Chronicles of Lindsay

Gay Trivia

2012-02-01T21:01:00.003-06:00

Tuesday night, I joined Jewed Law and some other friends for trivia night hosted at a local gay bar. In all honesty, the guys didn't come to the bar for trivia...they came to flirt with their gay boyfriend. Don't worry, I am dating a straight man...he just openly flirts with the bartender. This all started when him and Ky (a married male half of our couple friend) started going to this bar every Monday for football. This gay bar is the only sports bar in the neighborhood, so it was more of a default instead of a choice. Their weekly visits turned them into "regulars" with even saved seats at the bar like Norm and Cliff. I think deep down the boys liked the attention since we girls rarely fawn all over them.
Anyway, when Monday night football ended, the boys switched to Tuesday Trivia (again just any excuse to hang with their gay boyfriend). Our team yesterday included Jewed Law & myself, the husband and wife duo of Ky & Lu, and Jewed Law's work buddies. Call us dorks, but we had just the right combination of random people to cover a pretty good spread of useless knowledge. The first task was selecting a team name. We mulled over the usual suspects of "garage sale vibrators", "heat seeking penis", or "I'm a fucking professional" before settling on the always classy "I cum rainbows". To back up, cumming rainbows is homage to a conversation we had with the gay boyfriend about how slutty he was. He said he would likely blow a guy if he claimed to cum rainbows.
So to our surprise, we dominated the competition with correct guesses on the ph of water, the year Nintendo was invented, and the length in feet of the average small intestine. It did give me pleasure every time the announcer had to say "and on top...I cum rainbows". Being that the game was being held in a bar...a gay bar, drunken responses were yelled out more frequently as the night went on. My favorite response was "Sarah Jessica Parker" to the question "what do you call an adult female horse". Ah ha ha ha

A study...part 2

2012-01-29T21:04:00.003-06:00

So each week, my neighborhood never fails to provide quality people watching. I again camped out at Starbucks for several hours this Sunday to study...for a test...and the people.

I took a few practice quizzes to test my retention of the material. Well the textbook explanation for one of my missed answers specifically said "we question your competence and integrity as a project manager if you picked anything but the correct answer". Whoops!

Okay back to people watching. Yeah I've been told I am way too judgmental...but that isn't stopping me. So at the next table, a "gangsta thug" looking man (okay yes, he was black...a menacing looking black man) was watching a movie on his laptop. What movie do you ask...TWILIGHT! Ah ha ha ha. I almost leaned over to give a condescending shake of the head...or maybe to ask if he was team Jacob.

A study...

2012-01-22T19:19:00.004-06:00

I have been quite absent in my writing, but I have good reason. I am currently studying for this test to improve my career (or at least give me some more letters after my name). Studying hasn't been easy since I am easily distracted. That is why I have forced myself to get out of my apartment and find camping grounds to bunker down and concentrate. Of course (since it is me and everything) my study spaces are not devoid of unusual activity. Here is what I observed this weekend.
Saturday was quality time at the library. I stationed myself in the children's section of the small Uptown library for several hours. You ask what I am doing in the children's section...well yes I totally looked like a pedophile but it was much better than sharing a table with homeless people. Seriously the library is just chock full of homeless people (or at least the one in Uptown). The children's section had a few signs stating "children only...no adults allowed" that I conveniently ignored. Thankfully the staff let me be since I was quiet, clearly studying, and kept my hands out of my pants.
Sunday the library is closed, so I had to settle for the Starbucks in my hood. It is a "Magic Johnson" Starbucks so you know it is ghetto. Still I was able to study for several hours at one of their library/communal tables (seats six). The downside of being at a communal is having to deal with other table mates. One man poured HALF the sugar canister into his coffee. It was like that moment in A League of Their Own were Tom Hanks pees for four minutes. I couldn't believe it and kept thinking "he must be done now...okay now...uh now?" I wanted to lean over and peak into his cup to see what it looked like. Well at least he didn't "drink" his coffee with a spoon.
Another table-mate was a girl and guy duo. He was loudly tutoring her in quantum mechanics (not kidding). I kept thinking it was part of a hidden camera show because he sounded like a Russian physicist and she looked like Jersey Shore community college.
My favorite neighbor was the old man with a HOOK for a hand! Yeah I couldn't believe it either. He had the look of a homeless guy, so I bet he had a bad ass street name like "One hand Sam" or "Hooky Lou" or "Bill the Pirate". I have to admit, he was very distracting...I mean the hook was distracting enough...his "reading" style didn't help any. The guy had a couple of paperback books that he was systematically marking up with a pen (underlining words, crossing off sections, etc.) as well as tearing out pages. The fun part was that he was tearing out pages with his HOOK! Made me wonder if he was doing it on purpose or if it was one of hazards of having a hook hand.

South America Adventures - Part 4 (Inca Trail)

2012-01-10T21:22:00.017-06:00

We woke up several hours before dawn (this will be a common theme through our hiking trip) and set out for the starting gate of the Inca trail. We were doing the most common hike, which is four days hiking with three days camping out. I’ve run into all sorts of people (mostly my parent’s generation) who all claim to have hiked to Machu Picchu. Well they are all liars. Many take the train to a bus that will drop them off at the doorstep ofMachu Picchu. This hike was a real challenge with 6-10 miles each day combined with high altitudes (some people even had to break out the oxygen tanks…although that was an extreme case with a pair of smokers). Youcould tell when you get to Machu Picchu who did the hiking and who took the train (well you could smell the difference between sweat/exhaustion and someone who actually has showered in the last three days).
Due to conservation efforts, you have to get a permit in order to hike the Incatrail,and they only sell a limited numberof permits each season. This isactually why we did the trip this particular year instead of the previous year (they sold out of permits so we had to wait a YEAR!). After a group picture, we stamped our permit at a guardhouse on one side of the river and crossed over a bridge to the trailhead (whoo hoo, off we go!).
There were many Inca trails all over Peru…kind of their road system. This particular Inca trail ran between Cusco (the capital) and Machu Picchu (a religious retreat area). When the Spaniards came, the Incas started to rip up the roads to A) slow down the enemy, and B) hide/protect their temples & cities. The trail at this part was rough. Many of the stones were missing, and those still in were allskewed so you had to watch your step in order to avoid a sprained ankle.
Another obstacle was the pack of donkeys sharing the trail with us. An Inca site about a ½days hike in (Ilactapata) was under restoration construction, and the donkeys were the only way to transport in supplies like cement mix and lumber. We spent the greater part of the first day looking down in order to avoid twisting an ankle or stepping in various animal shit piles. We joked about people asking us how the Inca trail was only to answer, “I don’t know, I was too busy watching out for donkey poop!”

Thanks to this experience, I can confidently distinguish between horse,donkey, and llama poop (big pile, hamburger patties, and pellets respectively).

The few times I did look up, the view was SPECTACULAR! Mountains and rivers…cliffs and waterfalls…even a few ruins. We took a rest break next to this narrow (narrow is an understatement…more like a sliver of a path) offshoot path that lead up to a cliff overhanging a river. The path

was the raised ridge with shear drop offs on either side. You had

just enough space to walk one foot in front of the other like tightrope walking. At first only a handful of the extra bold hikers climbed up to take in the view and get one-of-a-kind photo opportunities. I am extremely afraid of heights, but I eventually decided to venture up since I likely would never be here again (Dana called it suicidal). I looked over the edge

and it made my heart skip a beat seeing the raging river about 500ft below our small rock outcropping/cliff. Some of the uber bold guys stood on a lower small (foot width) ledge that would prop their heads just above the side. We staged the pictures that looked like they were hanging over the edge of the cliff. Yeah it looked cool but it still made me pee a little.

After a few hours in, it was clear the group of 14 would split into two paces of slow and slower. I considered myself in shape, but the altitude and uphill climbing kicked my ass. Thankfully I was part of the faster group (granted I was the slowest person in that group), and the guide proposed taking this slightly longer but more scenic route to the first campsite. He reasoned that we would get to the campsite at the same time as the slower group since we were taking the long route. Well it became obvious later the guide seldom takes this route because we got lost. At one point we needed to cross this stream (about 10ft wide). The bridge was a clumped grouping of branches and twigs thrown over a tree trunk and a hearty bush. We crossed one at a time, and each crossing would result in the sound of a few branches snapping. It was the second time that day that

I almost peed myself. Thankfully everyone made it across (although there was one big snap and the Puerto Rican quickly crawled across on his belly where we pulled him over when he got within arm’s reach).

We ended up in some farmer’s field. Of course he had freshly manured his field so all my efforts to avoid animal shit that day were wasted.

When we passed his house (or hut), his wife was outside hanging laundry. She saw the group of us and started yelling out (in Quechua) to her husband something that we took to be “get your ass out of our fields…honey there are people on our property”. We high tailed it out of there since there were ample places to hide a body or two (there was zero civilization out there).

After climbing over a few fences, we finally hit the campsite…two hours

after the slower group. I was exhausted and wanted to pass out right there even though it was just past four o’clock. As an effort to pack light, everyone basically carried one set of clothes and wore another with enough changes in underwear to get us through 4 days. Once we were in the camp, everyone stripped off their sweaty clothes (or in my case sweaty shirt since I only brought the one pair of hiking pants) and strung them on makeshift clotheslines strung inside our tents. Everyone then just collapsed and caught up on personal stuff while we waited the hour before dinner. Dana was reading a book and suddenly declared, “its easier for me to read laying down”. I couldn’t help but add, “its easier for me to sleep laying down” which got a few exhausted chuckles.

The hour passed and we were ushered into the “group tent” which had just enough space to fit the 14 of us along with tiny little camping chairs and table.

For being in the middle of nowhere with humans physically trafficking in our food, we sure ate well. Yes most of

the meals were soup based since it was easy

to carry packets of ramen spices, some rice, and a big pot that you could just fill it up with water found in some stream. Okay it was the same pot they used to sterilize the drinking water and bathing water (I use the term bathing liberally since you basically dipped a washcloth in a tub of ice cold water and gave your armpits a onceover).

During dinner, our guide gave us some pointers for our first night. He told us all to relieve ourselves (i.e. pee) while it was still light out since we are in the middle of the wilderness and a nighttime wandering could result in us disrupting a snake, varmit, or worse a puma on the prowl. He also instructed us to stay calm if we heard “noises” (yes he even said it with the quotation marks…made me wonder what was out there). The last gem of advice he gave us was to ALWAYS keep our tents zipped up because many animals like to find nice dry, warm (well when we are in there) place to crawl into. All of our jaws dropped because every tent was open in order to help dry off our sweaty clothes. We begged the porters to go check the tents for critters for us... thankfully Dana & my tent was empty but another pairing had two tarantula spiders escorted out of their tent.

Speaking of the porters, we got to meet all of them. They ranged in age from mid 20’s up to 60’s. They aged beyond their years as everyone looked double their actual age (the 31 year old looked no younger than 50). Many wore rubber tire sandals and carried up to 60kg of gear on their backs (some with the tied

blanket method). Over half of the group spoke only Quechua, an indigenous language similar to what was spoken by the Incans. Not only did they carry practically all of our gear, food, and lodging, but they would practically sprint on the trail in order to beat us to the next camp. Granted most of the men hail from nearby mountain villages, so they were familiar with high altitudes and mountain terrain hiking (but man we were majorly schooled each day).

Okay now here comes my favorite story of the entire trip. I am so excited to write about this that I am sure a few too many exclamation points will populate the paragraph (yay!!!). Our camp was on a few stepped terraces on the side of a mountain. Each terrace level was stepped about 5ft down from the next, and we were able to fit four two-man tents along the length of a terrace level. During the middle of the night, I heard these heavy footsteps of some wild beast roaming around outside. At one point the THING fell off one terrace level onto another. It sounded HUGE! It came over and started to rip fistfuls of sod out of the ground RIGHT NEXT TO OUR TENT! The whole time it was deeply breathing these heavy breaths out its nose…it sounded like a dragon. As you could imagine, I was practically shitting myself. However out of courtesy I tried to be absolutely silent as to not wake Dana. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, Dana was doing her damnedest to be still and quiet as well. I was convinced it was a puma…until it relieved itself on the other side of our tent. Yes, when it peed, it let out a bray of relief and I realized we had been terrorized the last 20minutes by a DONKEY. The rouge donkey stumbled around the rest of the camp waking up

everyone else (yet everyone was quiet as our tents were practically on top of each other). At one point, we heard the still of the night disturbed by the sound of canvas ripping and a man going “ah ah AAAAAAHHHHH!”. The entire camp burst out laughing. Apparently the donkey tripped on one of the tent guide wires and fell into the occupied tent. Simon (British guy) was fast asleep and the next thing he knew, a giant hairy body was coming towards him. Yeah I would scream too.

The night molestation wasn’t over yet. I was woken up (again) by some scratching right NEXT TO MY HEAD! It sounded like something was burying something under my head. Thankfully it sounded small so it was more of an annoyance instead of a fear for my life. The critter must have woken up the girl in the next tent over because she attempted to shoo it off. Unfortunately it was a skunk and it let out a little stink in its flight.
The next morning we were greeted with piles of donkey poop (hamburger patties…I should know) all over the camp! We found the culprit donkey about 100ft up on the trail. There may be a few pictures of us making obscene hand gestures to it out of spite.

Check out these kids who played around our campsite during lunch. The great debate is if kid knew what was really on his hat.

Another humorous story...we saw this horse up on the side of the mountain. We asked a local how the horse got up there. The local replied in all seriousness, "It walked". Ah ha ha ha

The Christmas message

2011-12-20T19:03:00.008-06:00

Time once again with the annual family Christmas letter. I've take over writing this tradition a few years ago after another wildly incorrect letter from Mom. She would write "Lindsay won a marathon", when the actual statement was "Lindsay run a marathon". Anyway, the letter has to be somewhat toned down as the relatives don't have the same appreciation for curse words that I do. Admittingly this is not my best work (I wish it was funny laugh-out-loud instead of just funny ha-ha). Oh and it has been censored to protect identities and future politicians.

Merry Christmas from the [insert surname here]. Actually it should say Happy New Years instead as we have yet again procrastinated.
We are dubbing this year “the year of the baby” as we added TWO to the family. Angela & Brad welcomed a son, Bennett, on August 1st. He is a good baby and smiles with his toothless mouth all the time. Bennett is constantly amusing his parents by showing off how far he can urinate. One time the stream hit him right in the head, and we’ll remind him of that experience when he turns into an awful teenager. The couple remains avid fans of the Omaha Storm Chasers baseball team (I attribute it to the tight pants the players wear).
About a month later, Tiffany& Aaron welcomed their second daughter, Hadley, in early September. Yes Angela and Tiffany were both pregnant at the same time (battle of the belly). Hadley was born a few days after Ava celebrated her 3rd birthday. Ava just learned the word “No” and is putting it to use everywhere. It is hard not to laugh at her when she tries to be so angry. Hadley is, well a baby, so she mostly just stares out at the world and launches projectile spit-ups (okay spit-ups is the nice way of saying baby vomit). Aaron’s Christmas light home display hit a new obsession level as he doubled the quantity of strands for this year’s newspaper making display (giving Clark Griswald a run for his money).
Lindsay continues to live and work in Chicago. She was rewarded for her hard work by being honored nationally as one of the top 40 consulting engineers under the age of 40. Mom attended the awards banquet with her and commented, “whoa, engineers are sure boring”. At least they gave out a plaque for making us sit through the droning speeches. Lindsay’s annual abroad vacation this year took her back to Greece. Unfortunately she had terrible timing and arrived right when the country attempted to declare bankruptcy. Nothing says relaxing vacation like protests, riots, and a transportation strike (which lead to a very exciting yet slightly illegal trip to the airport).
Mom retired in June after 31 years of teaching. It couldn’t come soon enough as she claims the 8th graders get worse each year. She is a full time Grandma now and spends most of her time visiting the kids, oh and substitute teaching every once and while (only when the babies are not available). She also has turned her free time to organizing the bins of memorabilia from the kids and grandbabies. Man, six was a terrible year for us in hand turkeys and coloring.
Dad still enjoys the retired life. His day is a rotation of eating, napping, and watching educational television. He excels at making the grand kids smile and laugh (they really get him) and he is the favorite lap for Ava when she wants to “read” to someone.
We hope all of our friends and family are well this holiday season, and earnestly preparing to break their New Year’s resolutions.

Bennett & Hadley duking it out

Ava as Dorothy for Halloween

Bennett's game day gear

Ava loves her little sister

The three grandkids at Thanksgiving

The three regular kids in August (Tiff is 9 months pregnant)

Who wears short shorts...

2011-12-11T13:03:00.007-06:00

I’ve said it before, but Halloween is my favorite holiday. Yes I realize it is mid December and I am writing about October…ah happy memories of warmer times.
Last year I was invited to two fabulous parties. One had us playing charades, which may sound dull but was actually quite fun if you get a bunch of drunk adults together. The game gets even more interesting when you have to act out “whale penis” or “cell phone picture of brett farve’s junk”. Jewed Law made the game interactive by writing up slips involving another guest. Thanks to him, one guy got a lap dance and I ended up sticking my finger in a very perplexed guy’s mouth. The funny thing is that this relative stranger let me put my finger in his mouth once and almost let me stick it in a second time.
The second part was a “mash-up” theme. This means you take two ideas or characters and mash them together. I was dressed as a giant banana with a hammock draped around my shoulders…get it, a banana hammock (or a giant banana hammock because if I was a dude, I would require a big one…oh yeah). Some other good ones were lady ga-ga-zilla, pee-wee Herman Munster, sonic youth the hedgehog, carrot top chef, poison ivy (poison being the rock band), Salvador dolly, finding captain nemo, and my favorite Jiffy Pope. How awesome is Jiffy Pope! His cape was aluminum foil, his scepter cane thing (forgive me I am not catholic, so I don’t know the formal name for everything) instead of a scroll was a stovetop jiffy pop package, and the best part was that his hat (miter I think) was filled with POPCORN! Okay this is sacrilegious, but he would bless people and feed them pieces of popcorn like communion.
The mash up theme party was such as hit, that it was copied for a Halloween party this year. With all the great costumes last year, I had to think a bit to come up with something totally balling. A quick trip to the local thrift store on ½ price day (yes I do know when my thrift store has ½ price days…hey don’t judge, it is a sweet deal and the people watching is awesome) and for about $7 I picked up my entire costume. I purchased a size 50 men’s khaki pants. Holding them up, I had a weight watchers moment…you know when they can fit into one leg of the giant pair of pants. Anyway, I needed the huge pants in order to create motorcycle pants like what George Patton favored. Yep I was going as Patton…Dolly Patton (a mix of Dolly Parton and General Patton). I cut in a waist and leg below the knee to make it fit perfectly. One thing I realized was that men wearing size 50 pants have HUGE asses! The crotch extended down to my knees! Don’t believe me, go wander around the big and tall section in Montgomery Ward. Sewing I can handle, but the hard part was incorporating gigantic balloons into my chest. They were so big I couldn’t see my toes or grasp my hands in front of me. I guess she has gotten used to them over time.
Jewed Law’s costume was much simpler to create. During our paint the condo weekend, he was wearing a really tight pair of jeans. We spent the weekend trading jibes about his tight jeans and how he should audition for the Thunder Down Under male review. Anyway, I wanted to work these jeans into his outfit. The only thing I could come up with was making hot pant a la Daisy Duke. Surprisingly he was down with this (not gay I swear). The first cut I made was about boxer length…then he let me go a little (or a lot) higher. The end result cracks me up even thinking about it. The other part of his costume was some cardboard guns, a cigar, and a red tank top for….Duke Nukem. Finished product = Daisy Duke Nukem.
I don’t know if it was his milky thighs or my riding crop (made from a coat hanger and some electrical tape…I am Mac-fucking-Gyver), but our costumes were a hit. Other witty combos were a zom-bee (half zombie and half bee), the wicked witch of the Northwestern, Jew-do (judo), and a unicorn-on-the-cob (ah ha ha ha…the horn was actually an ear of corn).

Law and Order

2011-11-20T18:15:00.000-06:00

I can now say I have almost done it all. I checked off another box on my life experiences by serving on a jury two weeks ago. Like most other people, I cursed when I opened my summons notice. I never before received summons probably because I don’t own a car and had only just registered to vote in the last alderman election. I talked with Jewed Law, since he was a trial lawyer, about various strategies that would make me unfit for selection. Two words…white power! Just kidding, but it was my best chance of lying since I couldn’t think of any communicable diseases. The icing was that the courthouse was located in Skokie, a near northwest suburb that took me two trains, a bus, and 90minutes to get there.
I was pulled into the first group of prospective jurors. The room was full of all sorts of characters and there was no way I was going to out crazy them. The case was a civil trial over a car accident involving minor personal injury. Naturally the judge asked us about a dozen questions such as “have you ever been in a car accident that resulting in personal injury…has a family member or spouse been in a car accident that resulted in personal injury…have you ever been part of a lawsuit…etc.”. I was forced to say no to each question since I did swear to tell the truth, so I knew I was fucked in the crazy department. One woman did find a way to muddle the truth by saying her brother was the witness to a terrible car accident where one car flipped over the other and tragically killed someone. The judge asked her if she could be fair and impartial, and she said no. Her reason was because her brother described the accident in such detail that it was like she saw the dead body. The judge shook his head and stated in belief “but you realize you were NOT EVEN THERE”. Dismissed.
Another guy really took crazy to a whole new level. He answered normally to every question except the last one “do you feel you can be fair and impartial in this trial”. He replied “absolutely not” to which the judge asked for further explanation. Well then he went on this rant about how he has no faith in the justice system because his brother is now in federal jail for crack cocaine charges and that there are two cocaine laws and they prosecuted him under the harder one, blah blah blah. Well the judge rolled his eyes and said first this was a circuit court of Cook County (nothing to do with federal) and that this was not a criminal trial but a civil trail…so we wouldn’t be deciding jail time, just MONEY! Dismissed.
Well of course I got picked because I was normal and didn’t work for any insurance company or witness the death of any passenger via my brother’s description. The trail was only supposed to last a day, but we were delayed three hours during a bomb scare. They whisked away the judge and lawyers and left us in the courtroom with no reading material. We spent the first hour in uncomfortable silence because we were told not to talk during the trial. Finally we wised up and asked if we could talk if it wasn’t about the trail.
The trial in short was an old woman suing a college kid who ran a red light and hit her rear passenger side. He admitted it was his fault and his insurance had already covered her car and medical bills. The trial was to determine how much her pain and suffering was worth. It obviously was not a riveting trial and I even caught the judge reading a book during opening statements. The woman was unanimously unliked. Seriously, once we started deliberation, several people shouted out their distain for the woman. Her terrible lawyer didn’t help her. The college kid’s lawyer was a real lawyer and for the most part looked bored during the entire trial. The woman’s lawyer was probably her uncle as he had so many missteps. The real lawyer would often object (in a very pained condescending tone) during the uncle lawyer’s presentation. He also said he wanted to show the jury some pictures of the accident. The judge asked him “you mean you want to submit them as evidence” and uncle lawyer seemed confused. He held the pictures behind his back to face the jury while waiting for the defense lawyer to decide to allow them.
The jury caught so many inconsistencies and contradictions in the woman’s story. For example, she was in constant pain from her injured left foot/ankle and couldn’t stand for long periods of time. Well she was 65 and you could say that about most 65 year olds. Also the medical report at the ER and from her doctor’s visit three weeks later both said absolutely nothing was wrong with the foot/ankle. Plus it didn’t help her case when she walked to and from the stand without a limp and wearing high heeled shoes (not the brightest idea, maybe uncle lawyer could have recommended flats). At least four other girls noticed and called out the heels in deliberation.
Although I didn’t like this woman at all, I knew it wasn’t right to withhold payment to just expenses only because she was a bitch. Most people were in the same mindset of paying her medical bills that hadn’t already been paid and replacement costs for possessions she lost in the crash (the most surprising item was her retainer that was in the passenger seat and flew out the window…who puts their retainer on the car seat…eww). Well one girl was adamantly against giving the woman a dime. All of us looked at her in confusion because she must be kidding. I mean it wasn’t her fault her car was hit so the least we could cover the medical bills. Nope, she was so against this woman. Wow. The girl had her defining moment later in hour two (we deliberated for 3 hours just because we had to sift through all sorts of confusing medical bills). We were discussing lost wages, and someone recommended we throw her a bone and pay for one week since she was old and our parents would do the same. Well the girls burst out and said “bone…bone! What bone are we talking about? The doctor said she didn’t break any bones…only bruises.” Really…really! Oh honey, you so stupid.
Well we reached a decision, and instead of the $50,000 she asked for, we awarded here $3,500 which covered the bills, replacement costs, and one week’s salary (a whopping $600). Obviously there were some disappointed faces. The judge spoke to us after the trial to debrief us. All of us wondered if we did the right thing. He said we were fair (I’m sure he says that to all of them) and by deliberating for 3 hours we obviously thought it thru. He informed us the woman’s lawyer may have some questions for us but we weren’t obligated to talk to him. The case history was likely an immediate offer from the insurance company which she rejected thinking she could get more. Then the case went before the judge only, and his decision was rejected as well (again looking for more money). By the time the trail came to us, she had nothing but dollar signs. The amount we awarded basically broke even on the bills, but she would need to cover court costs and lawyer fees. In short she should have just taken the initial offer.

An open letter to my readers...

2011-11-06T18:22:00.004-06:00

A quick and dirty recap since last time I wrote…a month ago. The opening theme for many of recent posts has been apologies for not posting often. Yeah I roll my eyes at professional bloggers that I follow when they take two days to post. TWO DAYS! Humph. The good news is that my life has been busy…good busy…meaning I have had less time to fucking write. Now that the weather has cooled off (for Chicagoans that means we lock ourselves inside wrapped up in down comforters and fuzzy socks…from November till March…Chicago weather sucks) I can pick up my indoor activities.
Man my October was busy. The first weekend was painting my condo. It was just two rooms, but I had talked about painting these two rooms for the better part of two years. I even picked out the colors a year ago. Yep, that is taking procrastination to a whole new level. The first room was one I painted when I first bought the place around 6 years ago. It is the living room and the largest space in my entire apartment. Well I painted it my favorite shade of blue (a really bright royal blue). After being surrounded by four large BLUE walls, I determined it was way too much fucking blue. Plus the connecting foyer is painted red and white, yet it wasn’t until a visit said “man you sure are patriotic” that I realized the fourth of July had vomited in my condo (many of my decorations are stars…like fireworks). The blue had to go. I painted two of the walls a pale grey/beige color (trust me it so works). I called around for professional painter quotes, but in the end I decided to pull the boyfriend card and force Jewed Law to paint it with me. Call me cheap (and racist), but I was able to give two Mexican guys $50 to paint the same room six years ago. Now the craig’s list painters won’t touch the place for less than $200. Damn inflation! Frankly it wasn’t all that hard as we were able to finish the two rooms in ten short hours (and one hilarious paint splattered trip to McDonalds).
The next weekend my Mom came in town for one of her two annual Chicago visits. She joined me for an awards banquet for my 40 under 40 award. They even gave me a small plaque. Yeah I am one of the top 40 consulting engineers under the age of 40. You could call it an honor but being a good young(ish) engineer among consulting engineers is like winning bronze at the Paralympics (at the end of the day you still only have one leg). Still my Mom was proud…win!The next Wednesday I hosted book club. I was introduced to this book club about a year ago. I shared a hotel room with three other girls in the group (also the intro scene to a porno) when in KC for another book club member’s wedding (also the scene for the Return of the Big Dick story). We meet once a month to discuss a book and drink tons of wine. No really, we do talk about the book (it isn’t one of those type of book clubs). Many of the girls are in the literary and publishing world, so we select some off the beaten path books. Some turn out awesome…and some are painful (damn you Anna Karenina). Anyway, the book club meeting marks the FIRST party I have ever hosted in my condo. Six years and this is my first party. I’m not unsocial; I just had a very college dorm room, bare wall, moving boxes yet to be unpacked place, which was very embarrassing. In fact the timeline for my paint job was actually a deadline in order to host. Had it not been for the party, I would still have Benjamin Moore swatches taped to the walls.
Two days later, I flew down to Austin Texas for my girl Dana’s 30th birthday. Now that is a post in itself. In summary, Austin was heaven…if you feel 80 deg sunny weather and hearty tex-mex is the true definition of heaven. I should add it was 50 degrees and rainy the three consecutive days prior to my Texas visit, so it may have skewed my expectations.
Rounding out the month was Halloween, my favorite holiday (followed closely by the day after Halloween when candy is ½ priced). Again a separate post but I did manage to whip together my awesome Dolly Patton (a mashup between Dolly Parton and General Patton) costume from scratch.
Okay, in all October was a Hella busy month...so sorry for not posting you blog Nazis! I do vow to do a better job now that there is nothing left at the apartment to distract me…besides the two baby blankets I need to crochet or repairing the sink stopper I may have yanked out with a banshee wad of hair.
Miss you much,
--Lindsay

I know my shit

2011-09-24T17:01:00.005-05:00

Okay here is the warning…this post will be disgusting. Full of poop and other bodily functions, so stop now if you don’t want to read about my starfish.
I signed up for a colonoscopy. No this wasn’t like speed dating where I did it only because it would make for a good story. It is a long story that involves cancer (don’t worry, not me directly). Anyway here is where I start talking out my ass, ah ha ha ha.
About a week prior to the procedure, I was prescribed a laxative to help clear out the pipes before the colon blow liquid was administered on the last day. I would say I am on one end of the pooping spectrum where a bowel movement is three days in the making. Yes I know, that is strange but not that uncommon for women who routinely eat junk food instead of vegetables.
Well fashion models and insecure sorority girls would line up for this laxative. I mean it was prescription grade. I watched the progression of my poop from goat pellets to soup. I soon nicknamed my ass Swamp Thang as each wipe looked more and more like algae (hey I warned you there would be copious poop talk). At one point, I was going poop EVERY time I visited the restroom. SIX TIMES in one day alone…now that is a lot of shitting.
The day before the procedure, I was put on a liquid diet. This included an instruction sheet with all the allowable substances. Apparently liquid diet doesn’t necessary mean “liquid”. Here are some of the more peculiar approved items:
• Soda pop
• Popsicles
• Hard candy
• Jello (except no red jello)
Yeah they prohibited read and purple items. I don’t know if the red & purple dye would taint the inside of the colon…or if it would just be too disturbing to see red liquid gushing out of your ass.
My bowels were making the strangest noises while on this liquid diet (previewed by industrial strength laxatives). There was farting, shifting organs, snap crackle and popping, and a down right growl (which supports the Swamp Thang is hiding in my ass theory).
The evening prior to the procedure, I had to drink the colon blow liquid. Mine was called movi-prep but another common one is go-lightly. You have to drink down a liter of the lemon-lime liquid. The first couple of glasses are okay. The third starts to make you gag, and the fourth & fifth is a battle of wills. Thankfully my mother gave me the tip of sip then suck (on a sucker…get your mind out of the toilet). I thought the stuff would take action immediately, but soon got bored waiting with my pants down on the toilet. I was able to hang on the couch with Jewed Law and run to the toilet during commercial breaks. He did make me laugh hard enough once to make me poop myself…a little. Now that is a relationship.
The morning of was a repeat of the night before except the product coming out of my ass was yellow water. I wasn’t allowed to drink water, so eventually I ran out of juice and the chemicals made my butthole just dry heave (cringing yet?). Thankfully I am young and strong so I was able to run errands before heading over to the hospital. Granted there was a serious butt cheek clenching moment at the dry cleaners.
In a strange experiment, I decided to weigh myself before and after the fasting and colon cleansing. Four pounds! FOUR pounds of shit harbored in my body (although most of the weight loss likely was due to dehydration and water loss).
Smooth sailing with the doctor. I remember bits and pieces of the afternoon like trying to watch the TV screen broadcasting the inside of my poop shoot. Jewed Law picked me up and said I was all sorts of crazy stumbling. After no real food for 48 hours, I insisted we go to McDonalds (yes I know, serious lack of judgment here), not any McDonalds but ghetto McDonalds over in my neighborhood (again judgment out the window). I stomped over to the counter and demanded a double cheeseburger without the cheese.
After eating my shameburger, I spent the rest of the evening drifting in and out of my drugged haze. One side effect of the colonoscopy is gas…massive amounts of gas…enough to impregnate my mattress.
Good and bad news. Good news, everything checked out all okay. Bad news, I have no excuse now for my fowl bodily functions.
The BEFORE picture...happy and ready to go.

The AFTER picture...drugged out of my mind.

Auntie Lindsay

2011-09-18T19:20:00.012-05:00

Here are some pictures from my recent visit to Nebraska. I dubbed the trip “baby-pa-looza” as it orbits around my nieces and nephew. The first day I got to babysit my 5-week old nephew Bennett overnight. My sister dropped him off with my mother and I while she and her husband went off to celebrate their anniversary. FYI, their anniversary celebration was dinner out and a night in watching TV. I guess having a newborn makes you appreciate the old things you used to do. Up till that point Bennett was the youngest child I’ve ever held (or even seen in person). Let me tell you, don’t believe the hype, a 5-week old baby is boring. Boring! I was hoping for giggles, cooing, tricks, you know. Nope. He slept the entire time. Every so often he would open one eye (just one) and decide that I wasn’t worth opening the other one for. Okay I know, all new parents out there would beg for the kind of night we had with Bennett…no crying or fussing, just sleep and drink. I wanted action! My sister said he was going through a growth spurt which made him flash out his limbs unexpectedly. We called it his rattlesnake legs (legs sticking straight out while shaking). Well that was about all I got.

The next day, my niece Ava celebrated her 3rd birthday. She was just about the age to understand what was going on. I’ve been holding on to the perfect gift for 6 months…a purse in the shape of a dog, covered in pink sequins. I figured little girls would like a purse (especially one that looked like her actual dog). She also got a lot of puzzles (she loves them…they are her crack…she is a puzzle addict), some toys, and a big wheel. Of course after each present, she wanted to play with the thing, so it made for a long opening period. Afterwards was cake and dairy queen star popsicles. I don’t know what exactly is in the “starry” popsicle (does anyone) because it is a confusing blend of cream and fruit. I did learn what composed the frosting on my Mother’s cake…powered sugar and Crisco. Delicious but disgusting (like a hot dog). I don’t think Ava has ever blown out candles before, I can’t blame her as it does seem like an odd thing to do.

Show us your teeth Ava (how we get her to smile big).

A couple of days later, we went to the hospital to await my niece’s arrival. Again don’t believe the hype, it wasn’t all that exciting…just a lot of waiting. We kept Ava busy in the waiting room with you guessed it, puzzles. She also broke out her kiddy karaoke machine and sang us the “if you’re happy and you know it” song. Okay, that was super cute.

During labor, my sister got an epidural and boy did it work wonders. The doctor asked her what her pain level was on a scale from 1 to 10. My sister said “oh um maybe a 1”. The doctor looked at her and said “you know you are in the middle of a big contraction”. My sister sighed and was like “oh”. Nice.
Eventually my sister gave birth and they brought in Ava to meet her new little sister. I’m sure she was confused because she immediately started to cry. After a bit, the whole family crowded in and we passed around the newborn. Now she is officially the youngest child I have ever held. I was being super careful because she was so fragile…and disgusting. Seriously, they don’t wash the babies right away, so she was covered in this white booger like paste (yuck).

I got to hold her for 15 whole minutes while the room was cleared out. I was also keeping Ava busy while the doctor checked in on my sister. They had to “cut” her you know where (yes I know, waaaaay too much information), and when the doctor lifted the sheet she saw a lot of blood. Okay don’t fret; the blood was completely normal and mostly just leftovers from the birth. I guess they put you on this giant maxi pad and it protects the mattress from liquids and stuff during the birth. Again sorry for the gross out. Anyway, Ava got one look at the bloodied pad and burst out crying “mommy ouchie!!!!”. Cute but traumatic.

Reflections

2011-09-11T18:13:00.002-05:00

I’ve found it hared to be productive today with the 10-year anniversary of September 11^th. On TV there have been many documentaries and specials memorializing the event, telling the stories of the victims and the heroes. I, like every other person over the age of 20, remember exactly where I was when it happened. I was a senior in college (my second senior year, ha) living with my three guy roommates across from the engineering campus. We were up getting ready for our morning classes and I remember it was a Tuesday because that was the day of the week we could sleep in till 9am (our teachers were all about the early crack of dawn classes…their reasoning was that the contractors started at 7am, so we should as well). My old roommate Melanie (who had graduated the previous year and moved down to Texas for her PhD) called and told us to turn on the TV with no explanation. The first tower had already been struck, and we stood shocked in the living room. I don’t remember how long I stood there watching the TV, or when I folded into the couch with the rest of the guys. I was just glad I was stilling down when I watched the second tower get hit on live TV. I remember Diane Sawyer talking to someone and then the camera cut to a live feed of tower 1. Seconds later, the plane entered the screen. There was zero conversation except for the occasional “oh my god”. I think Diane even was stunned into silence. I am sure many people thought the first one was a fluke…a pilot error or freak gust of wind. Seeing the second, it dawned on us this was intentional. We watched and watched, eating up every breaking story, every hint of speculation. When the towers fell one after the other, I didn’t think it was possible. Being an engineer, I know we put a shit load of safety factors into a structural design. It was just unreal.

Before too long, I blinked (for the first time in an hour it seemed like) and realized I was minutes away from my first class. Most of the departmental classes have mandatory attendance. Being an upperclassmen (and busybody overachiever) I knew the value of each class, and made the two block walk over to Seaton Hall. I think only four of fifteen of us showed (the other three were way off campus commuters that likely were in their way over long before all of this happened). Our professor walked in, shook his head and said “class is cancelled” before turning right around and heading out. I stopped by the student union across the street because they had several TV’s and possibly more information on what the hell had happened. The lounge was packed ten deep with everyone glued to the TV.

Several years later, I moved to NYC. I visited the site of “ground zero” several times, both with visiting friends/family and on my own. The spot is huge. I cannot imagine what it would have been like to be there on that day. By the time I lived there, 9/11 was something of the past. However, every once in a while, 9/11 would be mentioned causally in conversation…like a blip that would pass before you realized what was said. The real New Yorkers would always pause and get a look in their eyes. I can’t tell you what it was…sadness, remembering, anger, etc. Like a breath, their quiet moment would pass quickly and I doubt they even realized it happened. I feel grateful for noticing…my private 9/11 moment.

South America Adventures – Part 3 (Sacred Valley)

2011-08-29T21:12:00.012-05:00

Our group boarded the bus and headed off to view some Inca ruins. Dana and I signed on for an organized tour through Inca territory. The group included a tour/trail guide and porters. You could call us pampered because the porters carried our camping equipment and food, but it was still pretty rugged. We were allowed to give up to 6kg (about 13lbs) of personal baggage to the porters and carry up to 3kg ourselves. Mostly everyone had hiking experience…everyone but Dana. She borrowed hiking shoes from a friend and brought her hilariously humungous Wal-Mart sleeping bag. The thing was left over from childhood camp outs in the backyard. I was surprised there wasn’t a strawberry shortcake picture on the front. Everyone one else had micro foam things with compression sacks that would squeeze the bag down to a soda can. Dana’s was so huge, it took both of us to stuff it into the duffel bag supplied by the tour company.

We were surprised to find Americans in the minority in our group of 14. There were several Canadians, some British and Irish, and even two Swedish girls. The only other American in our group was a 22 year old boy from Puerto Rico (technically US territory). Dana and I set out to be on our best behavior since we would A) be fighting against the “annoying American tourist stereotype, and B) be stuck with these people for the next week.

Cusco was the heart of the Inca Empire. It was the religious and ruling center. The Inca belief centered around a few iconic animals including the llama, condor and puma. Cusco in fact was laid out in shape of a puma. Of course the Spanish Conquistadors destroyed the ancient city (rid them of their gods so they would accept Christianity) and the modern city is built on the ruins.

The first ruins site right outside Cusco is Sacsayhuaman. The running joke is that the name is best pronounced “sexy woman”. This site on the edge of mountains surrounding the Cusco valley, so it was sort of a military fort.

We drove off into the mountains to visit a typical village where inhabitants were keeping up traditions. The men would farm most of the year but act as our porters between seasons. The women would raise llamas and alpacas for wool and meat. The hair would be died, spun, and woven into textiles. Their scarves, gloves, and blankets were vibrant with color and super soft (alpaca…damn your good). Of course the highlight was chasing around the llamas (don’t ask me why but those things are fucking hilarious).

Part of my education was learning to tell the difference between alpacas and llamas. Yes both are extremely goofy looking…and have a bit of an asshole behavior. The llamas are taller with longer necks and longer fur. The alpacas are shorter with stubbier necks and legs, and they are “fluffier” which makes them look a bit round. Of course the group infiltrated a free range flock and tried to get pictures with them.

The tour took us through the Sacred Valley with the Urubamba River running down the center. The valley had pockets of Inca ruins along the way as it eventually leads to Machu Picchu. You can imagine various villages and trading posts for pilgrims traveling between the capital and Machu Picchu.

We hiked the ruins at Pisac high up on the mountain ridges. The Inca stones were perfectly cut and positioned in place. The stones for the temple were rectangular in nature and fit so closely together that a paper wouldn’t fit through a joint. Note these ancient people did this without the use of metal (steel/iron) or the wheel! Some stones were taken from quarries miles away and transported to temples far up the mountain side (again without the wheel). Plus they did it without slaves. Their belief was to have every man and woman pitch in for a certain amount of time. The Incas only ruled for 100yrs or so, but they sure accomplished a whole lot.

The stairs in Pisac were hewed right into the mountain with no modern safety regulations (including a guardrail preventing visitors from falling off the sheer cliff face). This will be the first of many scary encounters and serious safety violations I see on the Inca trails. I was pretty petrified at first (being afraid of heights), but eventually I had to continue on because I was in danger of losing the group.
Thankfully the group went pretty slow as climbing in the Andes took the breath out of most people.

One neat trick our guide showed us was the Inca version of telephone. You could shout on one mountain and hear the echo loud and clear. We tried to wage a shouting match with another mountain group. Fail.

We explored the Pisac market place and grabbed lunch in a locals only eatery with open fire empanadas. It was five star material with two tables composed of mismatched lawn furniture. Plus it had a Guinea Pig pen where you could select your own future entrée. Yeah, guinea pigs are a delicacy here. You have to wait four hours and pay top dollar because the little suckers are pretty tough meat. It reminded me of the lobster tank in seafood restaurants.

I have a habit of collecting shitty art from all of my travels. Each man/artist in the market claimed he was the Peruvian Picasso.

Our next stop further in the Sacred Valley was the town of Ollantaytambo. The ruins are shaped to resemble a llama. You have to squint and tilt your head to the side…but it’s there. The opposite mountain was carved to resemble one of their Gods. The face with eyes, nose and a small mount edge are pretty clear, and the is carrying the grain store rooms on his back. The Ollanta ruins of course were perfectly carved with waterfalls and animal reliefs (an abstract condor). The site wasn’t finished as they were in the process of building it when the Spanish invaded and all the workers left to go to war. There were cut Volkswagen sized stones on the way from the quarry stranded half way up the mountain slope.

The Ollanta town is the jumping off point to the Inca trail, and our last opportunity for a real bed (if you call it that) and a hot shower (well hot then cold then soapy Lindsay complaining to a laughing Dana while wet and shivering in doorway). The convenience store cashed in on the last resort concept by charging $10 for 6 candy bars (like standard kit-kat and stuff) or $2 each. The local restaurant was the Blue Puppy and my burger was Peruvian style (that means beef with peppers according to them).

On interesting thing about rural Peru was the lack of billboards. Granted you really don’t see billboards in rural America either, but the difference laid in how they got their advertising out. There was an upcoming election, so occupants would show their support for a candidate by painting the person’s name and logo (every politician had a logo) on the ENTIRE SIDE OF THEIR HOUSE! Seriously, you’d roll through a village with literally wall-to-wall political propaganda. My favorite candidate was Elvis. Yes, his name was Elvis. He lives…in South America!

Sixteen again

2011-08-28T19:26:00.005-05:00

A short but sweet post strolling down memory lane. Last week I went to a free concert headlined by Bush. Yes, Bush…the 90’s alternative rock of glycerin, everything’s zen, and machinehead fame…also the band with the super sexy Gavin Rossdale. I remember playing the Sixteen Stone cd over and over again (probably because I only own about five cd’s). I’m sure that album convinced us white suburban kids we were such bad asses even though the sounds of Metallica and G&R were considered too scary.
Being that it was a free concert, we had to get in line around 6:30pm for a 9pm show. The line snaked around the corner and down the block. We found ways to entertain ourselves thanks to a nearby CVS, six pack, and picnic cups. Once the doors opened up, we made our way inside situating ourselves in center stage, mid way back. This turned out to be a prime position as a massive mosh pit opened up right behind us and a smaller (yet still volatile) pit opened up in front of us. Plus the teenager
Anyway, back to the concert. Chevelle opened and they played the three songs I knew. Like most bands, when they say “how about a new song” it is the cue to hit the bathroom. Then Bush went on and opened with Machinehead. I would say 80% of their show was old favorites from Sixteen Stone and The Science of Things. Okay I sound like a giddy girl but man did Gavin sound AND look good. Damn!

Hooker Receipt

2011-08-21T12:49:00.002-05:00

Here is a story that I believe enough time has passed in order for me to tell it. I was talking with my friend Bob (key person in the big dick guy part deux edition) the other day about the dangers of quickie relationships. Actually the story came about due to the forthcoming big dick guy final edition. During my stay in NYC, my friend met a guy on eHarmony. They were immediately over the moon and moved in with each other after three months of dating. She told me to keep New Years open (six months away) as that was their planned wedding date. After a month of living together, she was tidying up their apartment. She picked up some folded cardigans on her bedside table, and a slip of paper fell out. On the paper was her boyfriend’s name, cell phone number, address and directions to their place, a list of sexual services, and a price. Yep, it basically was a receipt from a hooker. She tried to make sense of it and our standing theory is that the hooker had a heart of gold. Okay it is a bit of a stretch, but maybe just maybe the hooker came over and realized this guy was cheating on his girlfriend/fiancé (there were pictures of them everywhere, scented candles, and other girly things all over the apartment) and purposely hid the receipt in between her cardigans on her bedside table.
Anyway, she then logged on to his email account. Now they had exchanged email passwords in the beginning of their cohabitation, but never before had she felt the need to use it. Well in his sent box, there were according to her “thousands” of emails to women looking to hook up within the last month. I doubt there were thousands, but I bet there were lots and it is especially disturbing that they occurred while they were living together. My friend never denied him sexual experiences, so she was quite confused as to why he was soliciting them from other women. Well she took some of the overly racy and explicit ones (ones where he included his picture so there was no doubt he sent them) and emailed them to her close friends for a second opinion. We were able to confirm her suspicion of cheating and pointed out to her that these emails to girls on craigslist were to call girls and hookers. The cheating was one blow, but it made it worse looking at the time stamp and realizing she was asleep next to him when he sent the emails.
She called him at work (it was 10pm and he frequently “worked late”) and informed him the gig was up. When he came home, she confronted him with the emails and hooker receipt. His response was “it is part of my lifestyle…and if you love me, you would just accept it because I am not going to change”. Sociopath!!! Of course my friend was all “I’m done” and left the apartment that night.
Okay this is the part of the story where my friend goes a little unhinged. Strictly out of concern, she took those racy emails and sent them to his parents! Yep. She prefaced them with a message informing them she thinks their son has a problem and that she no longer was going to watch over him anymore. Okay yeah that was a bit extreme, but it wasn’t done in spite…like this next part was.
She toyed around with the idea of sending those racy incriminating emails to his work. Now he is a high powered lawyer for a big NYC law firm. The even hint of illegal activity/involvement would get him fired and possibly disbarred. So she would not only get revenge, but she would ruin his life. This was just too much and we put the ax to the idea before he took an ax to her. Seriously, destroying his lifestyle would probably cause him to seek her bodily harm.
Thankfully she decided not to notify his work. He must have gotten wind of her idea though, because he soon sent her an offer. Ten thousand dollars to walk away and say nothing. She took the money. Sometimes does love pay.

Life lesson from the school of hard knocks

2011-07-17T20:01:00.000-05:00

On July 4th, I learned a very important lesson…never confront gang members when they have fireworks. I was home nursing a hangover from Sunday lying on my couch. My living room faces a closed off street that serves as a pedestrian mall. Around noon, the calm was shattered when my windows shook from an explosion. Yes I said explosion, not fireworks. My first reaction was that someone had fired off a shotgun. After I got off the floor, another loud boom sounded from the pedestrian mall. When the fourth explosion rocked the neighborhood, I decided to go outside to investigate. The local gang kids were lighting off M-80’s 10ft from my condo building. Small children were running around and could have easily been put in danger since an M-80 is 1/3 or 1/4 of a stick of dynamite. My front half neighbors were all out on their balconies watching with concerned faces. Okay backing up, my condo building has two halves. The back half (where I live) is the ghetto half where there are no balconies or yard. You enter through two locked doors. The front half is the beautiful (and expensive) half where it resembles Tara from Gone with the Wind. It has large white balconies and a fenced in small yard. Okay back to the story…I called up to my neighbors asking them if they had called 911 yet. They said everyone had called the cops, but another call wouldn’t hurt since the cops would be spread thin due to the holiday. I called 911 and described my concern for the combination of children and hand severing explosives. I could practically hear the operator roll her eyes at me before cutting me off and hanging up. Granted I don’t blame her, another call about kids and illegal fireworks…on the 4th of July. Since the fireworks were going off so close to my property, I snapped some pictures on my phone just in case they damaged our building and we needed to file an insurance claim. I heard the teenage boys shout out “yo yo, cover your faces, she taking pictures…yo you can’t do that, that’s illegal.” I then made the mistake of saying “well I am just getting evidence for the cops when they show up.” MISTAKE! They then shouted threats at me and started chasing me with lit roman candles and bottle rockets. Instead of running to the building back part (where I would have needed to whip out my keys and unlock the door), I headed over to the fenced in yard for the front. I yelled up to my neighbors to buzz me in. Once I was in the yard, the gang bangers lobbed firecrackers over the fence. I ran into the building and hid out in my neighbor’s condo. Of course my neighbor was on the phone with 911 again, and I heard him say “yeah and now they are shooting at us” to the operator. After things calmed down around there, the neighbors snuck me out the back way and into my place (there is no enclosed connection between the two building halves). Just another day in the hood. The next day, the cops held a holiday BBQ right outside my place (go figure, a perfect location for a gathering of cops since they normally would be hanging around here anyway). Our new alderman was even there and my neighbor related the story to him. Hopefully this will help spur the clean up on our block.

What's in a name

2011-07-17T16:33:00.003-05:00

My little sister’s most recent facebook post read “Ava just went poopy in the potty!!!!”. I agree it is quite the milestone. Ava will soon have a little sister to keep her company. My other sister is also pregnant and the little boy is due around the same time. She selected the name Bennett which is a bit high class for my family (no disrespect, I just know we are no Waltons). However I do think Ben will be a very cute name for my nephew. My new niece on the other hand will be called Hadley. Yes Hadley. Hadley AArine. WTF! How will I shorten that…Haddie? Someone is destined for a reality TV show. I guess it could be worse though. A friend's brother is naming his son Raylon. Yes like the combination of Rayon and Nylon which results in 100% hillbilly. All of us had a good chuckle at that.

South America Adventures – Part 2 (Cusco)

2011-07-10T16:44:00.028-05:00

Our first stop in Cusco was the main square, the Plaza de Armas. There is a cathedral built in an ancient inca temple there. Plus most of the historic cool buildings and museums are found there. With any area heavy with tourists, we expected to be harassed with shop and street vendors. Surprisingly, the only people actively approaching every tourist are Asian women offering massages. No matter the country, you will always find Asian massages (even on a remote beach in Greece).

In the midwest, towns are identified by painted water towers. In Peru, they can just use the sides of the mountain. We found in Cusco (a realtively big town) and several tiny mountain towns all decorated with town pride mountain side signs.

Our lunch was our very first of many ham and cheese sandwich of the trip. I point this out because by the end of the trip I would have eaten about a dozen of these sandwiches strictly because I knew how to say it in Spanish. We sampled other cuisine of Peru that included potato chips (Peru grows like 50 different kinds of potatoes), real chocolate ice cream, and Inka Cola which tasted like cotton candy mixed with club soda. Later we picked up a can of potato chips to snack on, and again we found the brand hilarious…that’s Mister Potato Chips to you. With each meal, Dana amused me by saying “Okay I know I will be shitting myself later”.

Pringles….goooooal (not stereotypical at all)

Peru’s version of Gatorade (electrolights…makes sense)

The Fanny brand. To us Americans, fanny means your bottom. To the British, fanny means vagina. The British boys on our tour would roll over in laugher when we discussed wearing fanny packs around our waist.
We traveled uphill (everything was uphill) to a plaza in the San Blas neighborhood with the nicest view overlooking the city. Around the plaza fountain were llamas and Peruvian women in traditional mountain dress. It made me think about Disneyland characters…you know, something you see in postcards but never in person. I didn’t get too close because I was worried about fleas and didn’t want to fork over some money in order to pose with the animal.

The town had a few women and girls dressed in traditional mountain dress, some with llamas or baskets. They strictly were there to make money from photographs. The interesting thing I found out later was that little details of their dress distinguish the different villages they hail from. The arrangement of stripes and colors on their skirt and the shape and color of their hats. They carry goods on their back by putting the stuff in a blanket and then tying the blankets around their shoulders. It didn’t seem all that comfortable, but I later saw men carrying 60lbs of stuff using that same method.

We grabbed food in a little shop waaaaay off the beaten path. The owner was so happy to have guests that he fawned all over us the entire time. Granted, we were the ONLY patrons of this place which was a shame because the food was not bad. The owner asked us if we wanted to hear music, and we requested “pop”. He seemed a bit confused before putting in a Rod Stewart CD. When Rod started to sing “do you think I’m sexy”, the owner was all nodding and saying “yes, this is good right”. Hilarious! He further charmed us by making us a pisco sour cocktail drink which is a combination of spices, alcohol, and an egg. I say yummy; Dana says too strong.
On the wall of this place was an unusual painting. It was a plate of cooked guinea pigs. Mmmnn, yummy.

Over at the Convent De San Francisco was the open market for locals. We walked along the stalls checking out spices, textiles, and dead chickens. Some British guys we met later scored some South American chocolate bars (part cocaine) which were sold in 2ft brick sizes.

The plaza outside the Convent De San Francisco was uncharacteristically busy with adolescent boys and donkeys. Donkeys in clothing (most in drag). The school’s mascot was a donkey, and apparently they needed to find next year’s lucky representative. Some donkey’s had on hats, skirts, and even oversized glasses. I found it amusing that many of the donkeys weren’t having anything to do with this beauty contest. Many were locking up and refusing to budge even when a couple of boys would start pushing it’s behind. Yeah they knew they looked ridiculous.

The church anchoring the plaza was closed to tourists because they were hosting a parade/procession. Some saint was hoisted up and marched down the street with a hundred or so followers. The most unusual characters of the pious group included three girls leading the parade as some sort of drum majors. Their costumes were short skirts, a jacket, funny top hat, and sequins…lots and lots of sequins.

We checked out the Inka museum where we viewed ancient mummies and elongated skulls (both just as creepy as they sound). The skulls were elongated just like that last shitty Indiana Jones movie. The mummies were arranged in the fetal position or folded up into baskets (most time involving the breaking of legs in half). One interesting (and creepy…everything in there was creepy) artifact was early brain surgery evidence. The evidence being skulls with holes cut in them. Surprisingly, they discovered some of the people didn’t die because of the surgery…at least not immediately afterwards.

One last quiet night in Cusco before we head off to the sacred valley and start our hike on the Inca Trail.

South America Adventures – Part 1 (Airport & Cusco)

2011-07-04T19:14:00.004-05:00

This trip was a trip of firsts. First time to South America and first time that my luggage made it on the first try.
We spent our first hours in South America in the Lima, Peru airport. Our flight landed in the late evening and our connecting flight to Cusco was 6am the following morning. Instead of venturing into the city (which all the tour books and testimonies advised us against) we decided to spend the night in the airport. We weren’t hurting for company as there were several dozens of other people doing the same thing. Apparently most of the international flights land at night. Due to the tricky nature of flying into Cusco, they only have flights in the early morning. Therefore most tourists bound for Machu Picchu play the waiting game at the airport.
The good thing is that the airport is perfectly ready for the overnight guests. The food court and stores stay open all night. There is plenty of chairs and tables for tourists to eat, play cards, and drink all night. Even starbucks is open with wi-fi. My favorite food court place was “Manos Morenas” which Spanish translation is “dark hands” and their pitchman was Aunt Jemima. They advertised both Chinese AND Peruvian food. Curious.

Dana and I met a cute guy from Brooklyn on the flight and hung out with him overnight. We figured it was safer to have a man sitting with us since two women were not so intimidating (of course we didn’t tell him that, but made him feel like two girls were flirting with him instead).
A few tables over was a group of about 6 local men probably heading home to Cusco. They were all about the cheap beer and collected a table full of bottles. Paaaarrrr-ty!
In another attempt to herd men as company, we talked with four other guys from Chicago. They showed up in tee shirts, shorts and flip flops. Sure it was temperate in Lima, but Cusco is at 11,150ft and is much much colder. When we got off the plane in Cusco, it was about 40degF and the poor Chicago boys were SOL. They said they thought it would be warm since it is so close to the equator (it isn’t). I guess they didn’t realize it could be cold when you are in the Andes Mountains, in September which is also winter for South America. We later ran into the group in the main square and I couldn’t help blurting out “hey you found pants!”
It was interesting flying into Cusco which is a small valley/bowl in the middle of a mountain range. Abet a little unnerving seeing mountain peaks sticking up above the clouds and remembering the movie Alive.

Landing involved doing a tight 180 turn and then dropping down because of the surrounding mountains. Everyone on the flight basically slept at the airport (or stayed up all night in the food court), so since there were empty seats, many people laid down on a row to nap on the flight. The stewardesses didn’t make anyone fasten their seat belts, so when we touched down, some guy (who was laid down asleep) flew off the seat and impacted the row in front of him. His face was hilarious because one minute he was sound asleep, and the next minute he is on the floor of the aircraft. Maybe you had to be there...punch drunk with a lack of sleep.
We drank coca tea to help with the altitude. It is the universal recommendation and they practically shove it down your throat anywhere you step. It wasn’t all that bad (once a generous amount of sugar was added) but the travel book warns that you will test positive in a drug test for a few weeks because the leaves contain cocaine.
Most tourists get altitude sickness, and the symptoms range from shortness of breath, headaches, and an urge to void all of your bowels (aka massive sudden shit). Dana needed a few stops while walking to catch her breath. Me, I just had gas…lots and lots of gas.
Our first dinner was at a children’s education center that moonlighted as a restaurant. Our menus were Disney fairy tells with a Peruvian spin. I ate alpaca stew which was a bit gamey/grassy. We talked about trying out guinea pig before the trip was over. Yeah, lets see how that goes.

Dana's going away party

2011-06-26T20:07:00.002-05:00

My friend and faithful travelling partner, Dana, has a career to be truly envious of. She was working for a big French fashion house that sent her to Paris for two months in order to brush up on her French. She is one of my favorite reasons to visit New York City because she is always up for a fabulous new restaurant or dive bar theme party. I didn’t think it was possible, but Dana snagged an even cooler job; however this job would take her from NYC and transport her to Texas (groan). In her true fashion, she held a going away party. I couldn’t resist and flew on over to for the last hurrah.
With the abundance of homecoming to NYC, I bunked with Gabby in her Brooklyn townhome. Her sister and fiancé also shared the place. Their wedding date is scheduled for the fall, so they decided to create a friendly weight loss wager. They even got a body fat measurement device. The thing is like a giant set of pinchers and it grabs you in all the fatty areas. I realize I’m not in tip top shape (spare tire), but the fatty pincher really opened my gluttonous eyes. Damn!
So Dana’s party was at a SoHo/Tribecca club. She invited this guy that she had a questionable relationship with. The question was that during dinner dates he would brag about himself, name drop, show off his salary, and never make a move with her. In fact, I don’t think he considered it a date…just someone he can enjoy expensive dinners with and wouldn’t deck him for being a total douche bag. The question surrounding their relationship was answered at the party. A bridge and tunnel gaggle of girls (presumably a bachelorette party since one was wearing a gaudy crown) were hanging at the table next to ours. I went off to get some drinks, and returning I saw the question man being dragged off by the crown princess herself. Curious, we asked the remaining B&T girls what the occasion was (cause if it was a bachelorette party, then the groom is in for a hurting). The drunk participant squealed out “it’s her 24th birthday party…whooooo hoooo!”.
When the douche returned, he confessed the birthday girl gave him a “Korean massage” at the bar. A what? I know what Korean BBQ is (delicious that is), but a Korean massage? With a giant boyish grin, he elaborated and informed us it was a hand job. Classy. Did I mention douche guy is 42…or the mirror image of the birthday girl’s age. The truly sad part of the night was seeing the birthday girl out on the street when we exited. She was drunk, without her crown, and alone…on her birthday…after giving a hand job to a man 20years her senior. New York...where anything is possible.

gunned down

2011-06-26T16:55:00.004-05:00

This past Thursday, I stood up to the gangs in my neighborhood. Don’t worry, I didn’t go all Grand Torino on them. I returned from work to see someone had put “clarissa is a fag” on our limestone wall. Now the boys are not too bright (or really young) because they wrote it in sidewalk chalk. A few weeks ago, they tagged our front door with spray paint. Our glass front door.
Five minutes with a razor blade, and the tag was removed. Anyway, back to the Thursday incident. I went out with a bucket of soapy water and a dish scrubber. I was working on the sidewalk chalk defilement when a cop car pulled up (don’t worry, there is almost always a cop on my block). The cop chided the boys just hanging on the corner (i.e. drug dealers) for just sitting back and watching “the lady scrub her wall”. The gang boys then asked me if I needed help, and I snipped back “yeah, you can help me by telling who wrote on my wall…it is so disrespectful”. They shook their heads and walked off to the other popular dealing spot. No retaliation yet, but I’ll keep watch nonetheless.
In related bullet news, I went on the Chicago Gangster tour a few months back with my Mom. Being a history nerd, it fascinated me. The tour covered Al Capone’s haunts, the St. Valentine’s Day massacre, the rift between Irish and Italian gangs, and the new lawmen call the Untouchables. One church with a bloody history, thanks to Capone, still has bullet holes. Of course, my mom and I couldn’t resist sticking our fingers in them.

Hairy situation

2011-06-19T16:55:00.004-05:00

For a while now, I had been growing out my hair. At first it was because the guy I was dating said the longer hair looked good on me (previously I always liked to keep it at chin level). After we broke up, I kept the longer hair because all the super models had long flowy hair (hey it works for them).
Caulk up the next four inches on plain ole laziness. When my daily style consisted of a ponytail or bun so I wouldn’t have to deal with all the hair, I knew it was time for a change. Of course it would be a shame to toss out all that “virgin” hair (non-chemical/color treated, healthy hair) that all the charities ask for., so I decided to donate it. For the next month I would tell myself each weekend to make an appointment and get a freaking haircut already. Unfortunately I didn’t know of any real hair salons or stylists to call upon. I realize now I could have called on a girlfriend to give me a recommendation, but I was frankly stupid. Laziness is what compelled me to visit a Hair Cuttery that just opened a block away in my neighborhood (next to ghetto Target).
I know, you can tell already it is going to be a big mistake. All I cared was that it would be over with in an hour and I was tired of the long hair already. I asked for something completely different than all my previous cuts. It was to be a bob with a dramatic angle, super short in the back and shoulder length in the front. The stylist divided my hair into three sections with rubber bands, one in the back and one on either side. The first cut was to be the most hair since I was going short in the back. The woman grasped the pony tail…and cut below the rubber band! The hair was falling loose and to the floor. I reached back and tried to grab as much as I could since the charities don’t accept hair swept up off the floor. Aghast, I asked the woman why she cut below the rubber band when the point was to cut above it in order to keep the hair together. There was about 12 inches of hair to be had. On the side, there would be only 8 inches since I wanted it shoulder length in front. Well the woman put in the rubber band at armpit level which seemed right if she where to cut just above it. She then grabbed the hair and cut it above the band…at chin level! OMG!!! The whole salon stood still in silence because we all knew she fucked up. In hindsight, I should have known she didn’t have a clue what she was doing when she botched the first cut.
Immediately the manager was at my side asking what was going on. I sputtered out that she cut my hair way shorter than we discussed (i.e. long at the front) and she defended herself with a “well she said to cut it above the rubber band, so I did”. The manager then informed her that she was only supposed to cut an inch above the band…not six. You could predict what happened next; the manager took over my cut and the idiot stylist was sent to clean the combs. The challenge now was figuring out the solution. The third section was not yet cut, so the manager decided to give me a deep part and create a “comb over” with the still long hair. Yep, I have a comb over. If you lift off the top section of my hair on the right side, you will see it is all super short underneath. Oh c’est la vie. Now I have had a comb over and a mullet hair style. Ha!

I heart Kyle...and Jon Bon

2011-05-22T19:18:00.008-05:00

I’m sitting back recovering from a night at Mayfest (the first street festival of the summer), and my ears are still ringing. To some, it was the end of the world. To my friends and I, it was a night well spent with 90’s hip hop and 80’s hair metal. Yep, the cover bands “Two White Crew” and “Hairbangers Ball” performed last night. TWC has fly girls and a rapping drummer. Hairbangers…well they were Hairbangers (and they rocked).
We were denied Warrior requests, but the ample beer made the world right again. That and the balloon we messed with (every years needs a party balloon).

I still don't understand certain parenting skills. This is the second year in a row I have seen a child at Hairbangers...without ear protection and well beyond bedtime.

Oh and you know it was a good night when the monkey hat comes out.

I’m using my recovery to watch the Bulls play on TV. I scored two tickets from the boss during the regular season. They were row five and $140 apiece. Dang! They were also right by the team tunnel, so you could lean over and slap hands with the players when they left and returned from halftime. Ever since that game, I have been infatuated with Kyle Korver (aka hot sauce…for some reason). He is a crack three point shot, 6’-7”, skinny, from Iowa, and a total babe. Don’t worry, Jewed Law has given me a free pass in the chance I ever meet and woo Kyle. We call it even when he lands a Love-a-bull dancer. Those girls are so top heavy, the fashion industry is in danger of a sequin shortage.

Post Script: when I was uploading these photos to facebook, the program has this face recognizer thingy that prompts you to tag your friends. Well I found it funny they wanted me to tag Jensen's t-shirt.

Now make me a sandwich!

2011-05-22T17:35:00.005-05:00

It has been a significant drought my writing and posting. Call it my winter funk. I haven’t been exercising my mind…or body. I joke about my Tyrannosaurus Rex build. Nice solid legs with tiny insignificant arms.
Well I was walking a construction site carrying a roll of drawings of approximately 3lbs in weight. I cradled them in my left arm so I could write on them with my right. After about an hour, my bicep started to seize up. I had to run over to a sawhorse and drop the drawings. The funny sight was seeing a couple of burly construction workers carrying cast iron pipe (weighing in at ten pounds a foot) no sweat while I was massaging my arm whimpering “owie owie owie”. Well the drawings were on the heavy side of 3lbs.
Maybe you could blame the muscle fatigue on old age. My 32nd birthday came and went, and I am rolling my eyes more and more at young’ins. A friend Bob-o just had a 30th birthday at a Lincoln Park bar. It was fun to get all dressed up to hit the scene, but I should have known better venturing into college territory. When did everyone start dressing like cast offs from Jersey Shore? Seriously, I thought slutty back in my college days was a bare shoulder or maybe a visible bra strap. Now the girls are wearing strapless skin-tight short dresses with the same amount of material used in an ace bandage. Okay, now I really sound like the cranky old men from the Muppet show. I’ll just get back to my wheel of fortune marathon.

Bring on the DR

2011-04-23T13:38:00.007-05:00

In January, I got an email from Dana declaring she needed a vacation as winter in NYC was driving her nuts. We scored this packaged deal for an all-inclusive resort in the remote Samana Province part of the Dominican Republic. The low low price for the flights, hotel, food, and booze should have tipped us off that the vacation would leave something to be desired. Although, I returned with a suitcase full of stories, so lets begin…

I’ve never been to the DR, and the only story I know about it involves a menagerie of NYC teachers, a called off wedding, and some seriously hilarious revenge facebooking…but that is another story for another time.

On the flight from Chicago to the DR, I sat next to an overly obese man. At first, he was sitting in my window seat, so I asked him to move to the aisle (the row was only two seats, a window and an aisle). I thought I was doing him a favor because he could then spillover into the aisle instead of cramming his girth next to the bulkhead. Well, he seemed offended when I insisted on putting the arm rest down between us because I wanted a barrier to preserve my space. I knew it was going to be an uncomfortable flight when he asked for the seatbelt extender and at its greatest extents did it fit.

In the layover in Atlanta, I was amused by a kid eating at Arby’s with a McDonalds T-shirt.

Another failure in fashion at the airport.

The next hiccup happened after I landed. Dana’s flight from New York landed two hours before mine, so she agreed to wait at the transport company for me. Well I rushed out from customs and ran right past her at the transport company kiosk. The terrible thing is that they didn’t have any chairs at the kiosk, so she sat on the hard airport floor for two hours reading a book. She didn’t see me either, so I am now out of security looking for her or a sign with my name on it. After searching high and low for her, the name sign, and the transport company kiosk, I finally started to ask for help. Being the ignorant American, I hoped upon hope the information desk would speak English. Wrong. Through some hand gestures (explanatory, not rude) and writing (she would read English, just not speak/hear it) I got across I was looking for my friend who has already landed. Some scary men were trying to be helpful and tried to pull me into the parking lot. I am sure they were actually pulling me to the right van, but I was having nothing of it. About an hour later, the information lady found me and said my friend was in customs. She probably heard there was a young American girl sitting on the floor by the transport kiosks (just outside customs) and figured “hey that is silly…I bet she is with that other silly American girl who is wandering around the airport”.

Of course it was a comedy of errors. First, I ran past them and exited the secured area. Second, my flight landed 30 minutes early, so the sign guy wasn’t expecting me and didn’t stand out in the arrivals area. Lastly, I don’t speak a word of Spanish (thank you for nothing Senora Tolman).

Moving on, I’ve already mentioned the 3 hour 45 minute drive to the resort in my encounter with duty free shopping and TSA. Yes the roller coaster ride with massive pot hole, no marked lanes, and endless horn honking (even at pedestrians who were walking in traffic).

It became apparent our first day why the trip was so cheap. The resort was situated on the very tip of a peninsula, jutting into the Atlantic Ocean. The forecast every day was cloudy, windy, and cool resulting in super choppy water and uncomfortable beach front lounging. The one picture I have of me laying out, I’ve used my sarong as a blanket to keep warm. The days were raked with rain and maybe 5 minutes of sunshine each morning. The beach put up red flags during our entire stay which canceled all water activities like kayaking and snorkeling.

During one of the more prolonged rain showers, I stayed in to take a nap. Dana went out for a jog and didn’t come back for two hours. When she came back, both her palms and knees were bleeding. She took a route along the cliff and slipped on the slick coral rocks. We joked about her chewing gum and walking at the same time. No serious damage but one knee was a three band-aide scrape.

Since running was too extreme, I found other ways to exercise. The “water aerobics” consisted of five minutes of hopping around in the water and then twenty minutes of shoulder massages. No wonder everyone was fat. I swam a couple of “laps” in the ocean but stopped after a few because of the zero visibility and fear of large predators.

The evening entertainment was musical shows the staff performed. Night one was a Celtic review that started with some of the worst lip-syncing I have ever seen. The main character looked like a transvestite, and the dancing was so cringe inducing we left after 10 minutes (and even that was too long).

In lieu of watching the evening shows, we tuned into the in room TV. All but two of the stations were in Spanish. One was E! Entertainment and the other was NBC from Casper Wyoming. We actually tuned into Casper Wyoming a lot more than E! because frankly there is only so much E! you can take. Due to the time difference, we were always catching their 6 o’clock news. Sometimes the goings on in Wyoming were the highlight of the day.

Being at an all-inclusive resort has its perks such as all the free booze you could drink. Too bad the bartenders didn’t know how to pour drinks. Every drink contained rum…every drink. You order a drink, and the first bottle they would grab is rum. I ordered a screwdriver which contained rum and tang mix drink. Dana got a strawberry daiquiri which was rum, sprite, and grenadine. Dana remarked once “this margarita tastes more rummy than usual.” They must have watered down the booze because the drinks were weak. Even though the entire resort smelled like pot, we never got into the party spirit although a group of mid 40 bachelorettes were intoxicated screaming up a storm (we’re going to party tonight…who hoooo!).

With the lack of immediate activities, we attempted to off resort twice. The first time was a 5 minute walk to town which was super short lived. We were warned by other tourists that a family of four were mugged the day before (dad beat up, wife and kids okay but traumatized). We lost our nerve quickly, but not before taking pictures of the strange signs.

The second time was towards the cliff Dana fell on while running. The scenery was gorgeous, but after about 15 minutes of walking in palm fields, it started to feel like deliverance. Plus the trail petered off into two jungle covered semi-tracks. I interrupted two staff member’s special moment in the bushes and a little later passed a sign/question? I guess it could be considered a massage (question mark).

The ride back and tense battle with the airport is documented in this story. Maybe I’ll leave the DR for the club med doctors…and the midlife crisis bachelorette parties.

Safety standards in the DR...in case of fire

The wildlife. Cranes, turtles and wild horses oh my.

Questionable Motives

2011-03-24T12:44:00.005-05:00

A few recent lighter moment occurances that I had to share.
I got a smart phone which is way too advanced for my limited technology knowledge. Yeah I don't even have an mp3 player and I am told my phone does that too (I just don't know how yet). Well the autocorrect fail struck me. I was on my Dominican Republic vacation but caught an email in the aiport layover. I composed an email back indicating if they wanted to get started on the project while I am out, he could "just get the dwgs off my desk and hand them to a drafter". The "dwgs" stand for drawings which is a pretty standard abbreviation in my industry. Well autocorrect switched dwgs with fags! Yeah, FAGS! I almost sent a work email saying "just get the fags off my desk..."

In another instance, it was the google auto finish. All it took was "how do you get..." and funny enough, three of the phrases on the screen were STD related. Nice. Sadly I WAS typing "how do you get pinkeye". This was immediately following a Jersey Shore episode. Them nasty.

Lastly, I ordered some new running shoes online. Well the package came in the nondiscript black package which is usually reserved for the "adult" variety packages. Hmm, maybe it is a new partnering...running shoes and crochless panties?

The unfriendly skies

2011-03-20T16:00:00.002-05:00

In February, Dana and I took a mini-vacation to the Dominican Republic. There are a few stories from our brief stay (including Dana’s inability to run in the wilderness, the island version of any mixed drink, and Casper Wyoming news), but the most dramatic story of the trip occurred on the last day. Backing up, when Dana was booking the trip, the travel agent told us it was a 45min drive from the airport to the resort. About 45min into the ride, Dana asked the driver (in Spanish) how much longer. He said “tres”, and she was like “okay tres minutes”. He shook his head and said “tres hours”. Whaaaat! Three more hours! Yep the travel agent was waaaay wrong. The path had to go through two mountain ranges full of roller coaster winding roads and one lane “construction” zones that lasted hours where un-surfaced or pot holed roads made the van into a bucking bronco.
Being type “A” personality girls, we followed the instructions to a T for the return transport. We called and confirmed our reservation two days in advance. Filed our flight numbers, and got the name of the agency contact. Our flights were leaving at 1:30pm, so the transport would pick us up at 8am. That would get us to the airport about 2hrs ahead of time. Since the breakfast buffet didn’t open till 8am, we could use that 2hrs to get through immigration, eat, and shop at the duty free store. Well 8am came and went. By 8:30, Dana was on the phone with the agency’s voice mail because they apparently didn’t start work till 10am. She finally got the cell phone number for the rep and rang her over and over till she had to respond. The rep said our flights were delayed till 4pm, so they were not going to pick us up till 10am. Well we called the airport and checked the internet, and sure enough the flights were right on time. So Dana made it clear to them that a 10am pick up would make us MISS OUR FLIGHT!
They finally agreed to come as soon as they could which in island time meant 9:30. Not knowing their eta (again the damn island time) we didn’t grab breakfast in fear of missing them. We hurled our bags into the van and the driver reassured us in a laid back voice that it would be no problem, I drive faster. Bumpy hairpin turn roads…yeah you go ahead and drive faster.
He indeed did drive faster by laying on the horn and occasionally spending quality time in the oncoming lane. We got to the airport 20minutes prior to our flights. Thankfully we both only brought carry-ons so there was no need to check luggage (we didn’t have enough time to anyway). After checking in and immigration, we had about 5 minutes before our boarding group was called. Our choices were A) grab some food at the Pizza Hut kiosk (the only food stand past security) or B) go shopping for booze in the duty free store. Yep, booze it is…plus the food at Pizza Hut looked terrible and likely would not be ready by the time we had to leave (damn island time). I picked up a packed pair of white rum bottles sealed up and ready for international travel.
Since I hadn’t eaten for 17hours, my stomach started to growl something fierce. The flight was about 4-1/2 hours, so I was looking forward to the meal or snack they would serve. Well Delta sucks! Yep, for an international flight, we were given one package of peanuts and a complimentary soft drink. Sometimes airlines sell a “snack pack” or something where $3 can buy you twelve pringle chips or something. When I asked if they had any food for purchase, the stewardess told me they didn’t and also denied my request for more peanuts because she had to make sure everyone got some. Pissed!!!
I flew into JFK and had about 90 minutes to change flights and hop back to Chicago. We landed on time but a plane was parked in our gate and that delayed us about 25 minutes. Thankfully an agent standing at the gangplank handed me an express pass since I had a tight connection and I was able to jump to the front of the line at immigration. Since I didn’t check any bags, I flew thru customs. Right outside customs was the rebooking desk for connecting flights. I told the Delta agents I wanted to check my bag since the layout of JFK would force me to leave security and transfer to another terminal. I picked up those two bottles of rum (definitely greater than 3oz) so I needed to check the bag in order go through TSA. The snarky Delta guy said he couldn’t accept any checked baggage because it was less than an hour before the flight. How much less…5 minutes! Yep, because it was 55 minutes till, I couldn’t check my bag…and I didn’t make the time limit because of their damn airline gate delay! Furious, I asked what my options were. He said I could go standby for the later flight for which he could then take my bag. Unfortunately that meant surrendering my guaranteed seat and gambling for an opening on a full flight. He then cheerily informed me that if I failed to obtain a seat then I could purchase another ticket for tomorrow. Yeah $300 ticket for $20 worth of rum, um no.
I grabbed my bag & rum, and ran out to catch the tram to another terminal. JFK airport is kind of kooky because the tram drops you off across the street from the terminal forcing you to step outside and dodge traffic. With the terminal transfer and haggling with the Delta staff outside customs, I had about 10 minutes before the last boarding group for the flight. I know, this constant skin of my teeth schedule was taking its toll. Add to it a lack of food for about 21 hours straight and it made me a hysterical sight. The passengers at security check thankfully let me cut in line. A sympathetic old man TSA agent confiscated my rum even though I told him my abbreviated story and showed him the seals on the rum were intact. Now normally they put the confiscated material into the trash, but he instead put the bottles into a bin with other contraband (that they likely would raffle off at the end of the shift).
I ran to my gate and saw about a dozen people standing at the kiosk so I knew I didn’t miss the flight. Well, they soon made an announcement that the flight crew was stuck in Minnesota due to a storm and we would be delayed about 2 hours (which actually turned into 3). Ding! The light bulb came on and I ran back to the TSA security check point. I am literally in the security check point, right next to the guy looking at the x-rays, and I am talking a mile a minute “hi, remember me, I was the hysterical woman that came through here about ten minutes ago…you took my rum, oh and it is right over there in that bin”. The manager came over since I doubt it is protocol to have a civilian in a secure place. Again I retold the story which was confirmed by the same old man. The manager informed me that procedure would not allow them to return any seized material, but then he nodded and told me to step around that partition. A hand then appeared around the corner and handed me the rum. Score!!!!
I ran back to the Delta counter and proudly told them I wanted to check my bag. The unenthusiastic clerk asked about the flight and I promptly told him I had two hours due to the delay and therefore met the stupid time limit. He then tried to charge me $25 to which I tapped on the counter and sassed him with “naw ah, I flew international today, you have to take it for free”. An eye roll later, my bag was on its way and I was enjoying my first bite of food in a very very very sad looking Burger King.
Of course the day couldn’t end on a high note. When I landed in Chicago, completely defeated and much too late for my sleep schedule, my bag was nowhere to be found. Yep, in that two, no three, hour delay, they stuck it to me by not putting the bag on the plane. Delta Airlines, you can suck my balls!

Caught up in the weather

2011-02-14T12:48:00.004-06:00

Chicago was diligent about clearing the streets and sidewalks after being dumped on with snow for two weeks. Seriously, we would get massive snow, then it would be 10degrees for a few days, then some more snow, then some more well below freezing days, etc.
People just abandoned certain items (like their cars) because a fresh layer of snow would pile up around it less than a day after they spent four hours digging it out. I saw this waiting for the bus...poor guy probably gave up and is just waiting for April.

Arty enough for you?

2011-02-06T14:51:00.009-06:00

Jewed Law and I decided to get cultured and visit the Museum of Contemporary Art. We were looking forward to seeing something totally out there like a ten minute video of a woman sucking her toe or a giant penis picture made out of yard and unsharpened pencils. I will be the first to admit…I don’t get contemporary art.

Someone paints a canvas blue or only eats skittles for three months and they call it art. On our visit, we saw a doll under a mattress with a woman’s angry face projected onto it (yelling shaming words…but then again it is not our fault she is stuck underneath the mattress). The highlight was an exhibition hall dedicated to hands on pieces. We were allowed to touch, take, or climb on all of the exhibits. A house made out of landfill garbage and recycled rubber was fun, but again I don’t get it. One “artist” was on hand to create a living piece where he climbed up and down a collection of ladders. My personal favorite was the random clam half shells that I sat inside.

A picture of Jewed Law. Yes, Kramer apparently is art. OH and the hat is actually part of an exhibit that we were able to take with us.

One room was filled with sketches from a comic book/cartoon artist. These made me chuckle...
Strange sandwich choice

The tag line is awesome and so descriptive of the next generation...because outdoors is bullshit

We made an informal wager on how many exhibits were named “untitled” because that is what the genus/troubled artist names their piece when “metallic pair of boobs” just won’t do. The grand total…eight! Not bad for one museum.

Let it snow

2011-02-02T18:48:00.007-06:00

I am sitting at home during my first every adult snow day. Chicago is experiencing a “storm of the century” although there were two other storms in the last 50 years will similar snowfall totals. I have gone out twice to shovel through thigh high snow drifts (damn 40mph wind…keeps blowing it back). I am pretty sure every office in the city closed their doors for the day, so everyone is looking for a way to advert cabin fever. Granted, I think staying indoors…dry and warm…would be a good idea. The Target a couple blocks away is open because I see people trudging through the deep snow (and unplowed streets) carrying bags baring the red and white logo. Most people just had a single bag with maybe three to five items in it (candy bars, an energy drink, coffee filters). Believe me, it wasn’t anything lifesaving that they needed to venture out for. The snow was super white and fluffy though and I fought every urge to go jump around in it. The attitude towards the snow pileup in my neighborhood was interesting to witness. The ghetto neighbors would be walking around in sneakers and jeggings with snow up to their knees. They would remark “shit its cold out here…how long is it going to be like this” as they passed me and my shovel. I don’t think the pictures capture how much it snowed in 24hrs. Cars were buried up to their side view windows…drifts were people height…frankly once you shoveled the snow, there was no place to put it. Some pictures from my street.

Here is an example of the "snow plows". Seriously, the city enlisted everyone and EVERYTHING. I even saw two cops on snowmobiles drive down my street. This is offically a "front loader" for those construction folk...or bulldozer for the rest of the population. A friend share a video of it going down her street and unfortunately I am not smart enough to convert it to a blog compatible format.

Also Lake Shore Drive was the big story of the day. This is a main highway that runs right along the lake shore...hence the name. Apparently people still decided to drive on it even though the news said for days the wind would be whipping at 30-75mph off the lake, the waves would reach heights between 10 and 25 feet, and the storm would drop around 2-3 inches of snow an hour (aka a full white-out blizzard condition). Seriously, all of the news outlets were like "do not take lake shore drive...it will be insane" and yet people still drove on it (including some reporters that were too stupid to heed their own advice). Well of course there were multiple accidents during rush hour (or actually just before since everyone left work around 2 or 3pm and therefore moving up rush hour a couple hours). And these accidents put the highway at an absolute stand-still, trapping the people in their cars. Now a rational person would be "hey there are thousands of houses and high rises a block away...maybe I should get out of my car and take shelter there...". Nope. People waited in their cars for 12 hours watching the snow pile up to their windows, thinking traffic would eventually start moving again. The police and firemen went through and rescued these people who purposely stranded themselves 100ft from homeowners who were gladly opening their doors for strangers and serving them hot meals and warm beds. Okay enough with the common sense. You can see the photo below of how the drive looked after the storm (yeah I don't know what they were thinking either).

Neighborhood Stroll

2011-01-31T12:07:00.005-06:00

I am going through some pictures from the last six months, and it is a daunting task. Man have I been behind on my stories. Granted I did drag my feet on getting the Mediterranean vacation fully documents (and I still have all of South America to write). Anyway, here are some randoms.
About six blocks north of me is an area known as “little Saigon”. Every large city has a Chinatown or little Italy. Chicago is known to be extremely diverse but extremely segregated. Okay that sounds horrible, but I mean every nationality has a little niche in the city. Seriously…Ukrainian village, Korean town, the Pakistani place, etc. The little Saigon area has a beautiful decorative arch and rows of dead ducks in the windows. It also has a bevy of restaurants…and nail salons. Ah ha ha ha. Anyway, here is a sign that does little to deter the stereotype.

Not far from that neighborhood, there is a house on Berwyn that is the most particular (and creepy) I’ve ever seen. It seriously looks like something off a movie set or in a children’s scary novel. The place has several stone busts on pedestals, wrought iron gates and railings, columns made from statues! The pictures don’t do it justice. I imagine it is how Tim Burton’s house looks. The great thing is that the tenant is looking for a roommate. Now in all the “seeking roommate” signs I have seen over the years, this one is by far the most detailed and specific. I half wanted to call just so I could walk through the place and see the chandelier and antiques (10 to 1 there is a suit of armor in there). Criminals beware.

Mediterranean Adventures - Part 12 (Cairo Egypt)

2011-01-24T12:39:00.022-06:00

Our second day in Egypt and it didn’t get any less hot. We drove into Cairo from the coast. It was exactly what you would expect…sand sand and more sand.

The toll was obviously sponsored by Pepsi because it was an advertising explosion.

Our first stop was the great pyramids of Giza. Count it…our fourth wonder of the world this trip. I was worried because I had built up the expectations in my mind which could end in severe disappointment (like the sex in the city movie). Thankfully the pyramids were everything I imagined and more.

We began on this ridge with a spectacular view of all three. Granted there were plenty of tourists there because it was the perfect photo op, but there was enough view for everyone.

Like Alexandria, the place had its fair share of scammers and harassers. We learned of the “camel scam”. Camel herders would walk around and invite the tourists to ride their camel around the pyramids for a truly authentic experience…all for $10. Well after the camel ride, the herder would stop in the parking lot (where all the tour buses were, and also the only paved area for three square miles). The herder would then demand $50 in order to let the tourist down. Okay that doesn’t sound all that terrifying, but those camels are like 9 feet tall and if you didn’t pay the additional fee, you literally had to jump down. One guy we talked to did the ole heave ho off the camel back and landed on the pavement hard…resulting in a sprained ankle.

The group was allowed some time to explore the pyramids without supervision. For a hefty price, you could enter in the pyramid passage ways but you would forgo seeing the sphinx, exploring, and taking any pictures. Dana and I opted out of it because it crawling through a dark corridor (and not being allowed to even document it) seemed not worth the effort. Dana and I successfully climbed up and around these great feats. In fact, we were so absorbed in taking it in that we almost missed our bus (seriously it was driving away and our seat partners were all “oh the young girls are gone”).

Next stop was the Sphinx. It was impressive…but seemed so much smaller in person (like Tom Cruise).

Driving around in the tour bus, we observed the traffic is crazy. Not India crazy, but pretty damn chaotic with people going every which way turning into traffic without a second look. Seriously, intersections were like playing Russian roulette with no traffic signals (or consciences mind you). I did happen to take a picture of the ONLY STOP SIGN IN EGYPT.

Our lunch was on a river boat cruise up and down the Nile (aka the dirtiest river ever).

Okay yeah most rivers are not crystal clear (hell look how nasty the Mississippi is) but this one may have had a floating dead frog or two. Sadly the boat sailed past some of the shanties and slums along the river.

The entertainment aboard was a male and female belly dancers. Well the girl was a belly dancer. The guy was more of a twirler. Yeah he had this big skirt on (gay or European…you tell me) and he would twirl so fast it spun out horizontally. Then he took off his skirt (family show) and twirled it overhead for a half hour (for tips).

After lunch we visited the Alabaster Mosque of Mohamed Ali (yep I totally thought of the boxer too).

This place is huge and it is flanked by a large castle the Citadel of Saladin.

Again another opportunity for a “jump picture”…and you wonder why foreigners hate Americans.

Speaking of hate, I picked up a local newspaper in Cairo (in English) and man do they hate Israel. Seriously, they are acting like total frienemies being civil to their face and backstabbing once they have left the room. One opinion article in the paper was blaming the bad crop on the Jews. Not kidding.

Our final stop was a papyrus shop where they demonstrated how to make paper. Snooze but it was the only opportunity to shop. Too bad it was so overpriced (we picked up the same stuff in Alexandria for mere pennies) so Dana and I waited in the bus. We spent the next fifteen minutes taking pictures of the interesting cars (or donkey carts…ah ha ha ha) on the street. Some trucks were piled so high with stuff that it was one pothole away from utter catastrophe.

Yes those are crates of live chickens.

I also spied a woman selling blankets to the tourists milling around our bus. She had a good four feet worth of piled blankets balanced on her head. Now that is talent.

Don't worry, it's not meth...just sugar

I think this is apple juice

Acting out

2011-01-14T12:07:00.001-06:00

So I am a fourteen year old boy trapped in a 31 (soon to be 32) year old body. Seriously, I got the word “poop” framed for Christmas and find it utterly hilarious. To combat my immature nature, I try to be cultured and attend the theater. Sadly this is all I remember from the shows…
A small but popular troupe put on Hamlet…the daredevil addition. So they read Shakespearian prose while performing stunts. They even broke out in small segments to do character analysis. The guy playing Ophelia (yes a guy in a dress) felt that Ophelia was a giving personality. To embrace the character, he had the rest of the troupe shave one part of his body each show. The show lasted for a month, with about a dozen or so performances. We caught the third from last show and there was few places left to shave on him. He was saving his head for the last show, and his hair was at least to mid back. Our show, he saved his ass! Yes, in front of the whole audience, his ass was shaved for him while he gave a monologue. Now the question is…what was shaved in the 2nd to last show? The man was almost hairless, so I have it narrowed down to his eyebrows or pubes (which I’m sure would make the show NC-17).
The same troupe (the Neo Futurists) also puts on the “too much light and the baby goes blind” shows. This show series has a cult following in Chicago with a wild word of mouth popularity. The entrance fee is $9 plus the roll of a dice and they order pizza for the audience if it is a sellout. The show concept is to get through 26 sketches in 60 minutes. The numbers 1-26 are strung up on a clothesline above the stage and the actor snatches up the number after the audience yells it out (total request live). One skit was called “condiment romance”. It involved a guy and a girl slathering themselves in mustard and cheese sauce respectively. In slow motion, they seduced each other while rubbing on the food and then ran together (again in slow motion) before smacking together in a cringe inducing messy embrace.
For one skit, they dimmed the lights and brought out a locked box. They warned us that the number of the sketch would be put back up on the clothesline and if we happen to call it again, it would open Pandora’s box (and it would be impossible for them to finish the show). Surprisingly no one in the audience called out that number again…until it was the last possible option. Inside the box was…another clothesline of the numbers 1-26! So essentially the show repeated itself. After the first couple of shout out skits, we realized the sketches were the same ones previously done, so we started requesting the mustard/cheese sauce one. I think they didn’t want to re-slather themselves with the disgusting condiments, so they purposely were ignoring our shouts.
The final play/musical I have seen in the last three months is a college theater’s production of Cabaret. The show had a “warm up” period where actors were milling around stage and engaging in activities while all in character. The cabaret had both Kit-Kat girls and boys (in past productions I’ve seen only girls with one cross-dressing boy). Well the girls were NOT what I expected if you casted at a college. Yep instead of barely legal girls with active metabolisms and a sag-free rear end, the girls collectively scored about a 4. The boys were much better physically, but man were they creepy. One guy’s costume consisted of a tuxedo jacket and navy blue briefs. A pair of felt lips was sewn on the underwear penis bulge. He talked to the audience via his dick (and moved the fake mouth with his hands). I didn’t know whether to giggle or cringe.

Armchair chef

2011-01-08T18:17:00.002-06:00

I have two favorite types of TV shows, the cooking channel and world series of poker. Seriously, it is just short of an obsession. If I am flipping through the channels and see Rachel Ray or Daniel Negreanu, I stop and watch. Of course I know I am quite bad actually participating in those activities, so I don’t understand what draws my interest in. In real life, playing poker would be real hard without knowing everyone’s cards and the little box with the odds. I have dabbled in cooking and succeeded in burning myself countless times and once setting bacon on fire (and then flinging it out the window). Well I saw a recipe for a yummy apple crisp that looked too simple to mess up (wrong!!!). The ingredients were only flour, brown sugar, and apples. Too bad I didn’t have flour, so instead of going to the store I decided to forage around the cupboard for a substitute. I found pancake batter mix and I figured it was essentially flour (the number one ingredient was flour…so that should work out right). Well the result was brown apple mush. Surprisingly it didn’t taste all that bad. Now how can I make roasted cauliflower not smell like feet?

Mediterranean Adventures - Part 11 (Alexandria Egypt)

2011-01-05T12:39:00.027-06:00

Egypt was HOT…sunny and hot (then again what do you expect; it was the Middle East in early September). We knew conservative dress was recommended, but the heat made us question walking around fully head to toe covered. Dana and I both wore sleeveless shirts with long skirts and brought shawls or cardigans for mosques. Well about 50ft from the ship, we quickly put the shawls on permanently because all the cab drivers were gawking.

We decided to explore the historic Alexandria ourselves since the majority of sights to see were within 5 miles of the port. Well stepping out of the port gates, we were immediately accosted by cab drivers, horse buggy drivers, and “tour guides”. They wouldn’t take no for an answer even though we did our sternest brushoffs and harshest “NO!”

In our haste to get away from the mob, we took a wrong turn down a sketchy street. I admit I totally got us lost (even though I am king at map reading) because my map was in English and all the street signs were in Arabic/Aramaic script. I would say “well we need to be on Bab El Akndar street…but I don’t know what the hell that swiggle line with random dots says”. The street was all deserted and dirty, and we half expected to find a dead body in the gutter. Dana commented that it was the slumdog part of town. After about 5 minutes of walking (and praying for our lives), we turned around and headed back.

Luckily, we ran into other cruise vacationers. We quickly joined up with two middle-aged Germen women and a young couple from Canada. Safety in numbers huh. Since we had six people, it was too much for a carriage and the harassers backed off.
We made it as far as the busy central roundabout before stopping a man in a suit for directions. Apparently his foreign language of choice was German, not English. I guess all of the Egyptian school children are required to learn German, French, or English (the three major economic sources for the area). Too bad only the shady con artists chose English.

Somehow we navigated through the dirty crowded street to the East Harbor. We walked along the shore road to the Citadel Qait Bey. This fort was built on the foundation of the Pharos Lighthouse (one of the seven ancient wonders of the world...the third one we had seen so far). The fort overlooks the Mediterranean Sea and was used to defend the city during the crusades. Too bad it didn't take US dollars and we didn't know of anywhere to change money, so we were denied entrance (hence the sad faces).

Continuing back along the harbor, we passed the ship building boat yards and took pictures like tourists. We were passed by some of the same buggy drivers that harassed us at the port exit.

We passed the mosque of Abu-Al-Abbas Al-Mursi (say that three times fast). We were allowed to take pictures in the woman’s section which is in the back (which by the way why do women always get the small rear view and are hidden behind all the fences). The police offered to take pictures of us for a fee. Yep the guide book warned us about this, that no one will do anything nice unless it is for a price.
We kept the tradition alive with a jumping picture, although I don’t think the men appreciated our foolery around their landmark.

We passed what we believe is to be the tomb of the Unknown Soldier or a war memorial (the map said it was something something swiggle).

Walking in the hot Egyptian sun was not a preferred method of transportation, but we weren’t willing to be that adventurous with the alternatives. The guide book mentioned the “shared taxis” that made the rounds in the streets. They looked more like gutted minivans with a large sliding cargo door. They would slowly pull up to the curb and people would hop on and off (note they didn’t stop at all, the switches happened on the fly). The cargo door wouldn’t even shut and they would just drive around with it wide open.

The library was around 3 miles walk from the fort. Of course it was super sunny and hot (early September hello!). Unfortunately it was also Ramadan so all of the eateries and shops were closed. We were miserable with parched throats and finally a shop keeper took pity on us and sold us some fizzy bubbly (soda with real sugar). Again we offended the locals by openly gulping down our drinks and complaining about not being able to get a sandwich.

The library was worth the walk though. Outside in the plaza were markings that would act as a big sundial if you stood in the right spot.

The moat wall was covered in writing from every known written language. The building architecture itself was a myriad of pyramids (representing ancient times) and light. The guards were nice and let us in to marvel at it.

We cut through the city center on our way back. I had a fleeting hope of shopping for some exotic souvenirs, but we couldn’t get past the awkward foreigner vibe.

We did walk right into the market full of spices, vegetables, and live animals for the slaughter. Yes, live goats, sheep, and chickens with freshly butchered carcasses strung up. It was crowded and we basically pushed our way through which was tricky since the street was full of potholes full of dirty water. Yeah the dirty water was not pleasant. The revolting thing was when merchants would scoop up the pothole water and pour it back down over the fish and clams.

Dana would giggle at every donkey cart that we passed in the street.

Upon returning to the boat, I thought we had a pretty authentic adventurous day. Well some other tourists had a wilder ride than us. We learned of the city tour scam from a middle aged couple. Apparently one of the taxi drivers that harassed everyone at the port offered the couple a two hour tour of the city for $50. Seemed like a good deal right. Well after the two hours the cabbie drove them to a remote shady area of town and demanded several hundred dollars or else he would leave them right there. The couple didn’t tell me how much they ended up paying but the tour was unanimously declared a bad idea. This would be the first of several scams we learned about in Egypt. More to come in the next post…

Mediterranean Adventures – Part 10 (Jerusalem/Bethlehem/Ashdod Israel)

2010-11-29T12:08:00.015-06:00

We were in for a uber dose of religion today…Jerusalem…the home of many religions. Now I admit I am more interested in history than religion, but I did get some goose bumps throughout the day.

The day started on Mount of Olives which overlooks the fortified city of Jerusalem.

Not only did the hill offer a breathtaking view of the old part of the city, but it is home to the Garden of Gethsemane. The garden is housed within the Church of all Nations which has the Rock of Agony (where Jesus endured his Passion) located at the altar. Dana was able to squeeze past the nuns and zealots, and briefly touch the sacred stone. From the Mount of Olives, we were able to view the Golden Gate where Jesus entered the city on palm Sunday.

Of course a day of wonders wouldn’t be complete without some annoyances. Again our tour group was packed with retired aged people and some frankly dumb ignorant American tourists. They would buzz around taking their pictures, not listening to the guide, and then later interrupting him to ask the same questions he just answered a second ago.
We entered the old city at Dung Gate and arrived in the Jewish Quarter. The outstanding feature you notice is the Western Wall (or wailing wall). It is essentially the retaining wall for the Temple Mount or Holy of Holies site. The wall is sectioned into male and female areas. The female area is about 1/10th the size of the male side and was totally packed. Seriously, there was over a hundred women in their section and the wall itself was packed 10 deep. The male side had maybe a dozen men in its vast space. It was a bit upsetting. The women were rocking, swaying, chanting, and weeping! Yes, crazy nose run, red faced, watching “The Notebook” WEEPING! I guess I know why they call is wailing wall huh.
There was a sign from a head Rabbi instructing Jews not to visit the top of Temple Mount. The reason is because the holiest of holy sites for Judaism is up there, but no one knows exactly where it is, so it would be pretty disrespectful if you accidently trod on it. Well a dumb tourist in our group asked if we were all prohibited from visiting Temple Mount. I asked her if she was Jewish (no), and therefore she could go there if we had time (I planned on climbing up there but sadly we didn’t have enough time). She said “but how will they know I’m not Jewish…”. Yes I almost smacked my head in disbelief. The woman was so worried they would stop her and quiz her on the Torah just to verify her religious background. The stupidity was unbelievable.

We walked the Via Dolorosa which is the actual 14 Stations of the Cross locations. The path took us through the Muslim quarter and one unsettling thing was the toys children played with…guns! Realistic looking guns! We saw the same kinds of toys for children in Greece. I guess if every adult must enter the service, then the children are encouraged to get the feel of an AK47. One kid was pointing a handgun (not cowboy and Indian revolver but a full on police issue looking handgun) at all the tourists and blasting us with the caps while his mother looked on with a bored expression.

The walk along the Via Dolorosa wound through the Muslim and then Christian quarters of the ancient city. The streets reflected times found over two thousand years ago, narrow and winding, lined with cobblestones and steep inclines. Well the tourists in our group were not navigating the rough terrain at all even though we were told prior to signing up that the walk was very strenuous (honestly it wasn’t…unless you were on your second hip). Hello, Jerusalem was not built for wheelchairs!
We reached the Church of the Holy Sepulcher which is a church built on and around the holy sites of the crucifixion hill and the tomb.
We had to walk up steep narrow stairs in a single file line to reach crucifixion hill (or known as the Golgotha). There was a mob of people around the medallion marking the cross’s presumed location. I forgo trying to touch it out of fear of losing an eye.
Directly beneath the cross was a room called Adam’s Temple. Within the room was a split rock that was stained pink. Apparently, the spilt blood split the rock and stained it leaving a mark that would not wash away (ironic since Jesus is said to wash away out sins).
Nearby Adam’s Temple is a rectangular pink stone slab (the Stone of Unction) that is said to be where Jesus was cleaned and prepared for burial.
The tomb had quite the line, so we opted to see a similar tomb of the period. Nothing much but a hole in the stone…but hey it is a tomb for chrissake.

Okay now the old people in our group couldn’t keep up with the lines and the crowds, so they fell behind and missed some of the guide’s talks. Well in the middle of the most holy of Christian churches, a 80+ year old couple let him have it with a string of curses and furious fist shaking.

One of the interesting things about the Church is that it is partly owned by several different sects of Christians. They each own a portion (or place as the Ethiopians lay claim to the roof). Therefore, if anything breaks down or needs repair in the church, you need the agreement of several different feuding religious sects. Needless to say, the place was a bit shabby.

We left the Old City and drove over to the city of Bethlehem…which is located in the West Bank…yes you read right...we were about to enter Palestine (dun dun daaaa). The border crossing looked like we were entering a maximum security prison or Guantanamo bay (the Middle East version). Right before we entered machine gun manned turrets, our guide informed us he would have to exit the bus, but not to worry since a different guide would join us on the other side. Now behold the most ignorant conversation I have ever partaken in ever!

Dumb North Carolina tourist lady (in high pitched voice): “Does he have to leave the bus because he is Jewish?”
Me: “No, it is because he is an Israeli citizen”
Dumb NC lady: “so how do they know he is Jewish”
Me: “No, it is a passport thing. He has an Israeli passport. Certain countries don’t allow certain citizens in”
Dumb NC lady: “so his passport says he is Jewish?”
Me: “I give up”

Well Palestine looked and felt like a third world country. There was a definite air of poverty. Here we have a dove...wearing a kevlar vest...with a bullseye on it's chest. Yeah I am sure it is something symbolic...but it sure was hella creepy.

Not to sound completely biased, our Palestinian guide seemed like he was hiding something. It didn’t help that he kept over emphasizing the nice Christian shop he was taking us to. Yes, not everyone living in Palestine practices Islam. There are Christians and even some Jews (the land is pretty cheap and plentiful) living here. In fact there are Muslims living in Israel and even serving in their military (some of the best special ops are from a certain sect of Islam).

While we were shopping at the nice Christian store (again the guide would say this every five minutes to ease our fears of funding terrorists), the annoying ignorant old people in our tour group struck again. The shop keeper was giving a presentation about olive wood carving, and the same cursing old couple blurted out “do you sell souvenir spoons…how about thimbals!!!”.
We visited the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. It is built over the grotto/stable where Jesus was born. It is the oldest standing church in the country being built in the 4th century. See Israel has seen its share of wars with the Invasions of the Persians and the Crusades, so most of the buildings have been destroyed and rebuilt several times. This church withstood it all simply because of a mural. See it has the nativity story painted on the wall, and the three wise men from the east were drawn with Persian features and clothing (because the artist was like, well they are from the east and Persia is east of us). In the 600’s AD when the Persians invaded, they saw the mural and thought “hey that’s us…and I can’t read the Hebrew, so I guess this isn’t a Christian church and we should not destroy it”.

The entrance to the grotto was closed for an hour during masses (three of them, one for each of the sects housed there). Note there wasn’t a single person attending the masses except the priests. After the hour (or more since we showed up when the services were already underway) the doors opened and I was able to see and touch the supposed birth location, marked by a medallion.

We rushed through everything fast since we were on the verge of missing the boat…literally. We made it back with only about five minutes to spare. Our departure of Israel couldn’t have been better since three days later world news reported missiles were launched into northern Israel. Also there were flash floods in Turkey (both places we had visited within the last week…yikes).

Oh, Dana with foghorn leghorn…man their graffiti is crazy.

The NASCAR funeral

2010-11-27T19:02:00.000-06:00

In the last six months, I’ve lost two uncles (Bill and Ken). Granted I am not fifteen anymore, so my relatives are pushing sixties and seventies. My family is large with 10 blood related uncles and aunts (plus their 10 spouses and 35 children), so it makes for crowded gatherings. Even with all the faces, everyone still holds a memory for me. Here is one memory that would be a shame to forget.
I went home to visit over the summer. The week after I returned, my mother told me her brother had last his battle with colon cancer. I asked for the funeral information so I could make the travel arrangements. Four days later, I called home since I hadn’t heard word yet (and you would think he would be getting ripe huh). Well he apparently put a clause in his will to be buried on a Sunday…a NASCAR Sunday. Yeah we all knew he loved rebuilding classic cars but I had no idea he was that big of a NASCAR fan. He died on a Monday, and the Sunday immediately following was not a NASCAR Sunday. Therefore we waited almost two weeks for the funeral. Oh boy was it worth the wait…
He had a great sense of humor, but the funeral was held at a bar in lieu of a funeral parlor. And the bar’s name was “The Last Hurrah”. Seriously I am not kidding. The bar was a place he frequented to watch car races and the décor was a mix of beer neon signs and inflatable NASCAR stock cars hanging from the ceiling. Outside they parked a few of the classic cars he had rebuilt over the years. I half expected them to wheel out the coffin with all sorts of sponsorship decals covering it.
Okay I sound insensitive, but I did have a great time at my first (and only) NASCAR funeral, and I think Uncle Bill wanted it that way.

Shit storm

2010-11-21T21:55:00.003-06:00

I don’t have children, so forgive me for complaining about this probably trivial thing. I’ve done difficult things over the years…none so much as hard as trying to get a two-year-old’s picture taken. I was home visiting my parents, and we had my niece for the weekend since my sister and her husband were out of town (anniversary vacation). My mother and I planned on getting professional pictures of my niece taken as an anniversary present. And by professional, we meant Sears…there was a coupon. This seemed like a good idea until we realized it would rival lassoing a wild boar. The photographer put a chair in the middle and asked Ava to sit on it. Well, she may as well said “run around and try to rip your clothes off” because that is EXACTLY what my niece tried to do…numerous times. I ended up having to lay on my stomach and reach over to grasp the back of her pants just to keep her in frame (they would photoshop my arm out of the shot). To get her to smile, I had to keep tossing her in the air (again, another creative cropping exercise for the photographer). After an hour, the photographer had enough and we had to make do with the six or so shots we were able to get. Oh there were tons of pictures of her halfway out of the frame, or a giant blur because she wouldn’t stand still. I personally was exhausted.
We rewarded her with ice cream and I texted my sister that her daughter is a total turd.
Speaking of turd, when my sister and niece came to visit the previous week, Ava pooped twice in four days. When I watched her for an afternoon in Nebraska, she pooped SIX TIMES! Yes, six times in about 8 hours. I don’t think her diet was any different. Maybe she schemed to stockpile all of her shit just for me. Boo! It seriously was like, we change a diaper, seconds after the dirty diaper was in the trash, we would smell poop on Ava. I would check her clothing to make sure there wasn’t any seepage because she reeked of shit. Well sure enough, she had just unloaded into her diaper…again!
Cute but a total turd.

Gretna Days

2010-11-07T16:28:00.007-06:00

I flew back to Nebraska in July to partake in the 50th anniversary of my town’s annual parade/celebration “Gretna Days”. Every small town in Nebraska has a weekend that they call their own. There is a small carnival with kiddie rides and pop bottle games. A parade full of fire trucks and Shriners (side note…don’t you totally want to chase them around waving your arms…I mean they are wearing those funny fez hats driving tiny cars…it just screams CHASE ME, te he he he). I had to explain to some Chicago friends of mine what a “watermelon feed” was. They just couldn’t grasp the idea that a town would host a picnic and give away free hot dogs, beans, and watermelon slices. Around Chicago, we call that a food bank.
We had my niece for the weekend, so I took her to the parade. The temperature was hovering around 100 with no clouds in sight. Thankfully we able to score shade under my friend Gilligan’s tent. That only slowed down the progressive melting though. Needless to say, my niece was less than thrilled.

Looking at the photos...I didn't realize it captures the "hot as balls" feeling so well. Everyone is red faced and sweating up a storm.

Yes, exactly what you would expect from a Nebraska parade. Tractors, tractors and more tractors.
And a little Hooker (ah ha ha ha).

We later took her to the kiddie carnival where we were more excited about the rides than she was. Yep, all of the pictures she has this bored look on her face. Maybe next year.
Ava's first tattoo (again...so not amused)

I caught up with some high school friends at the street dance. We were partaking in a lesser known sport of “midwestern mullet spotting” (in their natural habitat of course). Everyone has probably seen the website or been sent a forwarding email about the people at Walmart. Well, now I know where those people come from.
Behold...the awesome multi-pony tail mullet

For those in the tropical spirit...the Hawaiian mullet

No sleeves...no problem (so long as it is a beer shirt)

One step further, no shirt...no problem (love that he was willing to pose for a picture with me)

Wave...that mullet goodbye

You can't spell douche bag without "metallic clubbing shirt...open of course so we can make Jersey Shore references"

Proof that a sewing machine plus festive fabric from your local Joann can make a snazzy pair of culottes.

Two cases of excessive matching. First up...the white tiger lady (all that is missing is a tail or a pair of zubaz)

First faux pass, visible underwear. At least the pants and underpants are both plaid.

The highlight of the weekend was definitely fainting goats. Yep, my friend Shannon and her husband have a pet fainting goat (don’t ask me why, but that is why I love her). After a few hours of drinking, the party decided it would be awesome to get the goat to faint. It was hilarious to watch intoxicated adults waving their hands, yelling random strange spooky noises, and chasing the poor thing around. Sadly, the goat didn’t faint once…not even a little bit. Ah ha ha ha. I guess they weren’t as stealth as they thought.
One final pic...high school friends with an original Regan - Bush (Sr.) hat. Yes Mike was only 3 at the time...but thankfully his father had the sense to keep it around for an awesome retro keepsake.

Location location location

2010-11-03T13:28:00.002-05:00

So I just found out that my street is nicknamed “Blood Alley”. Apparently it has been known as that for years. Too bad my realtor didn’t mention that when she sold me the place. The most recent crime (on Halloween), three were critically shot a block down from me. Trick-or-treaters were spotted hiding behind cars and bushes to avoid targeting from the drive-by. The same afternoon, a man was shot and killed three blocks East (near our fancy new Target). Speaking of Target, let me just say thank you. Thank you for providing me a place within walking distance that is clean, and new, and not tagged with gang signs, and full of stuff I don’t need but want. The only comparable thing prior to the Target was my General Dollar Store. Granted, you can’t beat grabbing up dollar shower curtain liners, bleach, and the finest selection of flannel mu-mus.

UPDATE: I have just been informed my neighborhood is home to FIVE different gangs. Okay, actually more, but there are three within a two block radius of my condo. My corner is specifically the territory of the Black P Stones. The others are the Conservative Vice Lords, the Imperial Insane Vice Lords (also known as Uptown Lawds), the Latin Kings, and the Gangsta Disciples. Notice how they "upgrade" their status to Lord, King and Imperial. I know the living standard in my areas is far from royalty, so I guess they need a vocabulary lesson (and a serious spellcheck).

Here is the official gang map for Chicago. Equally interesting and scary.

Happy Halloween

2010-11-01T12:11:00.003-05:00

A quick photo update in spirit of the holidays (my favorite holiday). I have lots of stories about adults being deliciously childish in costume over the weekend. Two words...Jiffy Pope.

Cat Calls

2010-10-21T12:12:00.004-05:00

I joined a sand volleyball team even though my skills are rudimentary at best. Yes I was captain of my high school volleyball team…but we were horrible and only won one game the entire season. Oh and that ONE win came when we played a freshman level team…and we were Varsity!
So it was a safe bet that the other members of my sand volleyball team were better players than me. Don’t get the wrong impression; even though they were better than me skill wise, the team as a whole still was pretty below average…even for our league which was basically the Special Olympics of volleyball. Yes I did go there…the recreational league was a minor hand-eye coordination away from foam helmets and bibs.
Our strategy was to hit the ball the least amount of times. Other teams would try to pass, set, spike and we were content to just pass it back over to their side on the first contact. This way they touched the balls three times more often than us. Since we were in the “just for fun” league, more often than not, the ball would drop due to lack of skill (hitting it in the net, out of bounds, or just plain dropping the…ball) and not due to actual kills. If a team could perform an actual pass, set, spike successfully, then they had no right to be in our league of cheerleaders and dwarfs.
Our “let the other team have the ball and mess up” strategy worked well enough to land in the playoffs. We were ranked 18th out of 20 teams. Our first opponent was another shitty team like us, and the winner would play the #2 seed. Yay! Well we won the first game, and moved on to take down the powerhouse. Seriously, they could seriously spike and do trick sets…I mean what the fuck, you are basically in a children’s league…does signing up for an inferior league just so you can dominate make you feel good asshats? We just sat back, braced ourselves, and took the punishment. Who needs to block when you have six people waiting to receive the rancid spike and bump it right back over. Sure enough, the super team would get all fancy and acted as their own worst enemy. After a few spikes to the net, they started bickering and got all frustrated because hey we were not the better team yet we were winning…as expected, their performance plummeted.
So after the first week of playoffs, and knocking off the #2 seed (which we considered a fluke because we frankly suck), we continued to dominate opponents. We were the true Cinderella team. The #6 and #4 ranked teams came and went, and finally we faced the #1 seed in the championship game. Okay for the record, their guys were like 6’-100” tall and all of their girls had junior college level volleyball experience. The first spike rocketed down into the front row like a shame seeking missile and nearly took my head off. I whined to the other team “don’t do that!” which they found humorous…but I was totally serious (who actually enjoys getting their ass handed to them). Well we applied our one pass policy which made the other team really cocky…then irritated. Yep, sure enough, all their tricks and perfect skill did let them down because they touched the ball three times more than us (and we were scrappy…and short like Scrappy Doo). At one point, one of their frustrated super athletes yelled at the team “come on, they aren’t even good, Jesus!” We ended up beating them in three very close matches (or games, or sets, whatever, that is how little I know about volleyball now). Yep the Cinderella found her slipper that night and it didn’t sink in until they handed us our championship t-shirts (see it is a retarded league…they can’t give out trophies because someone may loose an eye).

Now to the funny story…
One of the guys on my team told us all about his cat…that he loves…and buys presents for on its birthday. Oh yeah, we gave him so much shit for this. I mean how can you love a cat so much when it doesn’t even acknowledge you are alive (unless it is feeding time). He seriously does wrap up presents for the cat on the cat’s birthday, even makes a special cat food cake treat. He has even cut short vacations because it pisses off the cat when he is away for too long. Well another team member saw the guy post on his facebook wall “Happy Birthday Clark, looking forward to presents tonight”. It was like a land mine of fodder for us. So the team secretly kicked around ideas about what we can do to the guy to torment him. One person suggested sending him thank you cards “signed” by Clark (the cat). We could send flowers or a fruit basket, but that didn’t seem funny enough. Sure enough, we settled on creating an email account for his cat. Yes you read right...the cat now has email. The email name is “Clark The Cat”. The cat will randomly write to his owner about barfing in his shoe, ideas for their “date night”, and how he passes the day silently judging people outside his window. The emails are so random because six different people write them which is really throwing him off (especially if we purposely send one while he is physically in front of the latest suspects and therefore immediately disqualified). Maybe after a few months the email will dwindle down to just one or two a week…until Clark sends him an e-vite for a Christmas party.
Here is one of my favorite “Clark” emails (I am not the author and totally did laugh out loud to the point of tears)
first, thanks for leaving the TV on for me before you left for work today...as I was watching 'The Price is Right' reruns, I heard Barney's dad telling everyone to get their pets Spayed or Neutered...which reminded me of when I got Spayed and you told me that it meant that I would have better eye vision afterwards...you know what, I looked it up on Wikipedia and that is NOT what it means...you f**king a-hole...what If I did that to you? Would you like that??!! I would...we'd get to see each other more on weekend evenings. That would be like someone locking the doors at a 7/11. It just doesn't make sense??!! you owe me bitch.

Love
Clark
p.s. now I want Lasik eye surgery

Ava's first visit to Chicago

2010-10-19T12:34:00.009-05:00

Back in July (yes another seriously late post), my niece Ava visited Chicago for the first time. I think it was her first HUGE city experience because she had that look of wonder when she rolled out of the train station. Seriously, she was sitting in her stroller, looking/turning all around at the buildings, the hundreds of people, the river, etc.

We started off at the Millennium Park “face” fountain. The plaza is covered in a thin layer of water that children can run around in and on either end are giant blocks where faces are projected on to them. Occasionally the “face” will pucker its mouth and a jet of water will shoot out…sort of like it is spitting on you.

Well Ava loved running around and we practically had to drag her away after an hour. I also noticed that she runs like a dinosaur. Granted she wasn’t quiet two yet, but it sort of looked like a T-Rex with the arms tucked in and the butt sort of jutting out. You had to see it I guess.

I even have an action shot where her mom (my sister) is running with her and Ava didn’t realize that even though she is in the air, she could stop running too.

Next we chilled at the “bean” where Ava entertained herself by throwing a quarter against the sculpture and then picking it up over and over again. Eventually she went over to the railing and absently threw the coin overboard. Here is the after shot (no, we did not go down after it).

My niece is fearless because she would just approach and hang out with any child around. She even sat down to some amateur artist sketching the crowd. The artist started to get uncomfortable thinking an Amber alert was about to be issued, so we moved on.

Thankfully all of the playing tired her out so my sister and I could go shopping with her asleep in the stroller. When she did wake up, we kept her busy eating cheerios in the dressing room. Food = happy clam.

We ended the day outside the Children’s Museum which has another water play fountain which shoots jets of water up from the floor.

The next day, the whole family spent it at the beach. I don’t have any pictures of me in a swimsuit because I am whitey mc whiterson pale! Seriously, day-glo doesn’t begin to describe it. I bought a sand castle making kit for Ava, but she had no interest in playing with it. My sister and I actually had fun making elaborate castles with moats with it, and Ava would come bounding over and destroy the creation Godzilla style.

The Lincoln Park Zoo was our afternoon stop. For a free zoo, it is pretty impressive. Granted nothing beats the Omaha kickass zoo, but then again it is far from free. Being a hot July afternoon, the animals were predictably comatose except for a pacing Siberian (aka big ass) Tiger that gave the crowd a show. The “farm” area cracked me up. I will never look at the cows the same way again.

Also, what they hell are they making there?

Ava’s dad took advantage of my whirlpool tub to create the world’s most awesome bubble bath. At one point, Ava plunged below the foam and we momentarily lost her. She somehow wasn’t took keen on me trying to give her a bubble beard AND pompadour.

Here is how she lets me know she wants something out of reach...point and pout with the most adorable sad face ever. Also with doggie and blanket in tow.

The movie Transformers 3 was in town filming this entire summer, so I took the family down to the set. We tried to sneak into some awesome fake rubble piles, but the security Nazi’s were really hell bent on keeping some Nebraskan tourists out.

Not stupid, just disabled

2010-10-10T18:14:00.002-05:00

I am reading a book for a book club I newly joined. Granted it is more of a cocktail party than a book club, but it has introduced me to some very interesting and random reads that I never would have discovered on my own. This book opens up with a woman who explains her learning disabilities. She has a severe one-side brain function meaning she can maintain a magnificent vocabulary but has no sense of direction and gets lost easily (and frequently). Other symptoms of her disability are that she cannot tell time or discern left from right. Boy does this sound like someone I know…ME! Okay I do have a fabulous sense of direction and don’t excel at the creative arts like she does, so we are not entirely alike. However, the pains she describes about being embarrassed about not being able to reply to a simple “what time is it” query are spot on. Seriously, I wear a digital Velcro watch for a reason (well that and because I can wash it because watches are smelly). I remember being utterly confused growing up when someone would say “turn left” or “it is on your right”. To this day I still ball up my hands and look down to see which one makes the “L” in order to figure out Left. Thank God I now have an excuse for being less developed than a kindergartener.

Catching up

2010-10-02T14:51:00.006-05:00

Okay, recaps from July…JULY! I know! I couldn’t overlook a concert from one of my top three favorite bands…Against Me! When I say this, people often ask what the other two are, and I can easily say The Offspring and whatever other band I fancy at the time. Sometimes it is Counting Crows, sometimes Green Day, sometimes Our Lady Peace.
The concert was at the Aragon which is one of the old school old glamour theaters in my neighborhood. Actually, my neighborhood had three of these theaters (the Riv and the Uptown) which shows what a swinging place my hood used to be. Al Capone’s old speakeasy even is right around the corner. Too bad the neighborhood is total shit now.
The Aragon looks like medieval times on the inside…little village houses with a blue starry sky. The bands playing were Silversun Pickups and Against Me! so the audience was a mix of indie and punk. I found a Nirvana super fan with a Jesus = Cobain tattoo (now that is anice blend of commitment and blasphemy).

Warning strobes will be used “extensively”.

Below are links to VIDEOS of Against Me. Not their best show mostly because the enclosed space isn’t the best way to enjoy their loud music.

Thrash Unreal Video

New Wave Video

Stop Video

Here are pictures of Silversun Pickups. They jammed with a little psyadelic feel. Much better than when I saw them a lollapalooza last year.

The show was also the first date for "Jewed Law" and me. Admittedly, I need to come up with a better nickname (I was going for a Jude Law reference). We stopped at a nearby bar after the concert and played supersized jenga. Granted, I am surprised how well we did considering we were both drunk and partially deaf. More about him in a later post.

Bugs!

2010-09-22T12:43:00.000-05:00

This experience had me in tears (of laughter) this morning. I was sitting in my male coworker’s office recapping the last three weeks when I noticed in my peripheral vision some movement on the wall next to me. We both look over and see a GIGANTIC bug crawling along the wall. Seriously, this thing looked menacing. It was two inches long, hairy (yes hairy!), with about a hundred legs. Well my coworker jumped out of his chair and ran over to the other side of the office saying “I don’t like bugs”! That alone made me burst out laughing. I offered to kill it, so he gave me a wad of napkins. Well when I smashed the napkins against the wall, the bug was TOO BIG for the napkin wad and therefore fell to the ground…where it proceeded to scurry around because it was STILL ALIVE. That is when both of us screamed and jumped out of the office. The hilarious part is that a nearby cubical farm heard the whole thing and were all poking their heads up over the partitions to see why we were screaming. We had to admit…two grown adults were freaking out over a bug (a big one though).
The strange thing is that I had a dream about spiders last night. The dream was all random with things like riding in the overhead baggage compartment in an airplane and visiting an apothecary store with jars of eyeballs and worms. Well some girls held me down and put a giant spider on my arm which I felt scurry up to my hair. I smashed the spider into my skull with my hand and it felt like breaking a raw egg. Of course, the spider was able to bite me and it ended up killing me immediately (where I woke up with a racing heartbeat and an irresistible urge to run my fingers over my head). I was later told it was quite the girly way to go…death by spider in the hair. Ah ha ha ha.

USA all the way

2010-09-20T11:29:00.002-05:00

I am back in the USA! I just returned last night from the Annual Dana & Lindsay vacation which lasts close to 3 weeks. Due to security reasons, I didn't warn any internet sources I would be away from home (so people couldn't rob me while I am out). Granted, there is nothing worth robbing in my place...but I would seriously cry if they took my uber comfy bed. I am horrible because I haven't finished writing about last year's vacation before I jetted of to this year's (South America). Hopefully I can crank out the last three posts before the temptation to write about this vacation overcomes me. Trust me, I will make it worth the wait.

Night at the Museum

2010-08-29T16:02:00.004-05:00

Here are some pictures from my amusing trip to the Field Museum. I have been there a half dozen times, but never really looked at the exhibit descriptions. Boy are there some gems there...granted you need the immature mind of a 12 year old boy.
The dik-dik (a small antelope)

How about the "wild ass" (ah ha ha ha)

Oh no, hide your daughters, beware of the fearsome rape-o-saurus

Offended...how do you think the bushtits feels.

Okay I think the historical artist took some severe liberties with the animal recreation. Seriously, can you imagine this shark swimming around. Talk about a big lower lip.

Again, another historical artist recreation gone wrong. Do they ever sit back and look at their "guess" and say yeah that is totally plausible. Seriously, the thing has a sos srubbing pad on its head and back.

This one is humorous for two reasons. One, they actually took the effort to position to beetles mating. Second, the fact they had inform us on the card that they were mating.

Mediterranean Adventures – Part 9 (Haifa/Nazareth/Galilee Israel)

2010-08-25T12:22:00.015-05:00

We pulled into Haifa Israel and the weather was exactly what you expected, from the Middle East…in September. The temperatures hit 36 degC (106 degF) while we were out touring. Plus we were dressed in modesty wear which didn't make it any less hot.

Now Dana and I are seasoned enough travelers to be confident in a foreign city…however, we weren’t even going to attempt Israel. Admittedly, 90% of the country is totally peaceful, but knowing our luck, we likely would stumble into that 10%. So we signed up for the official tour, along with the other 60+ crowd on our tour bus. Believe me, the air conditioned bus was probably the highlight of their day.
Our tour guide was a brilliant PhD student in biblical history. He gave tons of history and insightful facts with zero religious bias.

Our first stop was the ruins of the ancient city Capernaum. They were excavating the house of St. Peter which had a secret synagogue inside where Jesus preached. The capitals of the columns (tops) were decorated with menorahs.

The Church of the Multiplication was a short drive away along the shores of the Sea of Galilee. The floor has a 5th century byzantine mosaic depicting the two fish and five loaves that were multiplied to feed the masses. Note the mosaic only shows four loaves with the fifth presumably Jesus.

Mount of Beatitudes was the location of the sermon on the mount. I could see why he would preach here because it was gorgeous! Seriously something out of a post card with the rolling hills, farms, and sea in the background. We also had a good view of the Golan Heights. I can see why Syria keeps fighting Israel for that patch of land…it is totally the high ground and therefore the perfect place to launch missiles.

We waded in the Jordan River where the famed Jesus baptism occurred. Baptisms are still performed there. Dana and I both dipped our legs in the river where the fish kept nibbling at our feet. Seriously, it was jarring having something try to swallow your toe. The entrance was right off of a giant tourist shop. Not exactly keeping the play sacred huh.

Our lunch was at a communal farm called a Kibbutz. The food was awesome (no bacon though) and we loved the Israeli wine (light and sweet).

Off to Nazareth to the Basilica of the Annunciation. Apparently it is the largest Christian church in the Middle East. It is built around the grotto where the Archangel Gabriel made his famous announcement to Mary. Not be a spoiler, but the grotto looked more like a cave.

Nearby was Joseph's carpenter workshop where Jesus was raised. Tradition would hold that Joseph would bring his wife to live with his parents or at least nearby. That means Joseph is the biblical boy next door (ha!).

The port of Haifa is considered the Silicon Valley of Israel because it is on the cutting edge of technology. It is also home to the world headquarters to the Baha'i' religion. The temple/church/whatever is on a hill overlooking the port. The really spectacular part is how it looks at night.

Now funny signs.
Men shall not wear short shorts and cropped tank tops (I agree)

Dogs, short clothing, and guns not allowed. Are they really considered equally bad?

Do not climb the tower and dump a briefcase

Offspring and 311...chilling by the lake

2010-08-23T17:10:00.009-05:00

I have been waaaaay behind on my posting. Like two plus month behind. I have made it my goal before going on my annual super vacation to get caught up on the back log of at least eight blog worthy stories. Here are pictures and VIDEOS of the Offspring / 311 concert held at the old Miggs field in downtown Chicago. Yeah, the venue used to be the small airport right on the Chicago lakefront. That is until 9/11 and Mayor Daley decided to demolish the runway in the middle of the night with zero warning to the city. Seriously, look it up. Well the private jet owner’s loss is totally my gain. The venue is small so we can get up close to the bands and open to the wonderful summer nights (with a hint of cool breeze coming off the lapping water of Lake Michigan). Granted, I don’t push up in the crowd to get THAT close because I am A) too old to mosh or stage rush, and B) too worried the crowd would knock away my beer. There is a definite line between the 30+ crowd and the 16-25 year old crowd (or basically the crowd who loved these bands when they were originally a hit in high school and the crowd that likes the band because they just picked up the greatest hits album).

Yep I am not ashamed to admit that my all time favorite band is The Offspring. I could (and did) sing along to every song they played. The sad thing is I didn’t see them in concert till last year. Same goes for 311, somewhat. I always liked their music in high school (I mean Omaha styling hello!) but never got around to seeing them once they made it big (the Ranch Bowl in Omaha doesn’t really count…but man that place was a magnet for good upcoming alternative acts). I attended my first 311 concert in March, which just happened to be 311 day (talk about an education).

Okay here are videos of The Offspring. In Gone Away, you can see how Big Mike disapproves of the acoustic version (he much prefers the “rock band” version, ah ha ha ha).

--Note, all of these are links to the videos I posted on my YouTube account. I never thought I would need one, but unfortunately my blog has limited memory and this was my only option.

Gone Away

Self Esteem

Come out and play

Staring at the Sun

Can't get my head around you

Bad Habit

Here are pics of 311 (sorry, they did rock but I only had memory space for one band).

Bill drinking Joose or otherwise known as a bad idea (refer back to Vegas post when we first were introduced to Joose...aka canned douche bag).

Mediterranean Adventures – Part 8 (Kusadasil & Ephesus, Turkey)

2010-08-22T21:27:00.018-05:00

We docked in Kusadasil Turkey. Okay I had my reservations about Turkey, but boy was I wrong. The people were super friendly (almost too friendly). I think they were going above and beyond to show people they were not anti-tourist…”yes come to Turkey, we don’t bite”.

The country is GORGEOUS! Seriously like something in a postcard.

We booked a trip to the ruins of ancient Ephesus. It is the city where the book of Ephesians was written. There were actually three cities of Ephesus over time. I know this because of our fantastic tour guide. He was a real Indiana Jones archeologist. During the week, he gives tours of ruins and on the weekends he goes out to new digs and gets his hands dirty. This guy sure knew everything historical about the area (or sure sounded like he did…maybe I should follow up with some wiki-checks).

So ancient Ephesus…the city we toured was the 3rd one built. The first one closer to the coast and destroyed by floods and plague. The second was “moved” by the Romans. Apparently, they felt the city would be better fortified if it was moved farther inland in the mountains, so they evicted everyone. Here you can barely see some of the wall on the ridge of the hill.

At the ruins they had things like forums, amphitheaters, library, and public toilets. Oh yes, of all the historic things, and I zero in on the toilets. There was long slab of stone with holes that you, um, sat on and dropped your waste down into a pit below. Apparently the servants would use this oar like stick to swish around stagnant poop and push it down to the drainage system on hot days. You had to pay close attention to make sure you held the correct end of the stick…in fact that is where the saying “don’t grab the wrong end of the stick” originated.

Famed Celsus Library

Ancient Angel Frieze

Bath of Varius

The Commercial Agora (marketplace)

Ancient Street with Mossaic tile

Temple of Hadrian

Odeon Meeting House

Gate of Mazeus

Fountain of Pollio

We marveled at the theater where Paula and John preached. If you read the book of Ephesians, it tells the story about their time here. Basically they told the town to be good and the town told them to fuck off.

Speaking of St. John, he apparently took care of the Virgin Mary after the crucifixion. They settled outside of town in a cute little three room cottage up in the hills. The house is called the house of the Virgin Mary (I know, original). We participated in a short mass outside and then toured the cottage.
Apparently there is a stream that runs underneath the place and since the Virgin Mary died there, the stream is considered blessed. Of course there are all sorts of signs up saying “don’t drink the holy water” because it may be blessed, but it sure aint sanitary. Well people were all unruly and crowded around the holy facets (yes the stream was in facet form) elbowing people out of the way, filling up gallon jugs, dunking their children.

After a sample of Turkish coffee (something like coffee with the consistency of syrup), we went to the ruins of Church/Basilica of St. John. By the ruins were the ruins of another temple, the Temple of Artemis. Yep, another wonder of the ancient world. Our second (but not last) one of the trip. All tht was left was one big column and some other small rubble. To give you an idea of the size, it is three times the size of the Parthenon and each one of the columns are 60feet tall. Oh and it is entirely composed of marble. Not bad huh.

At Basilica of St. John there were a bunch of stray puppies. They were just hanging out napping in the shade. Occasionally they would follow around a tourist. Interestingly enough, St. John isn’t buried at the ruins anymore.

Our lunch was at a carpet school where they served us a traditional meal from taken from the Old Testament (it was called a biblical lunch). Mostly it was just lentils, vegetables and fish. The old people on our tour (our entire cruise was mostly the 60+ crowd, so they were EVERYWHERE) were really picky eaters. They basically wouldn’t eat anything unless it showed up on the menu at Applebees. The cruise did cater to them so instead of authentic regional dishes, we dined on hamburgers and fries. Anyway, the old people were full of stories about how busted up they were. One woman had a replacement hip so strong it dented her car. Her husband died so she used the inheritance money to travel. Apparently she has done this exact tour three times before (why she was doing it again is beyond me).

We went into town to the Turkish market and toured a carpet making shop. They instructed us on how they unwound the silk from a cocoon. They didn’t mention price of the carpets and continuously alluded the question. We did happen to sneak a peek at a price tag and noticed a medium sized silk rug was $97,000. Yes, that is more than most American’s annual income. They did serve us Apple Tea and their “milk” drink which was like coconut milk, black liquorish and ouzo liquor.

The Turkish way for shopping was really pushy. Basically they follow you around till you buy something. We ended up bypassing all of the in-your-face venders and opted for the laid back nonchalant venders who actually sat back and let us browse first. We picked up the most beautiful hand painted bowls.

We attacked the all day buffet for sushi since lentils and vegetables frankly didn’t curb our fast food raised appetites. Therefore we didn’t eat much at our fancy dinner. Granted the best part of the steak dinner were the potato chips, so we didn’t miss out too much.

One highlight of the day (besides the absolutely gorgeous Turkish hills) was watching an old man walk face first into a glass door. It was so hard to not burst out laughing in front of him.
An example of the demographic on our cruise...a long line of wheel chairs

And now...funny signs and or pictures:
In case you were unsure, do not touch electrical wires!

This is the bathroom at the House of the Virgin Mary. It may be a sin to mock a sign at such a holy place, but isn't the drawing looking like she has to pee really bad?

Some Turkish Dancers that greeted us at the port

Too cool for old school

2010-08-11T12:55:00.006-05:00

The good thing about Chicago is the random musical acts that will visit the town. We get big names from right now and big names...from high school. Take Coolio for example. Oh yeah, I remember rocking out to his Gangsta's Paradise in middle school (or early high school...when did that movie come out?). Yep, I was so down, or as "down" a small white girl from Nebraska could be.

So Coolio obviously had a few 90's hits and decided that was good enough. Now I guess he tours around reliving his hits just to pay a dept collector or two. I can recall only three hits of his, so we just waited around for him to play them. Oh he was good...not a performer...a filler. In the the hour show, he would play one song, then fill the next ten minutes with "Whats up Chicago" or "how about them Blackhawks". Then some random rapper friend of his would get on stage and repeat the same banter Coolio did or shout out some unknown rap that had a lot of "yeahs". They brilliantly stretched out the show so that they only played five songs in one hour.

Random Robot

2010-08-04T17:01:00.006-05:00

I have finally downloaded pictures from the last two months. There are some major players in there such as two separate concerts from two of my favorite bands, a visit to Nebraska, and a visit from my family. There are also many random photos. Here is a selection that frankly doesn’t fit into any category.
Some friends and I went to the Mayfest up in Lincoln Square. It is basically a huge German Oktoberfest…in June (yeah I don’t get it either). Here is Ally and I with our steins, funny hats, and lederhosen!

The Chicago Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup. I know, old news. Well the town just went ape shit with the celebration. Over lunch I stopped by the ticker-tape parade since the route was right by my office. Of course I was about two hours too late, but I did catch some of the super fans walking back to the train station.

I attended a charity event at the race tracks out in Arlington Heights. Now I have NEVER been to the horse tracks before, so I tried to play the part and fit in. I’m thinking high class, big hat, mint julep, etc. (basically British). Turns out, no one dresses up for the races anymore. The event invite said “make sure to bring your fabulous hat” but it really should have said “make sure to find a clean t-shirt to go with your denim cut off jorts”. I didn’t win any money, but then again I didn’t bet at all because I didn’t have the faintest idea what to do. I would pick by funniest name instead of actual statistics…and I doubt “Fart Blossom” was a serious racer. Although I didn’t come out a winner, I certainty looked fabulous. Seriously, the whole sundress, wedge heel with white piping, and giant straw hat with black ribbon was a gay man’s fantasy. Too bad my giant hat kept blowing off my head, so I had to keep a hand on it at all times to prevent it from flying on to the track.

Here is a random guy standing outside the Sears Tower. True to his sign, he really was just looking around.

They are filming the Transformers 3 movie downtown by my office. They are storing a bunch of the props and vehicles at a lot nearby. Some co-workers snuck over and took some pictures of Optimums Prime and other “transformers” in their car states.

They also are simulating destroyed buildings and massive explosions, so there are giant heaps of fake concrete slabs with rebar embedded with office chairs piled up on the street. One street had overturned black and burned cars with extras walking around in tattered bloodied clothes. I can overlook the river from work, and they were flying black helicopters under the draw bridges before zooming up 90 degrees and inverting. Trust me, it was cool but I am sure the pilot had an iron stomach.
As an added bonus, my Sister, Brother-in-Law, and little Niece were in town during the filming. Even I got giddy.

Sleep like the Dead

2010-07-29T12:45:00.004-05:00

Here is a timeline of my last 24hrs (also imagine that beeping sound in the background from the TV series 24):
3pm – left work early and headed home
3:45pm – arrive in my hood and stop at the local ghetto McDonalds for a bag of shame (delicious crispy shame)
4:00pm – arrive home and eat my lunch
4:15pm – head to bed because I had been going on about 3-4hrs of sleep a night for the last 9 straight days. I was putting in 16hr work days (including Saturday and Sunday) so my life consisted of sleeping and working. I fall instantly asleep
9:00pm – wake up due to hunger, so I eat a bowl of cereal (I also have zero fresh food in my house due to having no free time)
9:30pm – back to bed, instantly fall asleep (again)
6:00am – awake and get ready for work
8:00am – arrive at work. Note I didn’t see anything unusual on my way to work.
8:05am – co-worker rushes over to make sure I am alive.

Now here is that story…from the Chicago Tribune:
Cops: 2 people shot on North Side
July 28, 2010 7:42 PM |
Two men were shot this evening in the Uptown neighborhood on the North Side, police said.
Police were alerted about the shooting on the XXXX block of North Magnolia Ave. at about 4:36 p.m., said Chicago Police News Affairs Sgt. Antoinette Ursitti.
A 20-year-old man was shot in the chest and a 27-year-old man was shot in the leg, said Ursitti. The two men were involved in an argument with other men who fired from a vehicle, police said.
The shooting happened about a block from Harry S. Truman College, XXXX W. Wilson Ave.
Chicago Fire Department paramedics took both men in serious condition to Advocate Illinois Masonic Hospital, said Kevin MacGregor, a fire department spokesman. Initially officials said that only one person had been hospitalized.
…and from the Uptown Update local listing:
The shooter fled by car. There are at least two cooperating witnesses, i.e., not gang bangers, who saw the car. “I saw the shooter, briefly, and the gun, but not the car.”

Now I edited out the address because it is MY address. Seriously! The place in the news picture is my condo! The shooting happened right outside my window (I am on the first floor). There were helicopters, police sirens, and ambulances crawling over the area. Since I left work early, I WAS HOME when the shooting occurred. Was I frightened…was I panicked…did I call up my real estate agent and bitch her out…nope. I slept through the ENTIRE thing. Not kidding. I didn’t even know all of this went down until my co-worker showed me the news article this morning. I guess I was really really really tired. Oh and I love that they had to clarify that a cooperating witnesses are “not gang bangers”.

The Angry Cupcake

2010-07-27T08:10:00.003-05:00

Now you may have seen my random status update and profile picture up on Facebook. Here is the story behind it. I have written about the girl’s wedding, but I failed to mention her bachelorette party. The highlight of the night was dinner and a drag show in boystown. I don’t know quite where she/he/the performer tucked it, but the costumes were all completely backless (like bare ass backless) or thongs. I felt like such a perve always trying to get a better look to see where IT was hidden.
While at dinner, we noticed a girl in the most ridiculous outfit ever. It was obvious she was on a bachelorette party (or in fact the bride-to-be) but the dress was just too over-the-top…for a bachelorette party…being held in boystown…at a drag club. Yes, it was THAT bad. It was slightly longer than a tube top and was an inch away from exposing either her upper or lower lady bits. Did I mention it was bubble gum pink taffeta! Yep, pretty in pink…or not. We dubbed her “cupcake” because frankly it fit.
While examining Cupcake, it suddenly dawned on us what was going on around us. Apparently her bachelorette party didn’t make a reservation and were accidently mistaken for another party and subsequently seated. Then when the real party showed up, cupcake’s group was asked to get up and wait for a table because it wasn’t theirs to begin with. Okay her ENTIRE group was composed of cast offs from either The Real Housewives of New Jersey or The Jersey Shore. Seriously…EXACTLY like them! They got all in the management’s “grill” and alternated between cussing the staff out or doing that roll-the-eye while waggle the finger move. Now the staff is all a bunch of boy poofs…you know, small gay men who are likely bottoms, dressed head-to-toe in white because it is what you do in Miami…while sucking dick, I mean they work at a drag show for Christ’s sake. Therefore, in a fight, the Jerseylicious girls likely would implant a lee press on nail to their center mass.
The manager finally asked Cupcake and her hos to leave. Oh no, they weren’t leaving without a fight. One couger full on closed fisted punched the maître de in the face! The guy then threw up his hands and herded them out the front door. Note he didn’t punch (or more fittingly slap) the women, just kind of opened the door and pushed them through it. We turned to the manager and said we witnessed the whole ordeal and would testify for them if needed. He sighed and said that being in boystown, they sometimes get slapped, but it is rare when it is a punch…from a girl (a real one at least).
Well the fight continued outside where the Cupcake crew paced in front of the restaurant yelling obsencities and daring the staff to “take it to the street”. I could not resist capturing it on camera (like photographing lions in the wild, and just as dangerous). I rushed outside and pretended to be a stupid tourist taking pictures of: the sign, the girls, the street, the girls, the building next door, the girls, the girls, the girls. Ah ha ha. I got a good action shot of Cupcake full blown rage yell at the small effeminate man. I mean possessed eyes mad! From that point on, she was dubbed the “angry cupcake”.

In the beginning

2010-06-30T12:08:00.008-05:00

Here are some pictures from Rachel & Norm’s wedding. It was my first Jewish wedding. I’ve been to Catholic, Lutheran, Baptist, Civil and even Greek Orthodox weddings (where everything is in Greek and it is like two hours long…thanks Kons). Some weddings are long, some require a lot of audience participation, and some make you sing awkwardly to an unknown hymn. The Rabbi came out and asked who had been to a Jewish wedding before. The bride’s side all raised their hands. He explained all we had to do was yell out “Moseltof” once Norm stepped on the glass. It was 90 degrees and sunny weather, so the crowd was all melting. I wondered if my deodorant would make it through the whole ceremony. Well the Rabbi sped read a whole bunch of Hebrew and the next thing I knew, Norm stepped on the glass. I was in shock because the whole thing wasn’t more than ten minutes long. Wow, them Jews sure know how to do a summer wedding right.
At the reception, they did the traditional dance where the bride and groom were
lifted on chairs and shook like a bucking bull. It was hilarious. The bride and groom were white knuckling it to say seated while they were tossed high above the dance floor.

The best part was of course on the dance floor. The bride is part of a dance troup. When Michael Jackson's Beat It came on, the dance troup did the entire choreographed routine...including the whole knife fight joining hands dance. It was AWESOME! Oh I hope they got that on video.

Small world...huge consequence

2010-06-27T21:22:00.001-05:00

A couple of weekends ago, I flew into Kansas City for a brief 24hr visit to attend a friend’s (and doppelganger) wedding. I was sitting in the plane waiting to push off from the Chicago gate Saturday morning when the captain said we would be delayed just a bit so that they could put more fuel in our plane in case we had to circle for a while or be rerouted to St. Louis or Omaha. Yeah, that is words a traveler never wants to hear. Apparently a massive storm was approaching the Kansas City area and they were going to try to outrun it and get in before it hit. Again, not music to my ears (nothing better than a reckless PILOT!). I heard witness account of the storm and apparently it was like hurricane downpour with multiple fork lighting bolts for 20 minutes before turning to bright blue skies.
My friend Farrell (known mostly as my accomplice in many bad ideas in NYC) picked me up and took me to an awesome burger joint, Blanc, in the Plaza where I had truffle fries for the first time. They are made of potatoes, truffle oil, salt, and awesomeness. He told me all about “icing” people and I am so going to try to start that up in Chicago. Basically if you find a creative way to give someone a Smirnoff Ice, then they have to get down on one knee and chug it. He was iced last week when a friend wrapped the bottle in a tortilla and foil (aka the burrito ice).
I arrived at the hotel to find my suitemates in bed “disco napping”. They were three other girls that knew the bride from a book club which was more of a regular cocktail and gossip session. I originally was going to share a room with a girlfriend “Sassy”, but her boyfriend and she were getting serious and I would be the awkward third wheel in the hotel room. Our room hosted the pre-wedding party for the Chicago friends to gather beforehand. When Sassy walked in and introduced me to her boyfriend, there was a brief moment where we were struck with a case of déjà vu. It then suddenly dawned on me that I knew him because I went on a date with him once about a year ago. The silence got awkward as he realized it too. Sassy asked “do you two know each other” and I said yes but it was a long time ago. She then shocked me by saying “did you meet on eHarmony…” which hit the nail on the head.
The group got on the shuttle bus to take us to the wedding. A guy friend, Bob, sat next to Sassy’s boyfriend and riddled him with questions. He said “that is so funny you went on a date with Lindsay…where you one of her 13 in 14 experimental guys…you know when she just said yes to everyone and ended up with 13 dates in 14 days…you know one of them even sent her an email about his gigantic dick! …that’s not you right” The boyfriend looked confused as was like um no.
Bob later confessed to me he said all of that to the boyfriend. He laughed when he told me about how shocked the boyfriend looked when he found out the dates and the big dick email was out on the internet in my blog. I couldn’t believe Bob asked him point blank if he was the big dick guy, but I had to nod my head to confirm that he WAS THE BIG DICK GUY! Yep, and couldn’t believe it myself. 8 million people in the Chicagoland area, and our circles overlap. I do have to admit, he was a very nice guy…just not the guy for me. Now the moral dilemma is posting this entry. On one hand it is one of the most ridiculous stories EVER to happen to me. On the other, she will probably read this and now know all of us know her boyfriend is very well endowed. Actually, that isn’t so bad right?

Goonies - I have proof

2010-06-18T16:42:00.003-05:00

Okay I know, it has been a while. I've been very busy and too exhausted when I come home late at night (from work...not parties...I have no social life...sigh).

I did notice this story that caught my eye. Okay, the background information...I love the movie Goonies (as does most of the 30-40 year old population) and I have probably seen it over a hundred times. It is one of those fail-safe movies that if I come across it while flipping channels, I will usually watch it. One time, I watched it in Spanish because it was on Telemundo and there was absolutely nothing else on TV (I know, read a book). My rational was "well it IS a good movie...and I already know what they are saying anyway".

Once I caught a version that had an scene with an Octopus. Just once. While the kids are in the water outside after coming out of the most awesome water slide ride EVER, this octopus brushed up against the girl with the glasses leg. She blaimes Mouth because he is just the kind of slime ball who would feel up wet leggings but then eventually is attacked by the Octopus (because frankly she needed a scene since she has been playing the 3rd wheel for the whole movie).
From then on, I would tell people about this scene and how it all makes sense now because at the end, the girl with the glasses was telling her parents "oh and there was this octopus" and I was like "what octopus". No one believed me (it was like I was Chunk telling a tall tale) and I swore up and down this scene exists.
And here is the proof. Octopus deleted scene.
If this link is expired (since I took freaking forever to write this up), then just YouTube Goonies and Octopus.