Hey readers!

I feel so damn good today! Yesterday the weather finally took a turn for the better in Chicago and I also had the best weekend I've had in months. Nothing like fun times with friends and great weather to really make life seem sweet, eh?

Thursday night I saw Franz Ferdinand with my friend Mira, who came into town especially for the show. It had been a long while since I'd been to a show and I thought, "I need to do this more often!" Everybody has their things that make them super happy and seeing live music is one of mine. FF is not my fave band, but I do have their first album and they played it pretty much in its entirety. We had some drinks and rocked out. On the drive home from The Riviera, we had my car stereo blasting, and were singing and generally acting like fools. It was great.

Friday I took the day off. We had "breakfast" at the best place for burgers in all of Chi-town: Kuma's. Usually you're stuck waiting for an hour or more for a seat, but we walked in around 12:30 and got a seat at the bar. Nothing like starting your day off with some beers and the best hamburgers in the world. I had the Metallica, which had BBQ sauce and bacon. Soooooo good, but I didn't need to eat for the whole rest of the day.

Then we took a little trip up to Boystown, the hot spot for gay boys in Chicago. I was on a mission: find some gloves for Saturday's burlesque class. We hit up a store called Beatniks and upon entering I saw why they had a big sign at the entrance saying: NO PHOTOGRAPHS. We saw ass-less leather chaps, a drag queen buying a wig, and high heels the were so huge, they were obviously for men. Fun times! I love gay boys (when they aren't too bitchy). I bought my gloves and the cutest pair of polka dot ruffled panties. Mission accomplished.

Then we went to Wicker Park/Bucktown - a sort of trendy area, for you non-Chicago peeps. It's a good place to bring out of town guests that are at least semi-hip, although the area is becoming more and more over run with yuppies with every visit. We walked miles, but enjoyed it.

Friday night was another Big Night Out. We went to Chicago's iconic punk bar - Exit. Sadly, I don't think it's quite as edgy as it used to be, but it was still fun. We watched my burlesque teacher, Ms. Bea Haven, strut her sexy stuff, along with some of the girls in her troupe. It was a ton of fun. I ran into another girl from my class and along with her friend and Mira, we got pretty rowdy. I even shouted at one of the teasing performers, "Show us your tits!!!" I don't think I've ever uttered that phrase in my life, but the pints of Bass were going down so well, if you know what I mean.

Fired up by watching the performances Friday night, I'm so pleased to report that the burlesque class on Saturday was a success. I owned it! I think I was so happy from having a fun weekend, and inspired by the performances the night before - I could feel a difference in myself and I felt sexy and awesome. Yay for me! The inner sex kitten is coming out!

Speaking of inner sex kitten...Friday night at Exit my teacher was trying to talk me into taking the Burlesque for Performers class - the next level where you prepare an act to perform in front of a real audience at the end! This will require much, MUCH more thought on my part, for sure.

So...Mira left late Saturday afternoon and I've had the rest of the weekend to recover from the festivities. Today I took a bike ride and it was amazing (and I don't use that word often). So many people were out, I could smell barbecues being fired up everywhere, music was playing, trendy people were seeing and being seen on sidewalk seats of restaurants in Bucktown - you could tell that everyone is feeling about 1000% better with the nice weather.

I felt fit to bust with happiness. I think my time of grieving and sadness is over.  I think now is emergence time from the cocoon I've been in. I'm feeling more like myself than I have in months, and also feeling like I'm really liking that person again. I'm making new friends, getting my mojo back, feeling like hot stuff again, and it feels so damn good. I can't even tell you. I think The Winter of My Discontent is finally over, and I say good riddance!

location: at home - windows open!!! mood: ecstatic music: the sounds of summer in the city tags: happiness

So...class #2 of Burlesque for Beginners was yesterday.

I had a frustrating time of it. I was still pretty bumbling and clumsy with the routine, but not quite as bad as last week, I think. For me, the absolute worst moment of the class came when the teacher announced that we would each walk across the room, doing a sexy walk to the music, by ourselves. As soon as the words left her lips, I felt a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Readers, this was the hardest thing I've had to do for a while. I just could not manage to do this seemingly easy thing. I watched other girls go before me, with varying degrees of success. One girl, who admitted the first class that she had been a dancer, was so full of grace and elegance it was astounding. She practically floated across the floor.

Then it was my turn.

"Feel the music!" encouraged the teacher. I tried. I attempted to pretend that I was alone at home, with the stereo on and only the cats to watch my silly antics. I failed miserably. Twice I attempted to slink across the floor, like a femme fatale and oozing sex appeal. Okay, not quite. My real goal was to avoid looking too terribly stupid.

I didn't even succeed at that. I'm positive I had a frozen, deer-in-the-headlights look on my face. My body felt like a stiff wind up toy and I awkwardly lurched across the floor. I attempted to shake my hips, but even that came out as stiff, convulsion-like movements. Both times I actually stopped halfway across the room and just shook my head, shooting a pleading look to the teacher to please end my humiliating nightmare.

"Keep going! You can do this!" she said, God love her. Both attempts I got about 3/4 of the way across and just quit, slinking in shame to the wall where the others waited. I'm sure I had a look of misery on my face.

We finally moved on to another lesson where we were doing things as a group and I hoped that everyone had forgotten my hideous performance.

After class, I thanked the teacher for being so encouraging. She had been giving me slightly pitying looks the rest of class.

"You just need to relax! I know you feel like an asshole when you're doing it, but everyone did."

She also told me that when she started learning burlesque, she had felt the same way and had the same problems. "You just need to get your body used to making those movements. Once you do that, you can relax and have fun with it."

As I biked home, I thought, why is it I can buy a plane ticket and go on vacation on the other side of the planet, by myself, without giving it a second thought, but the idea of strutting my stuff in front of the burlesque teacher and 4 other women turns me into a terrified numbskull?

The teacher's parting words to me were, "Come back next week! Don't you dare get too afraid to come!"

I will be there. Because although I am apparently too tightly wound to release my inner sex goddess, I'm also too damn stubborn to stop before I've succeeded.  Believe me, she is there...I just need the bitch to come out of hiding.

location: at home mood: bored music: Interpol tags: burlesque; embarrasing

So...interesting afternoon on Saturday.

I've been trying to do more things to get out there and meet more people.  I figured a good way to do so is to start doing some group activities.  So I decided to start attending a class at a dance studio in Chicago called Burlesque for Beginners. Now, let me make clear this disclaimer: I DO NOT INTEND ON BEING IN BURLESQUE SHOWS. First of all, I just don't know if I have the cojones to do it. Secondly, my job involves being "The Face" of the program I work for at A Very Prestigious University, and part of my job is recruiting. I can just imagine talking to a prospective student and he/she saying, "NOW I remember where I've seen you! You're a burlesque dancer! Wow, you have great tits!" That would not be so good for my climb up the professional ladder, hmmm? Given the sorts of things I'm interested in, I decided long ago that it would be prudent to keep my personal and professional life sharply divided.

I decided to take the class for me and no one else. For me, it wasn't about performing, or being able to do a sexy striptease for anyone. It was about having fun, making new friends, becoming more comfortable with my body and sexuality. Given how impressed I was with my first burlesque show, I decided this was the class for me, rather than, say, a Pole Dancing class. Burlesque just seems more feminist and woman-friendly in my mind anyway, whereas pole dancing seems more about titillating a drooling man with no blood whatsoever flowing to his brain.

What I learned today was that burlesque performing is waaaaaay harder than it looks! Those girls make it look so damn easy and fun. I have to say though that I wasn't the only one flailing. Rather than thinking lush and sexy thoughts during the routine we were learning, I was counting beats in my head, trying to keep my balance, and frantically thinking to myself, "Which fucking foot was I supposed to lead with?????" We practiced taking off bras (over our clothes) and believe me, it's much harder than it looks! We started learning a routine and part of it involved removing the bra, spinning it on one finger overhead, and casually flinging it across the stage. The girl next to me kept whacking me in the head with hers, and mine kept wrapping around my finger instead of twirling.

Thank goodness the instructor noticed our complete and total lack of talent and remarked that the first burlesque class she ever took made her feel like an incompetent moron who would never get it. That was so nice of her. The thing that made me want to come back next week (not only for the stubborn desire to master gracefully twirling my bra, dammit) was the feeling of companionship among all the women. So what if we sucked? We had to start somewhere. And the coolest thing is that no one there was a Playboy centerfold. In fact, there were two women there that were quite obese and one of them was definitely way over 40. The coolest part was that one of the heavy ladies was actually the most confident and sassiest one there! It made me stop feeling so self conscious that my thighs weren't the size of a pubescent boy's and my ass was more than a handful.

In fact, it felt a little weird when the instructor encouraged us to shake what God gave us. All our lives we're taught that to be Good Girls we shouldn't bounce or jiggle too much. It felt very odd to me (and a little repulsive, I admit) to be shaking my tits like Jello, but once you got into it, you realized, "Yes, I am a woman! I have breasts. I have hips. I have a butt. And they're fucking gorgeous!" The media is so caught up in thinness ("Can you pinch an inch?" as they used to ask in those old Special K commercials) that we forget that we should have something to hold on to. Breasts, butts, and hips are supposed to have some padding, for God's sake!

On another note, I took my bike (a.k.a. Old Blue) out on The First Ride of the Season yesterday. I think I did about 10 miles. I also think I way overdid it. My thighs and my ass were killing me and I wasn't entirely sure I'd be able to get out of bed this morning,but to my surprise, I felt fine except for a sore behind. Riding my bike felt so damn good - people were everywhere and spring is here. Thank God for that!

location: at home mood: bored music: Otis Redding tags: burlesque; feminism

A random bit of silliness to make you laugh; check it out:

http://lookatthisfuckinghipster.tumblr.com/

Love it!

location: at work mood: amused music: M.I.A. tags: random tidbits

Hey, Readers.

I’ve been feeling off lately.  Restless?  Uncertain? It’s hard to put my finger on it.  I think it’s just because of all of the changes my life has gone through recently.  You know – you get into a routine (good or bad) and then when it changes, you don’t know what to do.

Anyone else feel like that? 

I always feel a little unsettled during the transition seasons.  Spring and fall always signify big changes to me.  I had fallen into a routine at work, but admissions season is over and now things will be different (and unknown, since I’ve been in this job less than a year).  My personal life is all sorts of upside down now…I’m trying to get out there and meet new people.  I’m now single again after quite a while and considering all sorts of things I hadn’t had to think about for what feels like a long time.  I made a bunch of new friends when I moved here 2 years ago, but relationships have gotten in the way (theirs and mine) and I find it very hard to pry them away from their boyfriends to go out with me, the newly single babe on the town.

 But you know, at least I took the chance to move somewhere new (and better!).  For all of the uncertainty and growing pains, I still feel good in my decisions.  I was visiting my hometown this weekend and whenever I do, I never fail to think to myself, “THANK GOD I don’t live here anymore!” That’s not to say I don’t love my friends who still live there, but they made their choices (right for them) and I made mine (right for me).

 I sort of feel like a caterpillar in a cocoon, waiting to emerge into a whole new world – like I’m on the verge of something.  I can’t wait to see what it is.    

location: at work mood: restless music: Sublime tags: changes

Hey guys,

I'm back from the hinterlands of Indiana.  I went back to see the fam for the Easter weekend.   I had a great time: I ate Ethiopian food, watched the roller derby, and drank enough to make my liver cringe.  It was wonderful to see my friends and the little getaway did me loads of good.

I'm still here; I haven't taken another break.  I'm irritated because I keep thinking of great blog postings that involve You Tube videos, but I can't seem to make them work on this site (but I can elsewhere).  Oh well.

A big shout out and loads of kisses to my Fort Wayne Posse, who know all my flaws and faults and love me anyway.

Six weeks from now I'll be in Istanbul!  I gave up trying to find travel partners long ago; people either had no money or no time.  I just go by myself now, and I've met some great friends that way. 

For now it's a rainy day in Chicago and I'm trying to unpack and clean up and get ready for another week of the Rat Race.

location: at home mood: tired music: Dead Milkmen - ha!

Readers - I am fabulous.

As many of those who know me personally already are aware of, I'm going through a pretty crummy time right now.

People have different ways of dealing with their personal pain.  Some shop compulsively.  Some eat compulsively - going to town on the Ben and Jerry's.  Others throw themselves into their work.  I, on the other hand, have a different approach.

I travel.

I had been mulling over an idea for about a week or so and today it became a reality.

I am now the proud owner of a ticket to Istanbul, Turkey. 

Memorial Day week I will be checking out the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, the bazaar, and the Bosphorus. 

I rock.  I really do. 

You can now all be jealous of me...

P.S. By the way, this doesn't count as compulsive shopping because a) I've wanted to make this trip for years b) I've been mulling it over for several days and c) it is not being bought on credit - I never travel on plastic.  It's all through saving up from being a cheapskate.

location: at work mood: jubilant music: Justin Timberlake - ha! tags: travel

Hey Readers,

I know that all of you have experienced the annoyance that is email spam.  But today, I got something in my work email that I think shows spam has hit a new low.  You can tell that a lot of it is written by people not well acquainted with the English language, but check out this gem that landed in my in-box this morning:

dears, management we have a good relationship with America  gov't in the past years with Ethiopian gov't . this good relationshipe rapidly growth communcate with America peoples and Ethiopian peoples to share Culture and custom. so, peoples need your support to sponcer to Aid book for medical students for st'paul's hospital millinium medical school Addis ababa, Ethiopia. women students and childrens and Hundicaped community to support.
your country this charity more role unforgetable memory for Ethiopian peoples for  America gov't.
                                                        
                                        Thank you
                                   Americalive forever!
                                   long live for America!
                                          We wish!

It's almost like someone just put a string of words together.

That ought to give you your laugh for the day.  I know it worked for me.

location: at work - on lunch mood: hungry music: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club tags: funny stuff

It's a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning in Chicago today.  I'm lounging around in my pj's - I have things to do, but I'm always pretty pokey about getting around in the morning.  I'm sitting at my desk, reading emails, checking out Facebook, and browsing the Net. 

I hear the sound of animated conversation coming from outside.   I've found I've sort of turned into a Mrs. Kravitz-type person - peering out from behind the curtains at the antics of my neighbors.  Mostly this is because the antics of my neighbors are good reasons to call the cops...but that's for another posting.

I see a man that is pretty obviously a crackhead.  The front and top of his hair sticks out in all directions (sort of like Don King).  The back of his hair is braided and decorated with beads.  He is walking down the sidewalk in a very jerky, agitated manner and talking 90 miles an hour - to himself.  Even from the vantage point of my window, I can see he has a major case of Crazy Eyes. 

I watch him cross the street and go into the alley next to my building, where all manner of crazies, homeless people, garbage pickers, and gang bangers like to congregate all hours of the day and night.  I gradually hear his voice fade away as he moves on to smaller and worse things.

City life... 

location: at home mood: awake music: The Pixies tags: city life

Hi, Readers.

Rant du jour: Fucking Tickemaster

Case in point: 

My friend asked me to accompany her to see Franz Ferdinand at the Rivieria Theater on April 30.  It used to be that a consumer had the choice of either purchasing the tickets at the venue or via Ticketmaster, but in recent years there has been a move to shift the ticketing process over solely to the Evil Empire. 

I knew I was going to get raped by Ticketmaster buying these tickets, but I didn’t realize just how badly.  Here is the breakdown of the charges, provided ever so kindly by them, so you know just how badly they’re fucking you:

 

Ticket Price:                                 $27.50

Convenience Charge                 $8.35

Building Facility Charge            $1.00

Tax:                                                 $.42

Order Processing Charge          $5.55

TicketFast                                       $2.50

 

Total Price for a $27.50 Ticket: $45.32

Sweet holy Jeebus!

What the hell is a “convenience charge?”  As in “it is our convenience to totally rape the consumer, thank you very much, have a nice day?”  I understand that they have to make some money off the transaction, but $5.55 seems a bit steep for a process that’s TOTALLY automated and where there is no human interaction whatsoever.

And, I must point out, that in addition to charging you for the convenience of using their services, and in addition to charging you their “processing charge” for something that is done solely by a computer, the final indignity is charging you for the privilege of giving you your tickets!  The cheapest choice by far is the TicketFast option, where they email you a PDF that you print out and use as your ticket.  This email will cost you $2.50.  If you – gasp! – want paper tickets mailed to you, they will charge you TWENTY FUCKING DOLLARS for the privilege. 

Can we all agree that this is absolutely ridiculous?  The ticket price is almost doubled after Ticketmaster gets done with a consumer. 

I’m on my way to Ticketmaster headquarters with a torch and a pitchfork.  Who’s with me?

location: at work mood: enraged music: Dead Kennedys tags: corporate greed, evil empires, rants

Am I the only woman in the world who is highly annoyed at the moronic tone of some of the commercials for cleaning products that are aimed at women?  Yes, I comprehend the fact that women probably use more cleaning products than men do (and after visiting certain “bachelor” pads, I know that there are some men who aren’t acquainted with cleaning products at all).  But it’s the way this stuff is marketed that really sticks in my craw.

 For example:  the other day I saw a commercial for Stanley Steemer, the carpet cleaning place.  A motherly woman was complaining that her husband had his study, the kids had their playroom, but she had the kitchen, and the inconsiderate buggers with whom she lives were always encroaching on “her” space (i.e. the kitchen) and she had to call Stanley Steemer to come in and clean the carpets due to the mess her family made. 

 Okay, first off, why is the kitchen “mom’s room?”  Haven’t we moved past this stereotype yet?  I know plenty of women who hate to cook, and/or have boyfriends, husbands, partners, etc who do all the cooking.  The kitchen is nothing more than the room in one’s home where the cooking is done – it’s not necessarily “mom’s room.” 

 The second thing that pisses me off about these types of commercials is how the rest of the family is portrayed as a giant pain in the ass, and it’s mom’s job to be their slave and clean up their messes with a slightly bemused smile and a gentle-yet-knowing shake of her head.  Uh, excuse me, but where is the mom screeching out, “Who made this mess?” or “You had better clean this up or you’re grounded!!!”  I personally don’t know any moms who, when confronted with a mess, just shake their head and smilingly say, “Oh, those rascals!” or something to that effect.  This mom does not exist in the world outside of commercials.

 This brings me to the thing about these asinine commercials that pisses me off the most: the father, if he is ever included in these commercials, is ALWAYS an incompetent boob who is there only to make a mess, then shrug his shoulders and give a guilty smile.  “Oops, sorry I spilled milk all over the kitchen, honey, but you can’t possibly expect me to clean it up…you can clearly see I’m hopeless with cleaning products.  After all, that’s YOUR job, dear!  Come on, kids, let’s go make another mess somewhere else in the house for mom to clean up later.  She clearly enjoys being our slave!” 

 I doubt the average TV watcher thinks any of these things when they watch commercials like this.  Mostly I think their eyes are glazed over and they are contemplating going to the kitchen for some chips rather than critically deconstructing the sexist messages inherent in commercials for cleaning products.  Maybe I’m the only one who bakes with rage during these things. 

 Fight the power. 

location: at work mood: irritated music: Marvin Gaye tags: things that piss me off

Friday morning, driving down Lake Shore Drive, listening to Fugazi and looking at the enormous Jolly Roger that is draping the front of the Field Museum for its pirate exhibit.  How cool is a gigantic Jolly Roger?  Especially when you're listening to some blistering Fugazi to start off your day?  It made me happy, at any rate.

location: at work mood: optimistic music: Link Wray tags: reason to be happy

Hey Readers,

Sometimes I feel a little bad that it seems like so many of my posts are rants or complaints about things.  Now, many times I feel that I hit my stride as a writer when I'm writing about something that gets me fired up.   But I also don't want to be portrayed as a whiny bitch.  In an effort to keep that pejorative label at bay, I decided this morning to put together a short and non-comprehensive list of a few of my favorite things, in order to show that while there is a lot out there that I don't like, there is also a lot out there that I do. 

This list is in no particular order, and as I said, is far from exhaustive:

- really good coffee

- the smell of old library books

- tulips in February and daffodils in March

- getting on an airplane to a foreign destination and knowing that when I disembark, I will be on the other side of the planet Earth

- going to music gigs and losing myself in the crowd, the music, and the band

- holding someone's gaze and having a shared moment, whether it's humorous, romantic, or whatever; when there is a strong psychic connection with another person, no matter how brief or if they are a total stranger

- toasted coconut doughnuts

- the first taste of a cold beer - why is the first sip always the best?

- intellectual stimulation

- watching a snowstorm while being cozy and warm at home and knowing I don't have to go out in it

- the feeling of freedom I get on a good bike ride

- blowing bubbles (this is a fantastic way to connect with your inner child and also helps relieve stress)

- watching babies; I don't have any desire to have one of my own, but I love to watch them

- sea dragons - don't know what they are?  Do a Google search for some images and prepare to be amazed.  Even better, check out the real thing at the Shedd Aquarium

- Old school Metallica, some Anthrax, some Slayer, and old punk music.  I know, I don't look like I'd like that stuff, but it really gets the blood pumping.  I also like good reggae, ska, and soul music to chill out to.  And I confess, I have a fondness for crappy pop music as well, especially trashy Euro pop.

- the intense personal satisfaction I get from the creative act of writing, when the words flow like honey and they fit together harmoniously.  It makes me wonder if it's really coming from me, or from some source outside myself.


We will now return to our regularly scheduled bitchiness.

location: at work - on lunch mood: bored music: Flogging Molly tags: favorite things

This morning when I woke up at the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m., I sat still for a minute to listen to the sweet, sweet sound of a robin warbling in a tree outside.  It was just one bird and not a whole chorus like you sometimes hear in the spring and summer, but that sound lifted my heart like you wouldn't believe. 

Readers, spring *is* coming.  It's the season of new beginnings and hope.  I don't know about you, but that's a welcome reminder to me right now.

location: at work mood: hopeful music: Bob Marley tags: reason to be happy, spring

Tonight when I was coming up the street on my way home, I noticed something holding up traffic.  Upon closer inspection, I saw it was a woman in a wheelchair, propelling herself up Central Park Ave, in the street, alongside parked cars.  An important thing to note, dear readers, is that there is a perfectly serviceable sidewalk right there.  Instead, she chose to back up traffic, endanger her miserable life, and also possibly ruin the life of the unlucky driver who could potentially hit her and kill her.  And of course, I had to wonder: maybe she was in the wheelchair as a result of walking in the street once before and didn't learn her lesson?

This reminded me of something that makes me so angry that I can't see and is an aspect of urban life: people who choose to walk in the street and not on the sidewalks. 

Let me tell you that Ninja Monkey and I have had countless conversations about this topic and they all pretty much go like this:

Me:  Look at that moron!  He/She is walking in the street!  There is a perfectly good sidewalk right there!  Why are they walking in the street?  Why?  WHY????

Ninja Monkey: Because they are stupid.

Me: No, that's not a satisfying answer!  If I walked up to them and asked them, "Why are you walking in the street?" they wouldn't say "Because I'm stupid.

Ninja Monkey: Well, they ARE stupid, and that's why they walk in the street!

I just don't get it, readers.  First off, I only notice people doing it in poor neighborhoods - somewhat in Logan Square, but more often in Humboldt Park.  I notice it the most when I take Humboldt Blvd/Sacramento down to the Eisenhower and you have to drive through some pretty crappy West Side neighborhoods.  

I really noticed it the most during the winter.  The snow would be coming down so hard you could barely navigate your car, the streets were slicker than all get out, and all of the sudden from out of no where you would have to swerve to avoid hitting some MORON who is walking in the street!  I mentioned that I take North Ave over to Lake Shore Drive in the mornings to get to work and I see it all the time on that street.

Do they not realize the danger?  Even in fine weather it's totally possible that some dimwit talking on their cell or not paying attention could totally plow into them.  But when the roads are slippery or the visibility is down (i.e. at night, in rain, in snow), it only takes a second for someone to slam on their brakes and slide right into the numbskull strolling down the street. 

I just don't get it, readers.  Does anyone have a more satisfying answer for me than "Because they're stupid?"

By the way, the property manager came and put some mice traps behind my stove this evening.  I'm a very light sleeper and I have this awful feeling that I'm going to wake up tonight to the horrible sound of the SNAP!  I mean, I don't want the nasty little things in my house, but I hate to snap their necks.  Ah well, what can be done?  Even if you could do catch and release, they'll just go infest another house, thus only transferring the problem to someone else.  At least I don't have to deal with the bodies of the fallen - the property manager will come back to retrieve them.

*Shudder*

It's going to be a long, dark night: just me, the cats, and the dying mice.

location: at home mood: thoughtful music: "Battery" by Metallica - hellz yeah! tags: mice, stupidity

Readers, one of my personal urban nightmares came to pass yesterday.

I found a mouse in my condo.

I had a friend who had a mice infestation and I stayed the weekend at his place once and have retained the scars.  Those damn things can get just about anywhere and the whole time I was at his place I kept thinking I was going to wake up to find one in the bed.  I heard them at night, scrabbling and squeaking around, and it made my blood run cold.  I saw one climb up his floor-length drapes one evening, and walked into our guest room to see one climbing out of my sister's open suitcase on the bed.  The only thing worse than mice is rats, which my cousin had in an apartment she used to rent in Lincoln Park.  As much as mice fill me with revulsion and feelings of freaking out, I think rats would totally put me over the edge into insanity and I could never set foot in my place again if I knew there was a rat anywhere in the vicinity.

Yesterday afternoon I noticed my cat Sadie hanging around this armoire I have in the hallway where I store towels, blankets, and such.  She kept peering beneath it and slipping her paw under it as far as it would reach.  This is what she does when she loses a toy underneath something, so I assumed that was the case.  I got on my hands and knees and saw nothing, so I put it down to the cat acting weird.  Anyone with a feline companion knows that sometimes they do odd things.  My other cat, Savannah, likes to sit in the corner, stare at the wall, and meow.  Sometimes they will jump up and start frantically running like they are being chased by demons.  So I put Sadie's behavior down to the strangeness of cats.

Later in the afternoon I noticed that she was sitting in the hall, staring hard at the armoire.  I knew something was up.  I again looked underneath and behind it and saw nothing, except for a stray section of the newspaper that had fallen behind it.  I reached behind to pick up the newspaper, when out from under it shoots a mouse, who then froze behind the armoire - I'm sure its little heart was beating a million miles a minute.

Well, so was mine!  I let out a scream, and Sadie jumped to attention, salivating at the thought of getting a hold of the mouse. 

Needless to say, I started freaking out.  I simply could not let this mouse stay in my place.  I would lose my mind, that was all there is to it.  I didn't know what to do.  I tried calling someone for help, but ended up just leaving a semi-hysterical message.  When it became evident that no help was forthcoming, I then spent 20 minutes weeping about the situation and my perceived inability to handle it alone. 

I finally calmed down, but I had no idea how to get rid of the damn thing.  And believe me, the last thing I could handle was knowing it was in here with me, especially when I went to bed.  As these thoughts were swirling in my head, I heard a scrabbling commotion in the hallway and the mouse, followed by Sadie in hot pursuit, ran into the living room.  I screamed and screamed as Sadie excitedly chased the terrified little thing around the room.  And I kept screaming.  I saw it duck behind the radiator and Sadie seemed to lose track of it.  After several minutes of hyperventilating, I worked up the courage to look behind the radiator.  As I suspected, there was a very small hole in the floorboards where the thing must have launched itself to escape the clutches of my cat.

I called our condo building's new property manager, who told me of his efforts to rid our building of mice and he promised to come over Monday, set some traps in my place, and plug the holes.  I had never seen any evidence of mice in my place at all, and with two cats, I figured their scent was enough to keep anything away.  I think yesterday's mouse made a wrong turn and almost ended up losing its life.  I hoped that it would go back to its little mice friends and tell them to stay far, far away from my unit.

I went out for Mexican with my friend Melissa, where we discussed mice, cats,  and mice and cats together, the viciousness and cannibalism of hamsters, and the finer points of pubic hair grooming.  She took me to a party at a friend of her's house in a neighborhood I never even knew existed in Chicago: Budlong Woods.  The place was packed and I met some interesting people, including a guy who lives in a neighborhood in Chicago called Hegwisch.   I had been through the hood on the South Shore train to Indiana was curious about it, so I was pleased to be able to meet someone who actually lives there and find out the scoop.  I also listened to Melissa and her friends discuss the intricacies of Chicago politics, which almost put me in a coma (sorry, Mel) and Melissa was kind enough to notice my zombification and promptly took me home.

I got home very late and immediately fell asleep, but I was woken up by Sadie and Savannah at 4 a.m.  They were alert and prowling around.  I heard Sadie practicing her wind sprints and I was too scared to get up and see if she was chasing mice again or just getting a 4 a.m. burst of energy.  I don't think my mind could handle the stress of knowing there was another mouse in my place without undergoing a complete psychotic break with reality, so I chose to stay in bed and pretend nothing was happening.  Ignorance can be bliss sometimes.

location: at home mood: distressed music: Savannah my cat snoring under the desk tags: hysteria, mice, urban nightmares

Hi readers,

I've been slowly trying to decorate my condo since I bought it last year.  I haven't done a thing to the bathroom and it sorely needs it.  Everything is a stark, clinical white - from the walls to the vanity and the cabinets.  I have a shower curtain that is a pattern in pastels, but it's so light that with all of the white, you just can't make out the pattern or the colors.  It probably doesn't help that I bought it in 1998, so it's probably faded.  I decided I should start by picking a new shower curtain, and from there I can paint to match.

I decided to hit the closest Bed, Bath and Beyond, which is over on Clybourn in Lincoln Park.  Traffic over there on a Saturday afternoon is a nightmare, so I decided to use the CTA.  I walked down Central Park to North Ave and took that bus over to the LP.  It's interesting to watch the crack heads and gang bangers of Humboldt Park turn into a mix of hipster and yuppies in Wicker Park, and then all yuppies in Lincoln Park. 

At any rate, BB&B didn't have anything that interested me.  I was walking down Clybourn on my way back to North Ave when I went past a waxing place that advertised a $15 bikini wax as a grand opening special.  I was in need of some grooming of my womanly bits, and $15 for that type of wax is an absolute steal.  A bikini wax is never the most pleasurable experience, and as I was feeling like shit anyway, I thought I might as well endure the pain of the bikini wax.

I walked in and the only person there was this little Asian woman.  She directed me to a private room, I put on the special disposable panties, and she went to work torturing me.  It was pretty much like every bikini wax that I've ever gotten, until we got to the end.  I wasn't watching what she was doing (you lay down for this procedure and since I'm kinda squeamish anyway, I keep my eyes away from the proceedings), but it felt like she was picking off any little remaining bits of wax that might have been left behind.  Her fingers were busily working, then she shoved the paper underpants aside and was working in there...uh, okay...getting a little close to my special bits...and I started to think that her fingers were rather aggressive...I began wondering if she was going to offer me a "happy ending" grand opening special of only $50.  Just when I really started feeling like I was at a gyno exam, she ceased whatever the hell she was doing and was done.  Hmmmm....that was the strangest bikini wax I've ever experienced.  When I left, she told me to tell all my friends about her place, and I thought, "Not bloody likely!"

Then I hopped back on the North Ave bus.  I got chided by the driver when I got on because I wasn't standing in the spot that was the designated bus stop (in my defense, there was no sign and I had to make my best guess).  He was crabby anyway because he yelled at some kid who was eating a doughnut: "Sir, there is NO eating on the bus!"  I thought for a minute there was going to be a standoff, but it turns out the kid wasn't being belligerent, he just couldn't hear because he was sporting headphones.  I watched the passengers change from yuppies to hipsters to poor people and Hispanics as the bus made its way back over though Humboldt Park.  

Another day in the big city.  Never a dull moment.

location: at home mood: shocked music: the sounds of people enjoying the spring weather tags: bikini wax, happy endings

Hey bbs.

Every evening on the way home from work I have a rather complicated route to get myself home.  It's complicated, but I truly believe it's the fastest way.  I get on The Drive from 57th Street, take it up to Columbus, over to Congress and onto the Eisenhower.  Just as it's getting a bit nasty, I hop off at Western Ave and take that up a bit to Grand Ave.  I used to take Western up to North, but learned the first time that this is a death wish.   Once you get up to around Chicago Ave, you want to slit your throat because the traffic becomes pretty bad. 

So I take Grand Ave over to Sacramento/Humboldt Blvd, up to North Ave, over to Central Park, and up to Central Park and Dickens.  I swear, the things we urban rats have to do to negotiate traffic!  It usually takes me about 50 minutes to get home, which isn't bad.  Well, considering it's only about 13 miles, I guess it is pretty bad.

In the mornings I take North Avenue over to LSD.  While it works fairly well in the mornings,  coming home is a nightmare coming through Old Town and Lincoln Park.  It's enough to make a girl wish for a rocket launcher to be mounted on the front of her Ford Escort so she can vaporize all the BMW's, Mercedes, Lexuses (Lexi??) and Audis that are driving like assholes.

At any rate, every evening when I tool up Western Ave, frazzled from the rat race and the traffic, around Western and Fulton there is a guy begging in the street.  I have a special dislike for the type of beggar who gets out in the street.  For one thing, it's as dangerous as hell.  For another, it's annoying to sit in one's car and try to avoid their mournful gaze as they pass by your window, their sad, tattered sign flapping in the breeze.  

But this dude has a flair for the dramatic.  Usually he has a blanket wrapped around him, to demonstrate how cold it is and how much he is suffering in the bleak Chicago winter.  It would be pretty pathetic, if not for the fact that the dude is totally running a scam.  For instance, the other day it was 75 degrees, yet this beggar was still wrapped in his blanket.  Somehow his fake shivers didn't seem so convincing.  

Then this evening I observed that from somewhere he had procured a wheelchair.  Oh, the pathos!  This evening he was in his wheelchair (though minus the blanket), propelling himself down the middle of Western Ave with his coffee can proffered with hopeful eyes. 

I've got to hand it to the dude; he knows how to work his audience.  And technically, he is "working"; he's out there every day busting his ass for a few bucks.  Maybe a talent scout will drive by one day and offer him a part in a movie or something - dude is clearly a master actor.

I'm back, my little packzis. 

I'm drinking Tecate, blasting old skool Metallica, and channeling my pain on to the screen.  It's been too long, hasn't it?

Lately I've had the urge to put on my red shoes and dance my troubles away.  Lady Gaga has found her way into my regular rotation, and I can't seem to quit listening to her opus, "Just Dance." 

Tell me, readers, why is it that I can't get these lyrics out of my head: "It will be okay / Just dance" ? 

I hope so.

location: at home - pounding the keys mood: drunk music: "Just Dance" by Lady Gaga tags: beggars, city life

Seen today while biking down Armitage Ave: a dead rat, squashed flat in the street.  I've seen dead squirrels in the street, dead rabbits, even dead toads.  The dead rat is a first for me.  You know you're living an urban existence when you see rats squashed by cars and not squirrels.

location: at home mood: intrigued music: the sounds of a beautiful autumn day in the city tags: city life, rats

Readers, get ready for the saddest story you've heard all week.

I had a ticket for one of the two sold out shows to see Beck at the Aragon Ballroom.  These babies sold out fast and I was happy to have one.  I've had this ticket since July.  My friend Carrie and I were looking forward to it big time.

So all day yesterday I was bragging to everyone that I had a coveted ticket.  Much jealousy ensued.  I told my coworkers that I might be late to work the next morning, due to my late night at the show.  I rushed home from work, changed clothes real quickly, scarfed down some dinner, and Carrie picked me up (she drove).  I didn't want the hassle of carrying a purse, so I brought only the bare minimum.  I was afraid that if I put my ticket in my front pocket, it would get all smashed and wrinkled, so I slipped it in my back pocket of my jeans. 

The Aragon isn't too close to me - it's on Lawrence, which is pretty far north, at least by most people's standards.  We parked about 8 or 10 blocks away and walked to the venue.  Upon arrival we found a HUGE (and I mean enormous) entrance line.  When we finally found the end of the line, we were afraid it would take forever to get in, but it moved pretty steadily along.

Here comes the sad part.  I got up near the entrance to the Aragon and I reached into my back pocket for my ticket and...it wasn't there.  I immediately panicked and went through all my pockets.  Nothing.  I looked at Carrie with huge eyes and said, "I don't have my ticket!"  She looked back with equally huge eyes.  I knew without  a doubt that I didn't leave it at home.  I suggested that it probably fell out of my pocket when sitting in her car.  Thus, after suffering through the ENORMOUS line, we had to get out of line.  We decided to take a cab back to her car and once we retrieved the ticket, take the cab back to the venue. 

All the way to her car, I was praying that ticket was there.  To my horror and sadness, it was not.  The ticket had obviously worked its way out of my pocket and fell out somewhere.  And as it was a breezy night, there was no guarantee that it would be found by retracing steps.  Some lucky person probably stumbled across my ticket and thought, "COOL!!!  A free ticket to the sold out Beck show!  SWEET!!!" 

I felt absolutely sick.  Carrie very sweetly offered to skip the show, but I urged her to go without me.  I just wanted to cry.  Beck!  Sold out show!  FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!

And since I had only brought the bare minimum with me, I didn't bring my CTA card.  Luckily I brought $20 with me.  So I paid the cab driver (since it was my fault we were going back to the car to look for the ticket) and I was stunned to learn it cost us $7.65 to travel no more than 10 blocks.  With the $2 tip, I spent $10 in the blink of an eye.  

I got on the Red Line at Lawrence, which is right by the venue.  I got off at Fullerton, with the plan of taking the Fullerton bus to Logan Square.  I waited at the bus stop and while waiting I called my friend Mira, who was just as devastated as I was about the lost ticket.  The bus came, I hopped on as I chatted with Mira, and off we went.  I continued to talk to Mira for a while, then hung up.  I started noticing that the streets we were passing were very odd, and to my knowledge, not off of Fullerton at all.  We passed Irving Park and I was suspicious.  Then we passed Montrose and I realized we were going northwest.  I finally went up and asked the driver and get this - I got on the wrong freaking bus!  Apparently both the Fullerton and the Lincoln buses use the stop and I didn't notice which bus pulled up because of my cell phone conversation.  Well, this pissed me off even more and I felt like a total moron.  Luckily, the Lincoln bus had a stop at Western, where I got off.  It was then that I realized that I had just wasted about an hour and ended up going in a complete circle and was back on Lawrence at Western. 

I was so disgusted with myself: number one for losing the ticket and number two for being such a dunce as to get on the wrong bus.  Luckily I managed to take the Western bus to Fullerton and then the Fullerton bus home without incidence. 

I got home near ten o'clock and realized that I had wasted an entire evening and $70 ($50 for the lost ticket and $20 of cab, bus and L fees, thanks to not bring my CTA pass).  It's the day after this ordeal and I'm still disgusted with my stupidity.

What did we learn, dear Readers?  Number one, NEVER put anything in your back pocket.  Number two, no matter how improbable it seems, always bring your CTA card.  You never know when your plans might change and you could be stranded. 

I missed Beck!!!  FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

location: at work (on lunch) mood: disappointed music: John Coltrane tags: beck, stupidity