Chapter One: The Future Father In-Law Plays in Shit to get the Ball Rolling

I'm surprised to discover that I really just don't like my in-laws. I know that this problem is not unique, but it is confusing nonetheless. Confusing because I'm amazed that there are two people on this planet who can manage to be so obtrusive from a 1,000 miles away.

Perhaps it was because I only saw these awful people once every couple of years that I could push their obnoxious, deplorable behavior from my mind since their presence in my life was a temporary inconvenience.

However, since John and I have been married now just over two years the in-laws have become difficult to ignore. And impossible to like.

The strange behavior started so subtly. And when John and I were taking our first steps into full-fledged adulthood and a lifelong commitment.

When John and I purchased our Lakeview condo 4 years ago, we were so happy and excited to own our first home together. Sure, our furniture was busted and mostly from IKEA and our kitchenware was leftover from college. But it was in our home, and we couldn't have been happier. We were newly engaged and excited about the steps we were taking in our lives. We were proud of what we had accomplished since graduating from college 5 years earlier, still in our 20's and living in the city.

Thus we felt it was an appropriate opportunity to invite the parents - my future in-laws - out for New Year's Eve to share in the celebration that was 2009.

Outside of an isolated hot-dog vendor incident at a Baltimore Oriole's game a couple of years prior where John's father unceremoniously screamed at the man doing his job in 80 degree heat to 'get out of his way', the majority of the interaction between us had been relatively pleasant.

Sure, they are card-carrying members of the Suburban Borg. Meaning, that they rarely if ever venture outside of their comfort zone of chain restaurants and urban family-friendly tourist traps - i.e. Chicago's Navy Pier and Baltimore's Inner Harbor - and they are that family to wear matching holiday t-shirts while singing show tunes on road trips. But hey, every family is different and I put any previous display of ass-hattery out of my mind as anyone can have a bad day.

Their arrival in Chicago started typically enough. It was pleasantly warm for late December, which tickled John's Dad to no end since the weather was more akin to the Virginia-area winter that he was used to and his refusal to accept that anywhere was different from the DC metro area.

So, embracing the unusual winter warmth, we set off to show the parents on the town and our new neighborhood. We had to partake in the typical migration of the Suburban Borg through Navy Pier, the Shed Aquarium, and the weekend's culmination of a New Year's Eve celebration sitting 3rd row at the Blue Man Group. Yes, I fell asleep only to be woken up by a Blue Man staring directly at me from 10 feet away. That shit is boring.

But to compromise, we also tried to incorporate some local flavor so they could see the city through our eyes.  The first local stop we made was to our favorite little sushi BYOB, Nori. Since Nori is a BYOB, I asked John's Dad and Mom if they would like to pick up anything to drink on the way to the restaurant. 'No, No' explained John's Dad. 'I want to be around for my grandchildren' he remarked as we made our way out the door....

Okay... Not knowing how to respond to that statement and not wanting to come off as a total asshole and proclaiming our ChildFree status on the way to dinner, I let this remark go.

After stopping to get a large bottle of wine regardless and since 3 of us still wanted wine with dinner - I figured I would need it - we made it to Nori. The future in-laws are not fans of seafood but like most sushi joints a terriyaki menu is available for the non-adventurous. John and I ordered our regular maki selection while the future in-laws ordered their chicken terryaki.

John's mom was a good sport about trying a bite or two of maki, upon her own request to try it. She ate it politely and explained that it just wasn't her thing. However, when John's dad tried a small piece of a California Roll he SPIT it out with such force that it didn't land on his plate, but the shared plate of untouched maki. He then crossed his arms across his chest, protruded his lower lip in a pout that we could have parked our Jetta on and didn't utter so much as an 'excuse me'. The rest of the dinner was eaten in silence and every last drop wine was drunk, mostly by John and myself.

The next morning, I had planned a brunch at Deleece so all of our friends could meet John's family. Unfortunately, I woke up sick. Which was most likely a combination of an oncoming cold and a hangover after not being able to finish the rest of my dinner out of disgust for my future father in-law's lack of table manners and too much wine to compensate. Needless to say, I was not at my best and in retrospect, I wish I had my wits about me for what was about to occur.

Upon their arrival at the house that morning before brunch. They sat down on the couch and John's Dad leaned over in an all businesslike fashion and asked John and I how we were planning on paying for our wedding and what 'their responsibility' would be. We told them nothing as it was something we had planned on paying for ourselves. They're reaction to this seemed positive and supportive so the conversation carried on ending with a funny story of something our cat, Skizzy, liked to do.

Skizzy, had a hilarious habit of hating the phone and answering machine. Anything that he could hear a voice in he would bite it as if he were trying to let the person trapped inside the phone out. It was adorable.

Upon hearing this story, John's Dad gleefully grabbed our phone, turns on the speaker function and placed it in the litter box to get the cat to play with it. The man literally put our phone in cat shit and thought it was the funniest thing he ever could have done. The 3 of us stared at him, in total shock, that anyone would do something so asinine. Yet, he just laughed as John tried to clean our new phone off with a Clorox Wipe while staring incredulously at his father.

Thankfully, they left later that day for Virginia.

However, we wondered. Was it something we did? Did they not like the condo? Were they not happy we were getting married? After all, how could someone think it is okay to behave so disrespectfully? Especially when John and I had so many reasons to be excited? Was this a fluke occurrence?

Unfortunately, it wasn't, it was just the beginning.  





  

 

Shiloh on how to enjoy life.

Stopping to smell the flowers....

When making it to Clamspringa isn't possible.

Clamspringa - 2013: The Aftermath, The Hangover, The Constipation

Every year, our good friends who reside outside of Saint Louis open their home and their hot tub to their closest friends for a long weekend of binge drinking and debauchery. Since they are lucky enough to also be the proud owners of a sizable backyard us Chicago kids, amazed by the wide-open space, set up camp in the backyard and become 'The Clampers' for the weekend.

Clamspringa, proceeded by the original 'Clam Bake' and last year's 'Burning Clam' marked the 3rd anniversary of these Clam-centric festivities. And this year, it was more fun than ever. Each year consists of the same activities, we wake up early, drink a lot, eat a lot, get in the hot tub, set some shit on fire, and pass out before midnight. Followed by the next day of getting up early, making breakfast, going to Schnucks (for more Bud Light and Chips), and repeating the day all over again.

For the past two years, Sunday marked the day of the 'Family Party' where a big BBQ was hosted to intermingle the friends and the family. Unfortunately, since The Clampers had already spent most of their day drinking, smoking, and sun bathing, it was a little difficult to mix these two elements without some mild hilarity ensuing. This year, the family portion of the itinerary was nixed in lieu of the strictly Clamper BBQ. However, mild hilarity still managed to ensue.

Our recently divorced pilot friend 'Bob' brought his new Bottom B along to meet everyone. Sweet girl, gullible girl, a total Bob girl. Granted some of this gullibility could be contributed to her only being 23, some of it could be that she rarely ventures outside of Des Moines, Iowa. In either case, she truly was very nice, once she stopped trying so hard to 'say something' and get attention. For example, none of The Clampers, including the Father and Mother of Clamspringa have children. In fact, none of us want kids. One of the big reasons that we can all take off for Memorial Day weekend every year for this much needed weekend of debauchery is because we don't have kids and are all happily Child Free.

Well Sally, don't let your head explode over that one!  When she found out that she was among the happily Child Free, she looked around blankly and remarked 'What do you mean you don't want kyyyydz?'. Followed immediately by 'AMY, HOW CAN YOU NOT WANT KYYYYDDZZZ?' when she realized that she did not garner the attention she wanted with her previous statement. Getting annoyed, I decided to smack this down to move on with the conversation and ask Sally, why on EARTH would anyone want a 'Fuck Trophy', 'Crib Lizard', or 'Flesh Loaf' of their very own when my husband and I get to take off to spend a weekend with great friends at the drop of a hat? Well, not surprisingly, she didn't have much of a retort, if any, that I can remember as I was knee deep into a case of beer. But maybe, just maybe, by meeting new people she opened her eyes to a lifestyle that she didn't know she could have.

But what do I know? That is the same night I drank half a 5th of Belvedere 'Intense' and fell in the hot tub, twice. Then woke up the next day to do it all over again.

Now that we are safe and sound at home and the 'Clamper' gear is put away until next time, I can sit and reflect on how lucky John and I are to have such amazing people in our lives to spend a long weekend with. And that not everyone is as lucky as we are to have that, girls like Sally may be a good example of that.

But until next year, or at least for the rest of the week it is time to get back to reality, nurse my bruised knees from my epic descent into the hot tub, lose the 10 pounds of Bud Light that has managed to take up residence in my mid-section, and eat something that is not from the makers of Frito Lay. 

32, and Happily Child Free

I always knew that having children was not the right thing for me to do. Even when I was a small child some of my earliest memories involve me distinctly disliking other children, baby dolls, playing 'house', and anything else that would try to turn a little girl into a future mommy. I can probably psychoanalyze my aversion toward children but I don't want to get into that today. The point of the day is that these feelings only get stronger the older I get. And the older I get, the happier and more self-assured in my decisions I become and that includes being child free.

In high school, when I proclaimed that I don't want children now or ever I was always met with a patronizing stare and the retort that 'I'll change my mind someday'. Or worse, being told that women who don't want children are immediately dismissed as 'selfish' or 'not normal'. These kind remarks have come from everywhere and anyone; from my own family, school teachers, friends, and the media. Because all 'normal' women breed and just luuurve little baaybeees, right? Well, not all women do and I am one of those women.

It wasn't until college that I began to discover people who were like-minded in the child free lifestyle, what the child free lifestyle is, and that it is okay to be child free. My roommate, who I credit as being the first self-proclaimed child free woman that I have met introduced me to a wealth of information on the Internet for people who don't want kids and who are proud and happy of their decision, including the famous and now defunct 'Brats Rant Page'. After pouring over page after page of ranting of the hell that the child free go through being assaulted by breeders and their ill-behaved offspring, courage from child free people who are successful and who dare to not become another societal drone following some imposed life-script, and people who are fulfilled and happy to be who they are without children. I began to truly understand that you don't have to do something just because you are always told that is the way everyone should live. It was okay to not want to have children and still live a happy, normal, and fulfilled life. It wasn't just okay to be child free, it was fabulous to be child free.

But the issue is, where are these proud child free people represented in our day to day society? Sure, we have some online blogs and support groups. But as far as our mass media is concerned, the pressure to breed is bearing down upon us and time is ticking for women to make sure they 'have it all' before it is too late. You can't make it through a checkout line without seeing the latest headline of some celebutwat who is either knocked up or rumored to be so. Even fashion magazines kowtow to the breeder machine by telling us that our 30's are the time to get married, squirt out a few crib lizards, and still manage to get that promotion. I know that I am not the only woman walking the earth who finds this breeder-centric attitude revolting. So where are the child free and why don't we have a share of the voice?  It is time in our society that we begin to accept the child free as a viable sector of the community. People who are smart, funny, have great jobs, great friends, loving spouses, and who love their lives without knowing the supposed 'joy' of birthing some progeny who may just be another future mediocre asshole.

I am here to say out loud that you don't have to breed to be a happy adult. Being a happy adult means making the decisions that are right for you, regardless of the people who will bear down on you to do what they think is 'right' or 'normal'. I guess those people are just proof that misery loves company and having to slave away tending to sickly or otherwise disappointing children is there lot in life, it is not for everyone. It is definitely not for me, and that is nothing to be ashamed of.

I'll dare to be happy on my own terms.  

Thanks for Coming to Lincoln Park, Kuma's Too!

I still have never eaten at the original Kuma's on Belmont. John and I showed up once 10 minutes before the place opened for the day and we were yelled at by a heavily tattooed girl behind the bar that they were still closed. If I wasn't starving, I would have had the sense to retort and ask 'Then why is the damn front door open?'. But I digress, we left and had not had the chance to make our way out there since.

But happily, a couple of weeks ago Kuma's opened their 2nd location at 666 W. Diversey in the old Counter location. Honestly, the space felt to 'clean' for a burger place that has made its reputation on being 'metal'. Sure, all of the staff have full tatoo sleeves, wear ironic shirts, have funky hair colors, and seem to enjoy being rude to the customers. They basically are non-conformists that all do the exact same thing as the next person to stand out. And still have the audacity to look at me as though I am any ordinary 'yuppie', go figure. But something about pumping loud music into a clean cut space just doesn't quite settle right. Sure, the walls are covered with vintage posters of famous metal bands (Metallica, Judas Preist, etc.), and by covered, they are all neatly framed and hung evenly. And they also try to prove how 'edgy' they are by hanging naked lady pictures in the hallway back by the bathrooms.

If Kuma's wants to be a Lincoln Park metal bar, then they should do it. Not conform to some watered-down idea that they think the Lincoln Parkateers would be happy with. It's insulting to those of us who live in the neighborhood and actually appreciate it for being a diverse area with something for everyone. Sure, we have DePaul University and annoying college kids, Wrigley Field and drunk ex-frat boys, and entitled stroller bitches tooling up and down the neighborhood streets with their Bugaboos. But, we also have establishments that have stood the test of time regardless of the changing environment. You don't see establishments like Delilah's, Neo, the L&L, or even the Metro trying to change who they are to make the Yuppie Brigade happy, do you? And these places have been open since before I was born.

Because, unlike Kuma's, these places that have stood the test of time and realize that the majority of the annoyances that I mention above are temporary blips in the life of Chicago. Inevitably, the annoying DePaul Student becomes the Wrigleyville ex-frat boy who will meet a vacant trixie and they then morph into the Yuppie parents. And before you know it they have shipped themselves out to the suburbs and oblivion. Then there are the rest of us who, sure at one time were probably annoying college kids, but who have grown up, own homes, hold down good jobs, and have made the decision to make Chciago a permanent home. We just prefer to live park and lake adjacent rather than be conformist cool and live in Logan Square.

On a positive note, I am in love with Kuma's burgers. We went last Friday after work and I am still thinking about my meal and trying to come up with any excuse to go back, and soon! I also liked the loud music, absence of TV's, and booze selections. It is a great addition to the neighborhood for those who appreciate an alternative to a sports bar. Kuma's Too just needs to drop the perception that they only dane to be part of the Lincoln Park community instead of actually being a member.

The Lies Carrie Bradshaw Told You

To pass the time when I am home alone my favorite thing to put on the TV is 'Sex and the City'. I have never been able to decide whether or not I am one of the legions of women who love the show and see it as an instruction manual for life or if I just actually hate it.  Sure I love the fashion, the raunchy good humor, curly girl hairstyles, and watching the show satisfies my secret love of New York City. But damn, is Carrie Bradshaw annoying.

Case in point, I can feel my blood pressure spike in the 2nd season finale when Carrie is walking away from Mr. Big after celebrating his engagement to a 20 something year old girl with a normal nose and she theorizes:

"Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with." - Carrie Bradshaw

I'm so independent and AMAZING! And my face resembling a FOOT only adds to my charm!

However, my personal feeling is that this quote is actually a mask for something that much more resembles this:

A more believable assessment, no?

Every insipid, insecure, perpetually single girl I have ever known has had this quote plastered all over her dorm room, Myspace (I'm dating myself), Facebook page, and man hatin' Pinterest board since it was first uttered a decade ago. "Stupid" girls cling to this quote because there is absolutely no possible way that their boyfriend or husband leaving them was any fault of their own. As the only explanation their man could have left them is because they are just way to wild to be handled.

But the reality is, we are all responsible for our own actions and sometimes relationships don't make it. And if this relationship didn't make it because in your mind you were to busy 'running wild and free' and your man just couldn't deal with it, it probably means that you're a crazy bitch. These women should stop fooling themselves into thinking their guy didn't want them because they were not the 'simple girl' they tell themselves he actually wanted. Truth is, he wanted a sane girl that has her shit together. To be fair, nobody is 'simple' we all have our own crazy. But the real difference is that the so-called 'simple girl' isn't also a selfish floozy.

So ladies, take that stupid quote down, get your shit together and stop being a selfish floozy. In time, perhaps you will be a lot happier and maybe even start looking up to yourself instead of fictional Carrie Bradshaw.

Seen Outside the Neighborhood Starbucks...

You know, I think this could work. 

Fuck You February, You've Won Again.

How is that February is the shortest month of the year, yet the longest?

There is a part of me that loves winter. I look forward to the time of year when I can bundle up in my cute winter accessories and cozy up with John in a warm pub like Duke of Perth for all we can eat fish and chips and sip Hot Toddy's until we begin to drift off at the table (it only takes two, BTW).  Getting out of the house and the cold sun will be shining for Saturday afternoon walks to Starbucks, window shopping on Broadway and evening treks out to Lincoln Park Zoo for ZooLights and hot chocolate.

Then February rolls around and BAM! The sun has not shown itself in days, maybe weeks, it is cold, dreary, and the city seems cruel. I find myself doing little more with my time outside of work than watching really bad TV on the CW and living off tortillas that I char on the stove and melt cheese on.

I wonder why on 'Hart of Dixie' that it never seems to get cold or cloudy in the quaint little town of Bluebell. And how on earth you can find a Southern town in Alabama with that many attractive people? Not a single person in that town resembles the meth-heads I usually come across when I am on the other side of the Mason-Dixon line.

I watch 'The Carrie Diaries' and wonder when that cute-as-a-button AnnaSophia Robb will begin to resemble the original Carrie Bradshaw. Will she be hit by an MTA bus on the way to her unrealistic, yet fantastical, fashion magazine internship resulting in that famous crooked schnoz? Or how about when will she pick up that nasty cigarette habit that was such an integral part of Carrie's character on 'Sex and the City'?

On Thursday's I tune into 'The Vampire Diaries'. OK, well that is only because that guy who plays Damon is hot. I have no other excuse. It's not because the writing this season is just 'soooo good' with the convoluted plot lines and 'whoa-is-me' attitude of the main character, Elena. There are times when watching the show I just wish Buffy would show up and knock some sense into all of them.

When I am not glued to the television, I find myself fantasizing about living in an endless summer. Like going back to Hawaii and trading in my job and Blackberry for a retail position and nights spent at beach parties. Or I even begin to convince myself that Los Angeles wouldn't be such a bad place to live, even though if you approached me in any other state of mind than the one I'm in in February I would argue that nothing could be worse than living in that congested, dirty suburgatory.

The truth is, in February, being anywhere is better than being where you are. And dreaming about better days when the sun is shining and the city is alive again are in reality just one way to cope with this most depressing month of the year. Longing for summer that is just around the corner and once again getting to live my life in sundresses and sandals while heading out to the nearest street festival to shop the artwork and drink beer while listening to the cover bands.

But for today, on March 5th 2013, February still has its grip and Chicago looks like this:

Forced to reserve our parking via lawn furniture. 

Braving treacherous afternoon Starbucks trips

And finally, working from home because it's just too damn cold.

Fuck You February, I hate you.