how I'm not all that much different than I was when I was 22 except that I am.

But, I just chipped a tooth (no mom, it wasn't on a crouton.) So now I am in the midst of anxiety attack crisis at the thought of having to expose my mouth to a dentist.

Which, actually, goes towards proving my point. See? Not much has changed since I was 22.

Excuse me, I'm gonna go breath into a paper bag for the next three days.

K. Bai.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

First Of The Month

So, I signed up for this NaBloPoMo thing.

I'm don't know what I am going to write about EVERY day for a whole month.

I am sure I will think of something.



Sunday, October 28, 2007

The Machine

So, I went out and bought this elliptical machine last week. It's somewhat alien looking. Like a metallic antelope crouched behind the couch, waiting to spring at me at any moment. I suspect that the anticipation of it's impending attack is part of what makes it so necessary for me to climb on every morning. I'm gonna break this damn thing like a wild stallion before it can break me.

This exercise thing is really hard. Don't ever let anyone tell you that working out is "fun!" Cause I am seriously getting my ass kicked right now. I am not going to lie. I am in no condition to be working out every day with machines and weights and over sized balls. I am a fat, lazy couch-potato and my only hope is to get through these first couple of months without dying or pulling anything irreparably out of place. Maybe then I'll be in shape enough to work out. Right now though, I barely have enough strength left in my upper arm to lift this mug of water. I may die of dehydration, right now. And it will all be the fault of The Machine.

God, I really hate that thing. The day I bought it I went skipping out of the store. I was so excited and in love with the idea of being "fit." Yeah! I was gonna work out, eat healthy all of the time. I would feel vigorous! Full of energy and a zest for life.

Mostly, I'm just tired. And a little sore. And sometimes, when I look at The Machine, I cry a little. Knowing that the next morning, I'm just going to have to climb back on up there and work up a sweat. Again. But, in the long run I no longer feel guilty about my time on the couch, knowing that I have actually earned it now. So, that's nice. And, in about ten minutes, when I go downstairs and heat up that slice of leftover pizza I wont feel guilty about that either. I may feel a little guilty about the potato chips I have later tonight. Or, I may skip them. Of my own volition. Having absolutely nothing to do with that Machine that I have to squeeze past in order to even get downstairs. Nope. Nothing to do with that at all.

Stupid machine.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007


On a good day she can wait until she gets home to have her first cigarette. Savoring each, cancerous, drag from the comfort of the couch while her man fixes dinner and the cats clamor for attention. She is warm and safe and dry. The day is over, she can kick her shoes off under the coffee table and disengage herself from the world outside.

On a bad day, on a day when work has beaten her down and she can feel the contact lenses grating against her dry eyes, she lights up as she exits the building. Or, sometimes she waits to realize that the bus will not be soon to arrive. Odd work hours mean missing the rush of rush hour but it also means buses and trains may be few and far between. These are the days she shuffles through her ipod, waiting for the bus, until she finds Tom Waits and will listen to him croon about how hard it is to grow up.

The weather is, generally, irrelevant to her mood on work days. She usually only sees the outside on her way to work and her desk is nowhere near any of the plate glass windows that overlook the city (and a glimmer of the lake to the east.) Her days are grey. The walls are grey, the carpets are grey. As are the chairs and most of the conversations she overhears around her. She colors those grey with her mind because she would rather not care what people are talking about than get caught up in the mundane bullshit of office politics and small talk. Besides, the grey voices are rarely speaking to her anyway. They're rarely speaking to each other, mostly they are talking to hear their own voices.

It is these days, these grey cigarette days, when she is most grateful for her home. For the light and sounds, for the company of love and cats. Even when it involves nothing more than reading a book while baseball plays on TV it is, at least, illuminated. It is, at least, real. She is grateful even for too many pairs of shoes kicked off beneath the coffee table and too many dishes piled in the sink. She can savor dinner in a way that the leftovers for lunch will be impossible to enjoy - with a glass of wine and conversation containing more colors than...not a rainbow, because that's silly. But more colors than her grey days could ever hope to contain.

Sunday, October 07, 2007

369 Days

First things first.
Why is it October and 80 degrees in Chicago?

Second (and barely more importantly as I sit here sweating, in October.) 369 DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OK, I'll tell you something. I am heartly exhausted with the word fiancé. Blah. What a poncy word. And I've been using it (mostly. You shut up.) for almost a year. I just don't like it. I don't like saying it. I don't like referring to The Fiancé as The Fiancé. It sticks to my tongue. It doesn't want to be said. I still use boyfriend sometimes. But, I've begun to call him The Husband in my mind.

I think part of it is that saying "fiancé" opens the situation up to a myriad of questions that I just don't like talking to strangers about. Or, non-friends. Now you're going to ask me for all the details. The whole thing: the ring, how we met. Bleeh bleeh bleeh. Blah blah blah. Blow blow blow.


I am occasionally overcome with a sweeping desire to dance around whatever room I'm in at the prospect of this wedding. And, as details finally begin coming together I sometimes clap my hands in glee. I can't wait. But, at those times, I have my clan to whom I can go squealing and jump up and down in circles for however long I need.

The rest of you peoples? Drive along. Stop gawking at the bride to be.

As for the other part of it, the Marriage part of it? I am neither sentimental enough, nor drunk enough to expound upon that topic at this time. Suffice to say that it is good to love and be loved in return.

Anyway, back to this wedding.

I am now in possession of one (1) wedding tip & etiquette book (thank you, young Mrs. LaGarde.) Thankfully it is not too outdated, or overbearing. And I'm sure that some of it will come in handy. But, I'm not lacking for advice. Or help. Which is so awesome. And I am so grateful.

So yeah. 369 (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) Days to go. 369 days to plan, fit, flower, taste and get it all in order.

Bring it on.

Monday, September 17, 2007

I Can't Believe I Watched The Whole Thing

That's right. I did it. I watched the ENTIRE Emmy broadcast from E!'s Red Carpet coverage to Ryan Seacrest's last sign off.

I did it.

God, was it boring.

For me, the best moment of the evening was the Comedy Central Boys getting their hug on, even though Steve Carell didn't ACTUALLY win the award. That's what you get for not showing up, Gervais! Sucker.

A word of advice for the producers of awards shows. If, by chance, you are planning to have an "unexpected" guest come out of the audience perhaps you should have him NOT walk the red carpet before hand. Kanye I am looking at you. Nerd.

That was almost a funny bit. I think it would have been funnier if it hadn't looked so planned. And if Rainn Wilson had the opportunity to sing different song lyrics instead of repeating those that Kanye had already sung. But, I don't know, I don't watch that Don't Forget The Lyrics show so maybe that's the way it's supposed to work but still. Lame. Although, Kanye making fun of himself with "I never win" WAS hilarious.

Sally Field got censored for slipping a little GD into her anti-war speechifying which is plain ridiculousness. These Standards & Practices guys are maybe getting a little trigger happy. I guess we could continue to blame Janet Jackson's wardrobe "malfunction" but I think it's more virulent than that. Or maybe I'm sensitive.

I don't say much, but when I do have something to say I want the freedom to say it plainly, you know? This whole couching political beliefs in doublespeak so you don't offend anyone is a time waster and a tool for those who would rather waste time arguing semantics than actually taking care of business.

Righto, so anyway.

Yeah I watched it and I've got no other award shows to watch until The Oscars.
And maybe this year we should have a fancy dress up party for The Oscars. Not so much because I think they warrant fancy dress. Just because now I've got the hot, green number from Krista's wedding to wear somewhere and the gold sandals to go with it.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Live Blogging The Emmys for As Long As I Can Take It

I hate awards shows.
Seriously. They are horrible and fascinating all at the same time. And here I sit, watching Ray Romano rif on his post-show home life. He's got a nice gold tie on but he needs a haircut.

He's presenting an award. I thought he was doing a bit.
Ohhhhh Two and a Half Men is nominated for...something. Best comedy show I suppose. Best supporting actor in a comedy series.

Commmme oooooon Neil Patrick Harris!

Booooooo Jeremy Piven. I am maybe supposed to be rooting for him. Coming from that Prestigious Chicago Theater family and all.
He'll always be stupid Cupid to me.
But aww with the dedicating the award to his dead dad. Aw.

Vanessa Williams and America Ferrer look good. I was just watching the E! True Hollywood Story about Vanessa Williams today. God. What is WRONG with me? I watched 2 of those stupid THS episodes today. AND I know they call it THS.

I have a disease.

Creepy bald-headed dude from Lost just won Best Supporting Actor in a Drama. He's wearing a bright pink shirt. That's interesting. I really don't care. I don't watch that show. I tried, maybe twice and it was just too much for my brain to do after work and dinner.

God, I wish Macy's was as awesome as that commercial just made it seem.
I remember when Macy's was almost glamorous...Except the one near Queens Center Mall. That one has always been pretty shady. Nice parking lot though. The new one here in Chicago? Not everything I remember Macy's being at all. Oh well. I do most of my shopping at Old Navy anyway.

This is a lot of commercials. It was like that with the VMAs last week also. Too many commercials, not enough award presenting. Guess everyone's gotta pay the bills.

Do we think Sally Field was excited for Seacrest to bring up The Flying Nun?

Ooooh Tina Fey and Julia Louis-Dreyfuss. So pretty. So funny. I totally vote for Elizabeth Perkins for supporting actress in a comedy. I love Elizabeth Perkins. Ahh but Jamie Presley wins. OK, I guess but she's no Elizabeth Perkins. She's got some sort of old lady dress on. Or it's her shiny red breast bone that makes her look old? Aww she's cryin. Awww. So many touching moments so far.

Hey, it's the guy who looks like our friend Van. That Friday Night Lights guy. Him and Kartherine Heigle's lips are presenting best supporting actor in a mini-series. I haven't seen any of these but I hear Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee was good. Wings and Wine Movie guy wins it! Thomas Hayden-Church. Whatever. Sandman. He's thanking Robert Duvall though so that's cool. But now he is crying too. I think they almost played him off. Or they just added dramatic violins when the tears started welling.

Ellen DeGeneres introduces a montage of one liners. Which seems to be an excuse to highlight the stand-up men who host talk shows now. Or maybe it's a tribute to Tom Snyder? Did he just die or something? Why was that part of the one liners montage?

Eva Longoria and the Entourage guys present for supporting actress in a drama. Ooh Rachel Griffiths. I like her. And Aida Turturro. Nice. Way to go New Paltz alumna! Katherine Heigle wins it though. I don't watch Grey's Anatomy either so I don't care again. I'm gonna go spell check all the names I've put in here so far while she makes her speech.

Jon Cryer is sooo stoked right now. Walking out there with Jennifer Love Hewitt on his arm. Oh Ducky. He's funny. I like him. Variety, Music or Comedy series. Woohooo Comedy Central! I am so conflicted! Who do I root for? Colbert or Stewart?? Or Letterman with his montage of favorite Bush moments? And it's Conan. But it's some producer guy making the speech and really, when you GIVE Conan an award don't you think it would be a good idea to let him make the speech?

Christina Aguilera and Tony Bennett duet time. It would be hilarious if Britney Spears rushed the stage from the wings right now. Christina looks good. Hell, so does Tony. How come the male dancers have their shirts unbuttoned? She's got that weird back of the throat voice though. It's OK I guess.

Alec Baldwin. Woot. Looks hot in a white jacket. Poor ole Alec. He's had a rough year. And Tony Bennett's show beat Colbert's. I wonder if that means he's going to have Tony Bennett on. Maybe he'll challenge Conan to a duel of some kind.

Everyone, even the criers, have been doing a pretty good job on timing their speeches.

Ooh! Ooh! Jack Bauer is presenting an award. So hot. Want to touch the Bauer. What a great voice. Robert Duvall wins for...something. Lead Actor in a mini-series. Broken Trail. He's totally gonna be the one who busts the stop-watch. I bet it's really hard to get Robert Duvall to stop talking once you get him started.

Here comes the exit music. That was a nice speech though. All about how Westerns are uniquely American. How they are stories that belong to us.

Ha ha ha. The Jersey Boys are going to pay musical tribute to The Sopranos. Ha ha. How ironic. Annnnd it's a commercial for Bertoli pasta after that out-tro. Nice. Way to feed a stereotype FOX.

Oh TMZ on TV. How did we ever get along without you? I can't even bring myself to pretend to be interested in that show. Because, if I pretend to be interested it wont take long for me to actually be interested. That's how I fell into the trap with the internets. I started out mocking the websites that I now check, like, six times a day.

Queen Latifah, in a smokin' hot red dress, honors the 30th anniversary of Roots. I was one. I didn't see it. I do remember the MASH finale and the Who Shot JR episode of Dallas though. That was some good TV right there. Oh, and here's the cast of Roots. That's pretty dope. Standing ovation. Very nice. Sally Field looks really proud. Ben Vereen looks funny. And I still can't look at LeVar Burton without singing the Reading Rainbow theme song in my mind. Lou Gossett Jr. got old. They're presenting the Emmy for outstanding mini-series to Broken Trail - that Robert Duvall western. That's better than them having to give it to Debra Messing for Starter Wife.

See, these guys know to let Duvall talk. Although, again, probably hard not to let him talk. All these guys really want a chance to say something. You can tell. The guy holding the award is practically doing the pee-pee dance. Oh well.

Doogie is making hetero jokes. I love it. Or, I hate it because he should be making gay jokes. Either way. Love me some NPH. But I'm not sure what just happened. They presented the nominees and then introduced the next presenter as the winner of the award without giving an award... Oh, this lady got her award last night. What a rip off for her.

Um. There are still two more hours of this show? Gah. No way am I going to be able to keep this going. I'm boring myself. I don't think I can even watch any more of it. But I so want to see what Kanye West is going to do.

Damn you award show! Daaaaaamn Youuuuuuuuu!

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Coffee, Champagne and New Hyde Park

While it's all well and good to have sunshine and cool breezes for post-wedding photos I have to say there's something "off" about an afternoon wedding.

First of all there's the getting up at an ungodly hour to get your hair done. Which, I suppose, only applies if you are a member of the wedding party. One with hair, that requires hairspray. And perhaps a curling iron. Or bobby pins. Definitely bobby pins.

In any event, 6 am is really just too early to even contemplate drinking. So, you start with coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. If your stomach isn't already doing jumping jacks you may attempt to eat breakfast but while outward appearances intimate a calm, cool, collectedness chances are good you're really just TOTALLY FREAKING OUT.

Although you would never admit it. In a voice above a whisper. That was directed mostly at your uneaten bagel.

But it's not a wedding without hairdresser. So, there you are with a stomach full of butterflies and coffee, sitting in the chair while she pulls and pokes and blows and sprays your hair into place.

It seemed, when you were being woken up with the sun, that the day stretched out long before you. But once your hair is in place there's really not much time because believe me, having someone else do your hair is the least of the preparations. The next thing you know, the limo is pulling up outside and you're struggling to shove all of the important tools of beauty into bags to bring with you. You can't forget anything. It's all important. But you forget your toothbrush anyway. It doesn't really matter because even those who remember their brushes will probably forget to brush anyway.

There's traffic. There's always traffic. You're on the L.I.E. It's a beautiful Saturday morning in the middle of August. Half the population of the boroughs is on the road, trying to get out of the city. But who caaaaares? You're in a limo. Hanging out with your best friends. It's better than the prom! You don't have to worry about putting out for your date and you know the food is going to be good.

And then BAM, there you are. Rolling up to the Inn at New Hyde Park. It's dope! Very swank. Sure, you were there for the rehearsal two days before but now it is in all of its finery. Flowers and half-columns. Everyone is dressed up, from the cater-waiters to the maitre-d's. And everyone is being really nice.

You go upstairs to the "bridal suite" where there is a crazy breakfast spread laid out. Bagels, muffins, fresh fruit, donuts (mmh, donuts.) Juices and coffee and champagne. And there's a nice lady who keeps pouring you mimosas.

"You want another?"

Sure! Why not.

There's only the walking in the heels, and the making of the speech. Why not have another? And, even before all of that there is the application of the make-up. It's a complex ritual involving many tools and processes. Careful attention to detail and a refined knowledge of the luscher color test are vital to this ritual. It's not only how the colors make you look, it's how they make you feel. Because you should feel beautiful. You should feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Or, the second most beautiful if you aren't the actual bride.
Cause, you know, that would be wrong.

It's not exactly a short process either. Not when there are four of you. When hands are shaking from nerves and over-caffeination. That's why the mimosas sound like such a good idea. You need something to even you out. You didn't get much sleep last night (who could?) and now you're a wreck. Plus, you deserve some champagne drinks. This is an important day and so far, everyone has made through alive and nothing has been broken. A little bit of shiny eyeshadow and champagne go a long way.

People start arriving, the photographer keeps interrupting to take those endearing, yet annoying, candid shots of The Bride And Her Attendants Getting Ready. You struggle to ensure that the various states of undress are not captured on film.

"More mimosa?"


Face painted, feet shoved into shoes and bodices straightened it's pretty much time to go. Time to get this girl married! Stand here, hold your flowers thusly, wait here, walk now. Now!

This is the other side of the mirror here folks. I'm usually the one telling people where to stand. Honestly, there's certain simplistic joy to taking orders. Especially when you are all dressed up and expected to parade yourself infront of a room full of people. I really liked that part. I'm going to have to remember that for later. The walk is not as sweat inducing as I had anticipated. It's possible all of the coffee and mimosas had dehydrated all of the sweat out of me.

And then you're done. All of that preparation, all of the fears and anticipation and now you're a part of the backdrop as the bride makes her own march down the aisle. And she's beautiful, the most beautiful. And she's laughing. Because that's what she does. And you try not cry. And you try not to giggle at the maid of honor crying. And you try to actively listen to what the judge is saying but you get distracted by your admiration for the groom who needs no prompting to recite his memorized vows. And you're keeping an eye on the flower girl who may make a fast-break for her sisters sitting in the first row at any time.

And then they are man and wife and it's time to ...take pictures.

Which is fine and uneventful, after the walk around the block to the backyard garden they built especially for this event (and the other weddings that are taking place before their permanent gardens are built out.) And there's MORE champagne. And hors d'oeuvres and you take off your fancy gold shoes because you keep sinking into the lawn and all of the little girls practice their dancing while the photographers pose the parents of the bride.

But it's still full on daylight when you are done and headed into the reception. It's not even cocktail hour when someone is asking you to order you dinner and there's no way you're going to get enough drinks in you to get on the dance floor. And you feel guilty, because you want to dance but it's too early to drink. And there's no way you're going out there without more drinks.
So you watch from your table, it's right on the dance floor, because you're a VIP. Or, because someone expected you to dance.

Either way, the food is good, the company at the table is great and being a spectator ensues that you wont miss the mother of the bride singing along to Love Shack, or the groom dancing in a circle with his nieces-in-law. And, it's all for the best because as a bridesmaid, you vowed to yourself that you wouldn't get yourself into the sweaty mess that you did at the last wedding you attended, last week. In Ohio.

But that's a whole other entry.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Other Peoples' Wedding Madness

The dog days of summer are upon us.
I've got 2 nights between weddings to make a brief update here.

There will, I promise you, more written about the weddings I've been to this year. I just need some time to catch my breath.

Maybe, like, I'll have my thoughts together by October?

Two days ago we attended the wedding of one of the original "Undateables," and my favorite Blues Brother. Quite possibly the only thing that could make Ohio interesting are the nuptial rituals of the DD.

And I'm not talking about a cup size kids.

Although, side note (and boys, you may want to avert you gaze here for a moment.) It is no joke shopping for a bra to go on under a special occasion dress when you are rockin' these kind of bodacious ta-tas. Gah, seriously. I am exhausted from the dressing room trips alone. And I haven't even gotten to the rehearsal dinner yet.

Two days from now I embark upon my first foray into actual inclusion in a wedding party. That's right. I have gotten this far in life (and never you mind how far that is, thank you very much) and this is the first time I am going to be a bridesmaid.

I couldn't possibly be more excited about standing up for darling Kristabeth. And, I am happy to report, she has chosen a lovely dress. For me. I really don't know what her wedding gown looks like.

Sure, I've stage managed more weddings than anyone should probably ever attend in their lives but I've never been expected to, you know, stand there with a bouquet and look pretty. I've always been in the back, bossing people around. Occasionally weeping quietly. A lot of the time laughing at things (Bryan.) There are going to be official pictures of me now. I can't let my makeup run this time!

I have purchased every tool known to women to ensure "prettiness" for this wedding. This, of course, means a lot of squeezing and molding of body parts. Lots of painting and tweezing and exfoliating. And, in my case, a lot of slathering on of fakeo-tan-in-a-tube.

That's right Krista, only for you will I subject myself to self-tanner, lest I blind wedding guests with the sad, Midwestern, whiteness of my exposed skin.

Curse this place and it's lack of proper beaches!

But it doesn't matter. Because it's not about me.

A wedding is a beast I completely understand. A bunch of folks get together to make two people look absolutely fantastic and create a beautiful event to honor them. Everyone else is just scenery. Granted, fabulous looking scenery, but scenery none the less. Everyone pitches in and makes it all come together for the bride and groom.

You may have to travel thousands of miles. You may have to endure the strip-mall mecca that is Boardman (Boredom) Ohio. You may have to spend money you'd rather put towards purchasing an HD TV. And you may have to spend a night sleeping on the floor of a hotel room. But, you do it out of love. You do it because when you commit to a wedding, either as a guest or as a member of the party, or even as a well meaning friend with a knack for moving people around, you're there out of love. And that should surpass any mild discomforts (spanx) or random acts of chaos (rehearsal.) It's a little bit of selflessness on your part. Making this thing that is a wedding happen for your friends, or your family. Or, in my case, my friends who are my family.

I know it sounds slightly insane but I wouldn't trade a moment of the sweating, stair climbing, being snipped at by cranky old ladies or last minute runs for decorating supplies that I've gone through as a part of the weddings I have helped organize for anything in the world. In the end you don't remember the food, or the DJ, or how much traffic you sat in to get there and back again. You remember the love. You remember the earnestness with which vows were exchanged. You remember the faltering of the best man's voice as he gave his speech and the hug that you got from the bride when she finally got around to greeting your table.

You will occasionally remember the after party. But, not if it was a good one.

One more wedding to go this year.
My next big project?
My own.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

The Baconator

Who'da thunk it? That cute little red-headed girl with the Pipi Longstocking braids is trying to kill us. My money has always been on the clown. And, in recent years, I've been hedging my bets with that creepy puppet king. But now I am pretty sure it's the pipsqueak who is going to do us in.

Have you seen this thing? It borders on gastronomic insanity. You eat one of these and you're practically saying "Here I am Lord. Come and take me."

Don't get me wrong. I love me some bacon. And, I love me some cheeseburgers. And I have, indeed, been known to chow down on a bacon cheeseburger or two in my day (OK, yesterday.) But still. There is a line and I do believe The Baconator crosses it. Crosses it, spits on it, rubs it's shoe in the dirt and then runs screaming away from the line waving it's arms. "Nyah, nyah you can't catch me!"

Does one person actually need to ingest that much meat, salt, fat and byproduct in one sitting?
Dostoevsky once said “The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.” But I say an equally valid judgement of civilization can be made by observing what we eat when no one is cooking for us. When left to our own devices, what are we ingesting? Are we seeking out meals? Or are we going for the quick cheap?

There is a lot to be said about the quick cheap. Namely that it is quick and cheap. And prolific. There is a fast food joint on virtually every corner and you can eat a full "meal" for around $5 any and every day at any one of them.

Which is a shame. Because it's very difficult to have the media, and your doctors and the government shouting into one ear about how you have to eat healthier. You have to cut out fats and eat more vegetables, get less sodium and drink more water. And, in the other ear you've got multi-million dollar corporations shouting about their new, triple stack double cheese, bacon, ham and mayonnaise sandwich combo death wish and a soda.

And we've done this to ourselves. The American love affair with fast food is as old as the interstate highway system. The more we buy, the more they try to sell us. But really we should reign it in a little here folks. Because this a slippery slope. You know that the next step is a slab of salt pork shoved into the middle of a frosted donut.

Oh, wait.

Monday, July 09, 2007

Rock And Roll! ... All Night?

I bet you've been wondering where I've been.

I bet you've been wondering what I've been up to.

I'll tell you what I've been up to.

I've been living the life of a part time rock and roller.

Rock And Roll, you see, does not begin until after 9pm.

So, partying everyday is sort of out of the picture.

Unless by "party" you mean sleep late.

But still. Exciting times. Very exciting times.

I feel cool.
I'm "with the band." Heh heh.

They're a really good band. And, I'm not just saying that because I'm marrying the bass player. I mean seriously. They're good. It's been a meteoric rise from the Christmas 2006 show at the VFW Hall in Villa Park, IL to next month's show at Swig on Milwaukee.

You should check them out:


Go on, click it.

Parental Discretion is advised. It's Rock And Roll. We should always show discretion when exposing our parents to it.

And, yeah yeah. I'm still getting married. And, there have been a number of weddings we've been to in the last year that I have not written about.
I'm mulling.
Leave me be.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Death To All Aphids!

I hate bugs.

I really like my plants though. And my plants have bugs.
Little, green bugs. And some white ones. They look like lint until they start crawling across the leaf. The green ones are aphids. I don't know what the white ones are. I really don't like either of them.

We mixed up some soapy water to spray the pepper plants, as directed by a knowledgeable looking website. I think it made the bugs angry. I thought it would kill them. Or chase them off - an aphid diaspora. One application will just not be enough. But I don't want to over soap the plants. We're really close to having actual peppers. I can feel it. And, after our near fatal experience with the basil plant this winter (now having passed on to a better life in someone's garden in the suburbs.) I'm a little gun shy on the plant care front.

Also, sometimes Beatrice likes a nice side-salad with her meal. She'll nibble on pretty much anything that grows. I don't want to poison her with insecticides so I'm afraid to use anything stronger than soapy water.

I'm thinking about bringing in some lady bugs. Yeah, I know. Also bugs. But they are, at least, more attractive bugs. And I'm pretty sure Beatrice would snack on them if they got out of hand.
It doesn't seem as though my The Fiance is going to approve of this little ecosystem project of mine. I believe his exact words were:

"No. You are not allowed to have lady bugs."

So. Soapy water it is then.
Unless anyone else has any good ideas.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Memorial Day Weekend, 2007

The only thing worth interrupting the TNT Law & Order marathon for is the discovery of the Jaws marathon on Encore. The Brody Brothers have just been reunited at the gates of Sea World setting off a chain of 3-D events. Culminating in the spectacular demise of Louis Gossett Jr. All four movies. All day long.

At eight o'clock The History Channel is airing a special about the mythology of Star Wars.

It is as if the Gods of Cable heard I was planning on spending the day in PJs, recovering from the weekend-long grilling bacchanal. Hooray for long, cool draughts of water and chocolate chip cookies.

Even the cats are lazing it up. The cats, however, are pretty much always lazing it up. It's what they seem to do best. Second only to waking us up at ungodly hours for no discernible reason. Beatrice is splayed out, lolling around in front of the television. The fan ruffling the white fur on her stomach. Jabber, I'm assuming, is under the bed. He's scared of the fans. All of them. Also the dishwasher and any noises coming in through the windows. Summer is a tough season for Ole Boy.

Summer. It's already summer. It feels like just yesterday that I was complaining that summer would never arrive and here it is. tells me we have 501 days until our wedding. If we get the date we want. If we find a place to have it. When we find a place to have it? Another trip down to New Orleans in July. A couple of more venues to investigate. And then hopefully, this October, I can get a committee together to come down with me and find a florist and talk decor.

But between then and now there are still 3 other peoples' weddings to attend. Gotta stay focused. Gotta keep my head in the game. Gotta pick out some hot outfits, book some travel arrangements and ship out some gifts. It's going to be busy. So bring it on, summer.

Bring it on.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Cute Shoe Revolution

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm here to share with you a new plan for total personal happiness and fulfillment.

(Hold for applause.)

It's really simple!
There aren't a lot of complicated steps to follow. So there's no literature to buy.
And, while there is an initial investment cost, how much you contribute is entirely up to you! There is no minimum.
And there's definitely no maximum!

(Hold for laughter.)

I just need you to listen to me on this. I know what I am talking about! And I want YOU to know what I'm talking about too! Are you ready?

(Hold for response.)

Are you ready?

(Hold for response.)

Are you ready?

(Hold for response.)

Then, Ladies and Gentlemen, give me your un-de-vided attention because here it is. Here's the secret. I'm going to tell it to you right now. This is what you need to do.

Buy yourself a pair of shoes.

You heard me right. It really is THAT simple. All it takes, at the start, is one. new. pair. of. shoes.

What kind of shoes? Doesn't matter.
Whatever you prefer.
Me? I favor a cute shoe.

(Show them the totally cute Anne Klein peep-toes you got last weekend.)

(Note: Get pedi b4 conference!!)

But you may like something a little more sporty. Or formal even. Whatever you want. We can't decide for you. And we don't want to! YOU are the best guide to your own happiness. And we're not about making choices for you. We're here to give you a "step" in the right direction!

(Don't forget to take the step!)

In the next (check time) ____ minutes I am going to give you all the tools you need to feel "pumped" about going out there and starting your own Cute Shoe Revolution!

(Hold for applause.)

Why buy new shoes?
How can shoes make you happy?

Let me ask you this: How can shoes NOT make you happy?

The right pair of shoes not only helps you look better, they help you feel better. Feel better about your feet. Feel better about your outfit. Feel better about you. Feel better about THE WORLD!

(Hold for applause.)

Say you're in a store. Say you're there to buy some bath towels and you're walking down the aisles and you have to go through the shoe section to get to the bath towels. And as you're going past all of these shoes you see a pair. That one pair. It's perfect. It calls to you from the shelf. And you see these shoes and you love them! You hear them calling and you love them.

What do you do?

Do you say to yourself "Oh, those are lovely shoes. Too bad I'm only here to buy towels?"


You pick up those shoes! You try those shoes on. You walk around, find that little mirror on the bench and model those shoes for yourself. Do they look good? Do they feel good?

Then you BUY those shoes. You can still get the towels! You can get towels anytime. But you need to start buying yourself those shoes!

It doesn't matter if you have something to wear them with. You can build an outfit from the ground up if the shoes are cute. It doesn't even matter if you have a pair at home "just like them."

Let me clue you in on a little secret:

No two pairs of shoes are exactly alike.
And the small, sometimes indeterminate, differences are what make them all necessary!

Because you know you are going to want an alternate pair to wear while you're breaking the new ones in.

I'm not going to lie to you here. It's true. We all know it's true. New shoes can be painful. New shoes can hurt. But when that day comes when you take the band-aids off, when the blisters have healed over and you're no longer hobbling around you know it's worth it. You know!

Because your feet look great! They just look fabulous. And they make your legs look good and shapely. Your whole posture changes and all of your clothes look better. And when you go out there feeling like a million bucks you can MAKE a million bucks.

And, when you make a million bucks what are you going to do with all that money? What are you going to do with it all?

That's right. You're going to go out and buy more, cute shoes.

Now I'm just going to take a little break here. Take a sip of water while my associates pass our pamphlets out to you and get my transparencies mounted up on that screen.

Mmh, this is good. What is this? Evian?

Saturday, May 12, 2007


It's not that I have known you for so long.
It's that I knew you so long ago.

The world and you and I were young
and more frivolous with our affections.

Different times and different pains
Different loves and reasons
came together, composing what was at once a friendship.

Kin by different bloodlines.
Running even deeper, at times, than veins can run in a body.

More solid than flesh and everlasting for the time.

When our world was one with walkable circumference
we were all it took to fill it.
Now the world is broader, bigger, wider than we ever bothered to imagine
when all of our time was filled with each other.

The distance between us makes the difference.
Not on maps so much as minds.
And hearts.
In soul and spirit.

It is the horizons that have changed.
Our angles in relation to the sun
and how we choose to revolve around it.

None of what we are or who we were has altered much.
Or been altered.
We are who we are who we were who we shall be.

The world, it seems, is big enough for both of us.
You there and me here.

Where ever there and here may be.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007


This past weekend I played more video games than I ever have in my whole, entire life. (So. Not. Kidding.)

Oh ye of little hand-eye coordination, get thee to a Wii. For The Wii is Wonderful. You can dance (Fiance refused that game), box (beat him), and shake ants off a banana (No. I don't know why.) And, apparently, it's all really good for you because you're standing up and moving around (instead of creating permanent butt-prints on the couch) and the boxing? Actually made my arm a little sore. (Um, did I mention I beat my The Fiance? At Boxing? Also at bowling and baseball and ...well, I'll just stop there. But also golf.)

This weekend I also got to play Guitar Hero II (Poorly.) And it was nothing less than nerve-wracking.

There are reasons all of my attempts at learning to play an instrument have ended badly (usually with cats hiding under beds.) I would tell you that it brought me to a whole new level of respect for what my The Fiance does but that would be a lie. In the end, it's still a game. And, although I full-on blushed in embarrassment when the "crowd" booed me : -( I still know that they are just a video game crowd (Thank you friends who remained supportive every time I mangled a song and will remember to never ever ever tell my The Fiance how bad I was at it...Right?) It's fun. (And only just slightly addictive.)

It made me realize how important it is to develop some of these skills in childhood. (Catching a ball, for example. Kicking a ball? Also good.) Not (as you may think) because I wish to beat the stuffing out of my The Fiance at more video games, but are good for you? No one ever told me that. (Maybe a little bit of a lie. But for sure no one emphasized it. Or, I couldn't hear them from behind my copy of Little Women.)

Never much of one for organized sports (Dreaded being the last one picked. Also, fear of getting hit in the face with a volley ball.) Or musical instruments (Cats hate flute.) I really didn't do much with myself while my cousins got their pictures taken for the paper playing soccer or baseball or sbaccerball...whatever.

Not me. I read. And read, and read. I even read some books about musicians (high school final paper on The Ramones and college essay on Nirvana!) There was that one book I read about the sports guy (That would be The Sportswriter by Richard Ford. Reading a book about a guy who writes about sports counts. Maybe.)

Anyway - point

Thursday, April 12, 2007


Rarely (ok, never) do I feel that a "celebrity" death warrents a post, or a picture, on this here bloggo. Kurt Vonnegut was a very influential force on my writing for a long time. And I will always credit him as such, and my father for taking "Breakfast of Champions" off the shelf and putting it into my hands. I am sad today to know that he has left us all here but happy thinking that he may finally know what his sister's real name was.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

That's Entertainment

When I was younger my Uncle John accused me of having indiscriminate taste when it came to entertainment. Which I think actually translated to "Please stop coming to my house and making us watch Ghostbusters and Return of the Jedi every weekend." To be fair, when I was 12, there was nothing that kept me more happily occupied than watching Ghostbusters or Return of the Jedi.

As I have gotten older that hasn't really changed much. You can ask my The Fiance. He hates my taste in movies because I generally insist on watching any crap that involves ghosts, demons, witches, fighters of ghosts or demons or witches, talking animals, animals that swarm and kill, poorly choreographed fight sequences or zombies. I also enjoy any movie wherein Bruce Willis or Will Smith save the world. In fact the perfect movie, for my money, would be some sort of buddy comedy/action adventure movie starring Die Hard and The Fresh Prince. World in peril? Who else are you gonna call?

This is not to say I don't also enjoy legitimately good movies. Movies that win awards. Movies that Ebert and/or Roeper thumb up. Movies whose scripts were not penned by Joss Whedon or the guys behind Freaks and Geeks. I watch those too. I like them. I am, generally, the driving force behind all of our movie rentals and try really hard to expose The Fiance to the important films. You know, the whole John Hughes oeuvre.

I kid. Well, not really. Although I am pretty sure this whole marriage thing would be called off if I tried to make The Fiance spend a weekend watching Brat Pack films. We rent a lot of old war films, newer action movies, sometimes a thinker or two. A History Of Violence was very popular with both of us. We spent some time, before we coughed up the dough for cable, renting various National Geographic and Discovery Channel documentaries. We were sorely disappointed by the show on the giant crocodile. And, tempting fate again last night, we were also disappointed by the special about Gigantopithecus. Lame.

Were you to walk into my house on any given Sunday afternoon you would probably find me scanning all of the On Demand movie channels looking for the most obnoxiously under-budgeted, poorly scripted horror movies. Most of which were created during the late 70s and early 80s. I will occasionally subject myself to whatever "Chick Flick" is screening on USA/TNT. But really, if it's not Reese Witherspoon it's a pile of pooh. Yeah, I'm talking to you Drew Barrymore.

I also REALLY love bad comedies. REALLY bad comedies. Chris Farley is in it? I am all over it! Anything that Adam Sandler made before he started trying to be a "legitimate actor?" Word. Broken Lizard Production? Giddyup!

So, yeah. OK. I am, perhaps, a bit lacking in the discrimination department when it comes to movies. There are a lot of people out there making movies. And, just because it was released straight to video or as a USA Network Original does not immediately make it a bad movie. Hallmark Channel? Yeah no, those are all pretty bad.

When it comes to television shows though. I am a little more picky. Buffy and Angel fascinations aside my criteria ... Well, I actually have a criteria regarding what television shows I will watch.

I will not watch a sitcom involving a funny, fat guy married to a relative hot, intelligent chick.
I will no longer watch Reality Television. (I had to draw that line the summer I spent watching every episode of Paradise Hotel like it was my job.)
I will not watch specials on 9/11 conspiracy theories.
Lost makes my brain hurt. I wont watch that.

There are a lot of shows I just don't watch. Most of the time it's because they interfere with shows that I HAVE to watch: 24, The Simpsons, Law & Order (SVU and The Original,) South Park.

Sometimes it's because The Fiance has very high standards for is stubborn about his television viewing. So, I miss some stuff. No big deal. You can find pretty much anything on television somewhere else to watch. DVD collections, the internet, someone else's TiVo because your The Fiance doesn't want to mess with the space time continuum like that.

Plus, it's only television. At one point in time, when a regular, good old fashion television set was groundbreaking technology people were producing groundbreaking shows. People were telling groundbreaking stories. Now? Now we're mostly scraping the bottom of the barrel. We're living in a time when most of our movies are remakes or film versions of old television shows. Even some of our television shows are just remakes of old television shows. And I don't mean that in the "inspired by I Love Lucy" sense. I mean: have you heard they are remaking The Bionic Woman? Also, there are way more commercials and product placements than there is actual entertainment on TV now. Snooze. How many E.D. medication commercials can a girl watch?

I refuse to allow television to be that important to me. Except for, you know, 24, The Simpsons, Law & Order (SVU and The Original,) and South Park. I know it pays the bills. I know, I know. I think half of my anxiety dreams are because I participate in putting some of this crap on the airwaves. But whatever. It's just not that important. That's why I'm OK with watching the garbage when I have to. I can tune it out, reduce it so it's just background noise. And sometimes, it's just fun to be easily amused. Like eating cookies for breakfast.

Mmh cookies.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Technical Problems - Please Stand By


I seriously meant to publish about the latest wedding extravaganza (i am not even exaggerating when i use that word here people) we attended last week(ish).

However, software problems on the home machine have caused delays.

Translation: My computer is a P.O.S. that has no more room on it's memory for me to do anything else and I have no money for a new computer.
The one i'm currently working with was bought for $100 second hand on (Gosh, ya shoulda seen the porn on there when i brought it home!)

So, soon. I promise.
Keep yer pants on.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Here Comes The Bride. All Dressed In...


Wedding dresses.

They are really heavy. I'm not talking in the metaphysical sense here. I mean, those things are made of a lot of fabric. And tulle. Don't forget tulle. In fact, you cannot forget the tulle. But, I have limited experience with these things. I've only tried on dresses today. This was the inaugural shopping expedition.

Mom flew in from New York. I assembled my crackerjack team of shopping and style experts and we headed west. Past Cicero Avenue and into the land where Polish, Italian and Mexican families live Catholic harmony. Just like Springfield has it's Hammock District, Chicago has a Wedding District and that is where we were today.

It is not, as one might expect, a glamorous district. But there sure are a lot of bridal salons out there. And a lot of dresses. Dresses in all styles, colors and silhouettes. That is how you refer to them. Not shapes. Silhouettes. I think I learned that today. Did I mention the crackerjack team of experts? You wanna know why I'm smart? It's because I know when to admit that I need help. I tell you right now, without my three ladies, I would still have my head stuck in a dress with an arm poking through one of those fancy, hanger straps they have. I would be lost.

When we first walked into Eva's Bridal I froze up. There were a lot of sparkles, shiny fabrics and pointy bodices around. I got a little overwhelmed and I shuffled over to the desk, a display case of tiaras and other ridiculous accessories. They gave me an information card to fill out and by the time I looked up, the ladies had already agreed upon a gown off one of the racks.
I love these girls. They jump right in where I fear to tread.

We were told it would be a few minutes before my consultant was available and we ushered ourselves into the room of gowns. Floor to ceiling wedding dresses. I had no idea where to begin. I touched a few, wandered past a couple of different price ranges but my chest got really tight and I felt really lost for a minute. I can't even go to Blockbuster without taking six and a half hours to chose from all of the titles. What was going to happen here?

Ultimately, we're talking about a room full of white dresses. OK, some were ivory. Some were antique, some were even baby blue but upon first glance it is a sea of white. It was like being snow blinded. However, there was no hesitation on the parts of anyone else. Head first and into the racks they went with me trailing behind them.

Most of the dresses were hung inside clear garment bags. We were unzipping and digging through massive amounts of silk, satin and tulle. Don't forget the tulle. We saw some really ridiculous dresses. Lots of lace overkill ... er overlay and sparkly detailed bodices. When our consultant (and I say our because today was, for sure, a team effort.) We had three gowns to bring into the dressing room. I gave the pictures I had cut from the only bridal magazines I have purchased thus far and she went off to find more gowns for me to try on.

One of the best things about having spent so much time in theater is that I am pretty comfortable in a dressing room. Usually I'm the one lacing people into corsets but the tables were turned today. I think I did good. I had a specific dress in mind going in but I kept myself open to some other designs and I had three of my most honest advisers with me. Plus my mom. She was there to make sure my boobs weren't going to hang out too indecently. In describing her sense of fashion, as far as my wedding dress was concerned at least, she used the word "parochial." I'm not entirely sure what she meant by that but I have a good idea, considering she favored the more "well structured" and least plunging necklines of all the dresses I tried on today.

Not that there's anything wrong with a modestly cut wedding dress. However, while I am looking to minimize certain aspects of my physique, there are others that I feel should be tastefully showcased on my wedding day. Tastefully.

I think the biggest surprise of the day, besides the whole "wow, I look pretty f'ing good in a wedding dress" thing was that I figured there would be some sort of conflict over dress color. But there wasn't. In high school, walking the walk in the mornings with Eileen Kaufman, when we discussed future wedding dreams I always described myself in something completely nontraditional. And, while I have veered away from my initial feelings on a black wedding dress with bridesmaids in blood red, I am still not too keen on the pure white dress thing.

Now, I'm as virtuous and virginal as the next chick. I just don't think I look all that good in white. Plus, I'm a clumsy eater. And a clumsy walker. Pretty much, I'm a little clumsy all around and therefore I've never favored white. I've had in my head something in a nice ivory, perhaps champagne. I didn't think mom would go for it. Only daughter, only marriage and mom's not the most progressive lady... But she agreed. That was pretty cool. We can only hope that things progress as smoothly over the next nineteen months.

Only nineteen months? Oy. OK.

So the dress thing turned out well. We eliminated some styles altogether. Bye bye mermaid silhouette. See ya at someone else's wedding, Mae West slinker. Hello Grecian draped style.
I know, it's a real shocker that I can rock the Grecian garb. What can I say? Some of us are just born to look good in raw silk. Elegant, simple, classical if you will. Indeed. Lovely dress, shame it doesn't exist in my size.

It's a really arduous task, trying on wedding gowns. I am not kidding about the weight of these things. Thankfully my crackerjack team was there to help me in and out of the gowns. Pulling down underskirts, lacing the aforementioned corsets and making sure I didn't fall off that little platform they give you to stand on, so you can see what the dress looks like without stepping all over the bottom. Not to mention six brilliant eyes and three mouths not afraid to speak the truth. None of the three of these ladies are part of the wedding party. That team is all in New York. But these three, they are my every day go-to team. We have our verbal shorthand and I know I can trust each of them to give me unvarnished opinions. Very important.

I feel pretty good. We dropped mom off at the train to the airport with information on two specific dresses written down for further internet searching. We took some pictures. And no, you can't see them. We're going to try and find the first dress we all agreed on. The one they told me is discontinued.

There's also a second dress. We popped into the shop where one of the girls bought her own wedding gown. Unannounced, you can't expect too much from a shop the size of this store. But the lady was super nice and very helpful. The one dress I tried on there is a winner. It's beautiful, but it's got a lot of "business" going on. I don't know if I want a lot of "business." But we've got all of the information on that one as well.

And I am confident, after today, that I can find a dress I look great in. Truthfully, I wasn't too sure of that until I started trying them on.

I don't know if I did it right though. I didn't cry. Wasn't I supposed to cry? I always hear about brides and their mom's crying when they find THE dress. Standing there, in front of the three-way mirror in a billowy cloud of white, tears of joy streaming down their cheeks. Yaddayadda yadda. No? Good.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Stop Me Before I Troll Again

there is some sick (SICK!) compulsion inside me that makes me do crazy things sometimes.

like putting my ex-boyfriend's name into google "just to see what happens."

you know what happens?

i find him.

and i go to his myspace page and stare.

and then i throw up a little in my mouth.

and then i do it all over again like a month later.
i don't know.
maybe he makes mention of me? maybe someone finally posted a comment calling him out on his supreme douchebaginess (yeah, i made that word up. all on my own. fuck off.)
maybe some sort of non-fatal tragedy has befallen him and i can laugh about it!

curse you myspace.
curse you for providing access to the people, places and things we should never be able to access again.

curse you myspace and curse my trolling sickness.

ew. alanis morrissette's "you oughta know" totally just came on.
i'm going to go wash the gross off myself before it's permanent.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Love In The Time of Cold Remedies

Ahhh Valentine's Day.
In honor of this most auspicious holiday marketing scheme here is a list of the other things that annoy me:

* Men blaming women for Valentine's Day.
You know, if some people thought to be more considerate and perhaps more caring towards other people on a regular basis (and without prompting) throughout the year maybe we all wouldn't be in this heart-shaped pickle, now would we?
Is it so hard to buy a bouquet of flowers every once in a while? Sheesh.
Ahh, not that I condone laying on the pressure for expensive baubbles and/or trinkets either. The entire thing is a gross misappropriation of perfectly good emotions if you ask me.
Just stop blaming me for the whole thing.

* Food voyeurs.
The next person who comes up to me and starts sniffing my food at lunch is going to get a face full of ...well, whatever it is I'm heating up at the time. I don't sniff at your food now do I? Scram.

* The CTA.
Specifically the Blue Line and the Damen Bus.
SpSpecifically having to wait a full 40 minutes for both/either of the above.
SpSpSpecifically having the above mentioned wait quadruple my commute time.
SpSpSpSpecifically when it's 10 FREAKIN DEGREES OUTSIDE.
Thanks CTA, I'm so glad the revenue from all of those fare hikes is being put to good use.

*The Cold. The Cold. Oh The Cold. Please God Make It Stop Being So Cold.
It's very difficult to reach into my pockets when I'm fully dressed and leaving the house in the mornings. I can't answer my cell phone if it rings when I'm outside. I can't, physically, get to the inside of my pocket. It makes me crazy. My fingers are virtually useless inside my gloves. My scarf is so big, and wound so high on my face that my neck is immobilized. And I so wasn't kidding about waddling to the bus stop in the mornings. Today it was a pair of tights, a pair of wool leggings, one pair of cotton socks and a pair of wool socks underneath the big, pink snow boots and my jeans. So much. Too much. Enough.
Thank you.

Dear The Violent Femmes,
So sorry to hear you have fallen upon hard times. I guess you should have invested some of that early-eighties cashola a little bit better. Maybe then you wouldn't have had to sell one of the most awesomest songs EVER to Wendy's. Dudes.


That's it.
Right now.
I'm gonna go work on the one-act.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Man, I Wish We Had TiVo

Now that The Panda Show is over I have regained full use of my Sundays.


I love Sunday. It is a day spectacularly devoid of any responsibility or relation to the other days in my week. When executed without flaw I can manage to be in my pyjamas all day. I try not to make any promises or create any expectations for myself on Sundays. Sitting down to write here is sometimes a major accomplishment for me but Sunday is the only day of the week I have to myself. And, therefore, the only day I have the time to commit to it.

Which, I admit, is partially laziness on my part. Sure, I could take an hour or two after work every night. Or I could start writing in the mornings over coffee and breakfast. But really? No. Not really. In the AM my brain is pretty much in a vice-grip of stupidity until I'm actually in the elevator of my office building. After eight hours at work there's no less pleasant a thought than sitting down in front of another computer and having to use the same brain cells I've been exercising all day. I can maintain consciousness until about 11pm. After that, I guarantee nothing.

Yes, it's true. I live a simple life. A quiet life. Saturdays are generally for chores. Grocery shopping, forcing The Fiance to help me "clean up, just a little." Sometimes a movie, or lunch out. Not in this weather though. Occasionally, Saturdays are spent recooperating from Friday night, but most of The Big Events happen on Saturday nights.

Which brings us back to Sunday.

I sequester myself on the second floor. It's the bedroom, and our office, and the music studio, and a very comfortable lounge area easily fortified against the elements by strategic placement of our space heater. It's quiet up here. The forced-air heat doesn't have the same resonence as it does in the living room. There's not the constant volume monitoring on the TV or on the computer as there would be downstairs. It's oddly cosy for a space so open. Equally as important, my cell phone gets horrible reception on the second floor. Oh well.

I bring some snacks up from the kitchen and a beverage or two. After 6pm, or with whatever passes for dinner on days like this, I might have a glass of wine or two but usually it's tea or water or juice. I'll bring the paper up and spread it on the desk, piling the ad sections ontop of the ones I have no interest in - automobiles, business, classifieds and sports - and browse the rest of the paper. Beatrice will eventually come searching for attention and plant herself in my lap, or ontop of whatever I'm reading at the time. We'll watch a little TV together until she moves her fat, kitty ass onto the other chair finally freeing all of my limbs and attention. She'll sit quietly until Jabber comes up here to tell me that he's starving for food and from lack of attention. Beatrice will either run him off with a swipe of her paw or allow him to nest on the bed.

If I hadn't finished reading my book last night, I'd be making my way through that right now. Or muddling through the new novel I just brought home from the stash in my desk drawer at work. But there's a Law & Order marathon on (does it still qualify as a marathon if they show 5 hours of L&O every Sunday?) The cats and I are content enough to sit here and eat our snacks and pound out some thoughts on the ol' blog.

I've been thinking about a one act play. Today is the type of day I might work on that. Or I might spend three hours rambling here. Or perhaps I'll browse the list of wedding dress designers from the salon I am going to next month. The Hunt begins on March 11th. There are a lot of things I could, and probably should, be doing today. There are a lot of ways I could spend my Sundays. But the greatest feeling in the world is not having a single damn thing to do.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Big Mistake

Wearing one less layer of everything today.

Less waddle on the walk to the bus stop this morning.
Trading in tie-up hiking boots for giant, pink snowboots = way cuter and much less me losing feeling in my toes because all of my socks make the boots too tight.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

What I Wore Today

1 pair underpants
1 pair wool leggings
1 pair wool leg warmers
1 pair cotton socks
1 pair wool socks
1 pair ugly hiking boots that are more water/slip proof than any other shoes I own
1 pair corduroy pants
1 bra
1 thermal pullover shirt
1 cotton henley shirt
1 ugly wool "Mr Rogers" sweater over the whole mess

still cold.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

2007 - The Year Of Living Frenchily

*Deep sigh of relief*

Today, January 16th, is the first day in over a month I have been able to just come home, kick off my shoes and relax with a some episodes from the Law & Order franchise.

The above is a lie.
I was supposed to go to the grocery store and buy breakfast food and pick up a pair of long johns for Bird.

Weeeeeeeelll. I copped out and hit the 7/11 for over priced bacon and eggs.
And, since I told Bird's mom to send him new, fancy, long johns for his birthday (It's OK, his birthday is tomorrow and he doesn't read this blog anyway) I figured I should wait and see if that happens before I buy him a pair.

So here I am at home. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

The end of 2007 went kind of haywire on me.
First of all I signed up to stage manage a show.
It's strange and it's French.
It's playing here, in Chicago, right now. Come and see it!

Then, in November, Bird promoted himself from my "The Boyfriend" to my "The Fiance."
Go figure huh? (squeeeee!)
It's very exciting and a little bit scary.
Not because of the whole "til death" thing. That I feel OK about.
What's really freaking me out is the idea of being the center of attention at a huge event.
Really. There's a reason I'm a stage manager and not an actor folks.
I am fabulous with planning and organizing and making all sorts of magic come together.

For other people.

When it comes to my own life, and art, and entertaining I am way more neurotic and a bit of a weenie about committing to ideas and choices.

This is not a good way to be when you have a wedding to plan. I am trying really hard to remind myself what I have told all of my bridalicious friends at one time or another. This is just a big budget, one-night show. Lavish costumes, complicated props but (thankfully) very few light cues. If I can continue to think of it in this way I should be able to deal with whatever the next umm.... eighteen months....has to throw at me.

Only eighteen months???!?! Crap.

On the plus side, even if the reception falls to pieces, we're doing it down in New Orleans so people will have some sort of fun. Somewhere. Somehow, that I may or may not want to know about later.

And can someone tell me how I am meant to refer to the occurrence to this event?
"One the plus side...we're _________ down in New Orleans."

Fill in the blank:
doing it
throwing it
celebrating it
tossin' it up
pledging our love
making me an "honest" woman
proclaiming our intended fidelity
making it all OK with The Big Guy

Is there a preferred term? Is there something in an etiquette book somewhere?
(This, by the way, is probably the last time you will hear me inquire about any sort of wedding etiquette.)

Anyway, so yeah. There's that.

In continence of the frenchified theme for 2007, for my birthday my The Fiance's Mom sent me a copy of Anthony Bourdain's Les Halles cookbook.
So far The Fiance has put together a splendid baked chicken.

A few years ago my family started exchanging Christmas gifts grab-bag style. Which is fun and cuts down on the spendiness that was Christmas but maddening when the wacky White-Elephant rules apply.

(You know, first person picks a gift from the pile. Second person can snatch the gift right out of first person's hands. Or can politely take one from the pile.)

Let's just say this. I started the game with a copy of "Young Frankenstein" and wound up bringing home a copy of the Balthazar cookbook.

Which, you know, one can never have too many cookbooks. But 2007 is surely shaping up to be the year of Parisian Brasserie cuisine.

Note to self: Register for those cute little ramekins to cook souffle in.
And perhaps an escargot fork.
But just one though. I doubt we'll ever need more than that.

So, that's all I've got for right now. Tomorrow is The Fiance's birthday. We are going out to eat something fancy and not at all French.