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.

Are You Better Off Now Than Before?

With this election season come and gone the question 'Are you better off now than you were 4 years ago?' has been thrown around a lot over the past few months.

My grandmother passed away last August and so for the first time in 4 years John and I packed up the Jetta and headed down to Cape Girardeau, MO. Of course the focus of these few days in Cape should have been on Grandma and the funeral, and they were, however the conversation among my conservative family inevitably turned to politics. The points mostly being on how Obama hates small business, religion, and puppies. It's as if Rush Limbaugh is speaking the Gospel and they cannot get enough. In fact, one of the first things my grandpa asked John and me, after not seeing or speaking to us in 4 years, was whether or not we were better off now than we were 4 years ago. John looked him straight in the eye and said 'yes'. And it couldn't be more true.

In the past 4 years, it seems as if nothing but great things have happened. John has been at his current company and moved positions, I have been at my current company and been promoted. We also got engaged, bought a home in Lakeview, made some of the best friends that we could ever ask for, and got married in a nice little ceremony on Oahu. We have really started to make a life for ourselves here in Chicago. Personally and somewhat superficially, my professional pursuits have rewarded me with a growing collection of Burberry coats (my weakness), a shoe collection that I can't seem to stop adding to, and the occasional shopping trips to Neiman Marcus and Anthropologie. Not to even mention that for the first time since we both started working professionally that we have had the opportunity to travel enough to use up all of our allotted paid vacation time in 2012, which I consider an accomplishment to strive for every year from here on out.

Of course the economy (and maybe a bit of luck) has had something to do with this success. However, the real catalyst that set this crazy journey in motion was Christmas 5 years ago. John and I dutifully headed down to Cape Girardeau to spend Christmas with my grandparents. Unfortunately, this Christmas was not merry. My mother, who I have no relationship with, and who I had not seen in 10 years at the point of this trip was having her annual bout of crazy. Aside from the usual asinine comments and behavior from my grandparents such as:

1. The only redeeming quality John has is that his family took him to a Methodist Church. - Grandpa (They went to a church for about 6 months to sing in the choir.)
2.  You are living in SIN! - Grandpa (Yep, we had a really cute apartment in Roscoe Village at the time.)
3. You really should wear more makeup, you are not naturally pretty. - Grandma (Whatever.)
4. You will never get anywhere in life whoring around. - Grandma - (Sure.)
5. After work, do you go back to your 'room'? - Grandma (Um, I don't live in a dorm, thanks Grandma!)

The icing on the cake of this already shitty holiday, my Grandpa took it upon himself to pull me aside, without John my boyfriend of 3 years at the time, to tell me that it was my duty and obligation as a member of the family to support my mother. I had to sit there and listen to how much my mother did for me, most of which was a fabrication on my grandfather's behalf. When I tried to remind him that my mother is someone who dumped me, at 15 years old, in Cape Girardeau, MO; emptied out my bank account, stole what little jewelry I had from my other Grandma so she could pawn it out of spite, and then disappeared. Literally, I came home from school one day she was just gone. Over dinner the night she took off, my grandma told me "You know, we really don't want you, but we feel keeping you here is the 'Christian thing to do'." But with all of that aside while commiserating my future duties with Grandpa, if I refused to take care of my mother it showed how 'ungrateful' for everything my grandparents ever did for me. Especially extending the 'kindness' to take me in.

With that conversation, I went into the living room without saying a word to my Grandma and told John that in no uncertain terms that it was time to leave. So we threw our things in the car, leaving whatever Christmas presents behind and not saying goodbye and drove home to Chicago and had our own Christmas. The next day when I checked my email I was not surprised to find a nasty-gram from my Grandpa telling me how disappointed in me he is and that I was indeed 'disowned' from the family. That was the last communication that I had with my Grandpa prior to my Grandma's funeral. And looking back on this situation, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. If it wasn't for that Christmas, I wouldn't have finally realized that my happiness and success in life is not dependent on anyone but myself and nothing is worth putting up with people who have the ability to make me that unhappy because life is too short to deal with that bullshit. So yes, in short, I am infinitely better off than I was 4 years ago. Or maybe ever for that matter.

Whoops! You're Judgmental.

A couple of months ago, I had a friend accuse me of being 'judgmental'. I thought about it for a minute and came to the realization that everyone is judgmental because we all have opinions. Whoops, sorry to be judgmental and voice my opinion. Forgive me!!

Well anyway, in retrospect, I guess I should have apologized for processing the sad-sack, pathetic stories she would spew and formulate an opinion from my natural thought process. Oh wait, no, I will never owe someone an apology for being myself and having an opinion. And in retrospect, I should have told her from the beginning, exactly what I was thinking as it would have saved me a lot of future headaches. But I digress...

After all, I listened to her opinion that at 27 she deserved an apartment in Chicago with an in-unit washer and dryer, 3 bedrooms, jet-spa bathtubs, granite counter tops, and stainless steel appliances because at her age she felt that she should have things like while only working a part-time receptionist job. When they were forced to leave this apartment because they could barley afford the rent with her husband working and when he lost his job they could no longer afford the rent at all. I listened to her complain about her mean landlord who probably just wanted them to sign a lease or get out, either way, the fact is that the guy has a property business to run and her problems were not his. Sorry!

But I never said that...

When she chose to stay in a part-time reception job that 'she loved'. I stayed quiet as her husband lost his job and watched both of them struggle to keep the expensive roof over her head that she was so deserving of. Even as she threw out her back requiring paramedics to arrive and an uninsured stay in the ER, I said nothing. I listened to her complain how the doctor screwed them over for charging her for making rounds and doing tests and how they were denied funds from a hospital charity program that pays bills for people who are needy. I kept my opinion to myself that those programs are for people who are actually needy, not for those people who simply choose to not to work.

But obviously, the hospital was just as 'judgmental' as I apparently am...

When her lifestyle could not be sustained any longer, I listened to her complain that she had to get a full-time receptionist job. And how hard it is to work full time, and keep her house clean, and play on facebook, and keep food in her mouth, and take the L to work. In fact working full time is so hard on her that she has to take a nap on her lunch break. Answering phones and filing mail is so strenuous that she must steal away in a VP's office and take a nap on the couch, and if that office is occupied by the VP doing his job then she must pull two office chairs together in an empty cube to rest after such a hard morning. Never mind that I work 40 plus hours a week, have a home to keep clean, and a dinner to put on the table. Just like everyone else. She just couldn't understand how on earth that life is possible.

And as she became more and more resentful of her husband for forcing her into full time work, I still just listened...

I guess I should have apologized for taking her out for Brunch and mani/pedi's for her Birthday. And when we went downtown to do some shopping afterward, I never should have bought the two pairs of Tory Burch shoes that I wanted because I liked them. She didn't like them and couldn't understand why I would want them or why I would want to spend $600 on shoes when she buys her clothes from consignment shops. I guess I should apologize for how I spend my discretionary income and hide it from people who may be offended, or daresay 'judgmental'. I guess I owe her an explanation for my financial successes. No wait, I don't. I work at a very demanding job, that is also a career. I will spend my money at Bloomingdale's however I see fit and still have money leftover to put in my savings accounts and 401k or else I wouldn't be shopping.

So Fuck You.

When she complained about being fat, I listened and stupidly tried to offer advice. Not to bring her down, but to legitimately try to help her. That was a mistake. After all, she is not fat because she eats too much. She is fat because she contracted parasites in Mexico 7 years ago. You see, if you snorkel in the Caribbean and accidentally swallow the sea water, you will start to uncontrollably gain weight. It will have nothing to do with in one evening eating a full value meal from McDonald's then spotting a Hardee's order a second value meal and hoovering it like an emaciated African child. When I gently offered the advice of maybe trying to record what you eat for a week because she insisted she 'doesn't eat very much', I was met with the retort 'WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?!'. I should have responded with a profound 'fuck you' and ended our friendship there, however, I didn't. And that was a mistake. I know she doesn't realize that in restaurants she is the only person that eats her full deep fried meal and everyone always waited patiently while she ordered and finished dessert. But, I'm sure it's the parasites, not the White Castle, fountain sodas, Doritos, or anything else she forces down her gullet in a day that makes her obese.

Cancun Parasites.. totally legit. 

I listened to her complain about her friend who got knocked up by some hillbilly who was controlling her in some cult-type atmosphere. She was planning on a caravan up to Michigan with her husband to rescue this friend from the evil clutches of hillbilly-dome. As I listened to this story, I nodded, and made profound statements such as 'wow', 'that's too bad', and 'it's horrible she got herself in that situation'. Well, with that I was met with a 'It sounds like you are judging my friend' dig. Well, I guess I was. But truthfully, I couldn't give two fucks about this girl or her situation. I was just listening to my friend drone on to be polite. Whoops. Was I supposed to just not respond in this conversation at all? What was the right answer here?

I guess I will never know...

I am happy that this friendship ended. Because it was never a real friendship to begin with and life is too short to deal with high school level drama in my 30's. My only regret is that this girl wasn't kicked to the curb before I pulled my work strings to help that leech fly out to Hawaii for our wedding. Because, strangely, she only let on how many issues she had with me and my being 'judgmental' afterwards.

Coincidence?

I do take away some valuable lessons from this situation. From this moment forward, I will work on trusting my instincts because I have learned:

1. Sometimes your first reaction and opinion of someone is the most accurate.
2. If you know someone who is constantly, 'getting screwed over' by someone, something, some company, some anything. Then that is probably a good indication that this person is quicksand and you may soon be the person who they are telling everyone that 'screwed them over'.
3. I know who my real friends are and you shouldn't have to work that hard to get along with someone.
4. You never have to apologize for who you are or what/how you feel.
5. That being judgmental only means that you have an opinion that the person you are speaking to doesn't agree with. And there is no shame in that.

You may not realize it from this blog, but I actually do love to write. I swear.

It has recently dawned on me that my life has been lacking in a certain area for me to become the prolific writer I could be in my own mind. Quite frankly, what stops me is that I really just don't have anything to talk about. I'm happy and my life is great. And who in hell wants to sit in front of their computer and read about how great I think my life is? However, something has recently re-surfaced in my life over the past month that has attempted to penetrate my happier-than-thou bubble. An annoyance so distinct that it can only be one thing: Drama. My life had, until recently, been drama free for years. 

Over the past two months friction has surfaced between myself and a friend and my grandmother passed away. You know, until these unfortunate circumstances I didn't realize how truly lucky that I have been these past few years. And what I realize is in the aftermath is that I'm still lucky in spite of this all and each of these situations has taught me something about life that either I already knew and until recently chose to ignore or that people can still surprise me, no matter how much I think I know.

Now that the dust has begun to settle and I am processing the events of the past couple of months, I am finally articulating what I want a new chapter in my life to contain. I have a clearer view on what I will strive to stand for in my life, what I will fight for and what I will let go. In all of this I have realized the importance of letting go of things (even people) that in the grand scheme of life are really of no importance, especially when all they do is make you want to stab yourself in the face to avoid their stupidity. Life is too short to live it in a state of annoyance. My life should be lived on my own terms, with my own happiness, and I will never apologize for my life and what I have worked hard for to make it become something that I wanted it to be.

I still want to use this blog to tell the stories that made me who I am today and document who I will become. But bear with me, as I just recently remembered that I actually do have a story to tell. And if I do say so myself, it's a good one. But where do I begin and how? There is so much to tell and I want to tell it all. I guess that is what I need to figure out. Stay Tuned... 

  

Shortly after getting engaged three years ago, I decided that I was finally ready to take the leap with John and purchase a home of our own. Buying a home was something John had held in high regard for years and I had quite a different opinion. I was scared, quite frankly, because I had just begun working at a job where I actually made real money and could spend it on frivolous items like Burberry coats and Kate Spade handbags. I really wasn't looking forward to being house poor just to live someplace, that in my opinion, would be just like our current apartment with nicer appliances.

So, after that great trip to New York City I consented and we began house hunting. First off, we made a list of requirements (Lakeview/Lincoln Park area, vintage rehab, on premise washer and dryer, etc.) and items that we could live without (like in-unit washer and dryer, central heat and air, etc). Naturally there were some things that were more important to us as individuals as well which we chose to factor into our home search:

The items that were more important to me:
 1. I didn't want to be so house-poor that I couldn't enjoy the remainder of my 20's.
2. The house, under no circumstances, could be haunted.

The items that were more important to John:
1. It would be a good investment.
2. We would want to stay long-term.
3. The re-sale value would be high. 
4. It would be a good investment.
5. Good investment, blah blah blah....
6. Outdoor space for a grill.

So obviously, I left John to do the heavy lifting when it came to working out the financials and choosing a property that would be a 'good investment'. While I was more concerned with the aesthetics and finding something 'cute'. Within a couple of months of intensive searching we found a realtor along with many places we just didn't want. Some were far too small, the layouts were awkward, the building just seemed janky, etc.

Until one day, I found it online. The cutest condo ever.... EVER! In our price range, vintage rehab (built in 1904 and renovated in the 90's and again by the previous owners), close to the L, in Lakeview (an awesome block no less), good space, big back porch (grilling!), on site washers and dryers, and central heat and air (major bonus since most vintage buildings still have radiator and window units). Could it be more perfect? No? So in a rush John and I called our realtor to check this place out, and we fell in love. After a brief negotiation, in our car driving down to So-ILL to visit friends, we agreed on an offer and begun the process of buying our first home.

I have to admit, being a homeowner is a lot more rewarding than I thought it could be. I absolutely love our place. I love decorating, I love the flowers on my back porch, and I love making the place ours. Hell, I even tolerate going to Home Depot which is a place that used to send me into a hissy.

So what could spoil living in such a great, nay perfect, place? Condo Associations. Condo Associations are the bane of my sweet little buildings existence and in hindsight there are so many things that we would have watched out for "If Only We Had Known Better (TM)". It is absolutely ridiculous that my idiot neighbors can affect the worth of all the units. From having renters that destroy the common areas to a unit in foreclosure, can completely screw the environment of the building. I mega-loath Condo Associations, especially one, of which I serve as the Treasurer. 

There will be more ranting on this topic to come...

 

Okay Pandora. When I created a new station entitled 'Smashing Pumpkins Radio', I did not mean for it to be an open invitation to play every single shitty song from the late 90's in addition to Pearl Jam's "Rearview Mirror" greatest hits collection and Nirvana's MTV unplugged album. All. Day. Long.

Granted, the Pearl Jam and Nirvana, I am happy with. But, do you consider the Smashing Pumpkins to be similar to Sublime and Cake? Eagle-Eye Cherry? Really? Aren't you supposed to be choosing other songs on a 'Sounds Like' basis? I guess if I had to pick a band with 'similar' sound to the Pumpkins I couldn't really do it since they did have an eclectic sound. So, is your decision based solely on the 90's Alternative genre? In that case, then why the onslaught of 90's one-hit wonders? Hello Third Eye Blind!

Perhaps, you are trying to mock me Pandora? Are the mid-90's suddenly passe and we are currently only nostalgic for the 2000's? Or is it the 80's that are still cool? Are you saying my taste in music is that of some average 90's teenager who only liked Pearl Jam, Nirvana, and shitty songs that I could drive my beater car around my one-horse town trying to alleviate the boredom of my high school days? Well, if that is the case then you may be partially correct in that assessment. However, I also liked Aerosmith.   

Furthermore, the Pumpkins have an entire catalog of music beyond 1999. They came out with at least 2 maybe 3 albums that I cannot remember the names of, but they were released! On CD and maybe even iTunes at some point. And I'm sure somebody out there listened. I also read somewhere recently that the Pumpkin's are releasing a new album sometime soon. Where are the songs from that?! The article stated that Billy Corgan is now in his mid-40's and still cranking out the hits with his unique brand of teenage angst with a self-indulgent grown-up twist. No? Still not interested?

Then, fine. I give up and will go back to my Beatles Radio.

 

Day Drinking Diversions and Dangers

My weekend was an unusual one. Normally, I tend to keep myself pretty busy but this weekend I found myself with nothing to do so I was left to meander aimlessly around the city with no plans. And what happens to me when I find myself in situations of extreme boredom? I go bat-shit crazy.

Friday night, my husband and I on a whim invited some friends to go to Fish Bar down the street from our condo. Unfortunately, Fish Bar is pretty popular and since the idea was last minute we were not seated for a table until 9:30pm. Which, actually is fine for me since I am accustomed to eating later. However, for one friend, this wait time was not quite so acceptable and Polly Piss-Pants came out in force. Granted, my husband and I are the few in our crew with a regular 9 to 5 and most of my friends need to work early on Saturday and Sunday mornings. It also didn't help that we were told that the wait for a table would be 1 hour at the least so we wandered across the street to Vaughn's for a beer only, as we found out as we stumbled back to the restaurant, that our name was called, and passed, several times. But on a positive note, the Lobster Roll was still awesome.

After dinner, our friends departed back to Logan Square so they could get up to work in the morning and my husband and I were left to our devices and full stomachs. Naturally, he passed out within minutes of hitting the couch and I was left alone. And to while away the hours until I was finally tired, I broke into a bottle of wine, hung out on my back porch and googled randomly until 4am.

The next morning, i.e. 2:30pm, my husband wakes me up and bribes me with brunch. So I bolt out of bed and jump in the shower. I get dressed in record time, if I must say so. Either I was hungry, or I just really enjoy breakfast cocktails. Since it was truly a weekend without a plan, we discussed our normal brunch locations like Deleece or La Creperie, and finally settled on trying something new so we went to Kanela up on Clark St. A mixed green salad and two glasses of wine later, we were still discussing how to spend our day. A walk up to the Spice House in 90 degree heat? Continue day drinking? Go to the beach (and continue day drinking)? Since the possibilities seemed daunting and entirely endless, and all including some form of day drinking, I decided that the best way to kill some time would be to go up to Walgreen's and get my passport photo updated. Mind you, I'm wearing my favorite brunch outfit. A green strapless cotton sundress from J. Crew, some gold necklaces, giant Prada sunglasses, and my hair is in a top knot. Perfect for brunch. It turns out, not so perfect for a passport photo.

Buzzed, I wander into Walgreen's and make my way to the photo counter. I sit down for my picture and begin to wonder if a tube dress is the smartest ensemble to be wearing when I am having a picture taken from the shoulders up. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, and reasoning that my passport is really just for foreign countries, most of which have a more accepting stance on nudity anyway, to proceed with my picture. Pleased, that I actually got something done on a Saturday, we made our way home to spend the remaining afternoon on our back porch with another bottle of Charles Shaw Merlot and to send off the form and picture to have my last name on my passport updated.

Now today, as the weekend buzz is a couple days removed. That in a few weeks when I get my passport back. I WILL LOOK NAKED!! DAMNIT!!! 

 

Today having been an unusually slow Wednesday, I decided to actually take a lunch break today and walk up to State Street and do some window shopping. Normally when I make this trek I almost always end up at the Block 37 Anthropologie and come back to work ashamed of that fact that I probably spent more than I could have possibly made that day. But today, I went the other direction and decided to stop into Nordstrom Rack. I almost never dare to walk in there, if only for the simple fact that the first floor of the place always looks like a mob scene and the line is almost out the door. Personally, I don't really like department store shopping that much. I don't care what place it is from Neiman Marcus to Bloomingdale's to the real Nordstrom, I just feel like it is over-whelming and crowded. But today, it didn't seem so bad, so in I went, and all I can say is WOW! All of the great Nord's clothes like Free People, Juicy, Splendid, Theory.... it was ALL THERE! And the Jeans Department! J Brand, Seven's, Joe's, Citizen's, racks and racks of jeans! Wide legs, skinny, cropped, and shorts and in a size 26!!!

I could not believe my eyes. Why on earth have I not discovered this place before? Why at 31, is it the first time that I have ever moseyed in here to look around? Could this be the great discovery of the year? Last year, at 30, it was my real shoe size. Don't ask the details, but it turns out that I'm actually a size 7 and not a 7 1/2 like I previously thought and it has totally revolutionized my ability to walk in pumps and high strappy sandals. Is 31 the year that I finally realize that I can buy the same $180 pair of Citizen's at Nordstrom Rack for a mere $90? Why would regular Nordstrom even still exist? It's right up the street. Are people that excited to drop twice as much cash on the same pair of jeans? Nordstrom is a racket I tell you! Shop Nordstrom Rack!

And the savings makes the shopping bag walk-of-shame back to work so much less shameful...

I'm Back and Arguably Still Bitter...

It's been a long time since my last post. And I'm happy to say after several prodding messages from well-meaning friends... and my own self-deprecating pep talks, I am ready to re-commit myself and questionable talents back to blogging. Also, mere moments ago, I logged into this account for the first time in over a year and realized to my horror the absolute crap that I had previously posted. So, I've deleted the rushed and ill-thought out posts of the past year and am ready to start anew, with more rushed and hopefully more slightly well-thought posts.

Cheers! 

My BYOB Conundrum

For several years, I avoided even considering a BYOB as a choice for a Saturday night dinner. I couldn't understand the appeal of having to take the time to go to a store and purchase my beverage of choice before even knowing what could be on the menu. After all, if you don't know what you could be eating, how on earth are you going to know what you want to drink? Sure, we all know beer pairs great with pizza, but that is simple. What if you buy a nice bottle of Riesling, then get to the restaurant and decide you want steak for dinner? Then you are stuck for the duration of your meal wishing you had purchased a nice bottle of Pino Noir. And, further more, how are you supposed to know how much you want to drink with dinner? What if you only purchase one bottle of wine and your reservation isn't ready on time? You could very well finish your bottle before even sitting down to dinner. So what do you do then? Drink water? That is preposterous. I guess you could be that couple who buys two bottles of wine to bring with them to a BYOB, but then you just look like the wino couple in the corner boozin' it up on a Saturday night instead of enjoying good conversation over dinner.

But with all of my previous reservations aside, the BYOB is beginning to grow on me. Believe it or not, the food has the potential to be amazing and not to mention cheaper than other restaurants that charge more for food to help offset the cost of a liquor license. I've also gotten the hang of simply planning ahead and picking up whatever I want to drink before going to the restaurant. It really was not any more complicated than that and I have no clue now as to why I was not doing this all along. I no longer immediately exclude restaurants based on whether or not they have their own wine cellar instead I just run to the store and buy whatever I want and march up to the Hostess with my black liquor store bag and asked to be seated. In fact, I've found myself working a little harder to actively seek out these culinary gems.

Interestingly, since broadening my dining horizons to include the BYOB, I've started to notice entirely new subsets of diners in the city. Throughout most Chicago restaurants, on any Saturday night when you look around the room the largest demographic you will likely see are obviously couples on dates followed closely by 'Woo Girls' out for a raucous 'Girls Night Out'. And, admittedly, you will find these groups at any restuarant in the city on any night of the week, including a BYOB, but it seems that the casual atmosphere of the BYOB brings out something special.

Case in point, recently, while having dinner at my favorite BYOB sushi spot, I spotted a group of 3 guys a couple of tables over. Sushi, while delicious, is not the manliest of cuisine yet these guys showed up for dinner fresh from a workout at LPAC with a case of Milwaukee's Best (The Beast) in tow and proceeded to order nearly the entire Nori maki menu. I think I was witnessing some sort of strange variation of a 'Bro Date' as they pulled beer after beer from 'The Beast' that was sitting on an empty chair in between two of the strapping young Lincoln Parkateers as they happily gobbled up their spicy tuna rolls and shrimp tempura while chatting about the 'Honeys' that they had met at Durkin's the previous weekend. It's strange that even on a 'Bro Date', Bros just can never bring themselves to sit next to each other regardless of the fact that they are eating from a communal plate with chopsticks. It's a good thing they brought 'The Beast' to act as a buffer. And to think, if this particular sushi spot was not a BYOB, than this 'Bro Date' likely never would have happened since many restaurants with liquor licenses do not have the same appreciation of the manliness that 'The Beast' offers and do not carry it, thus rendering the delicate yet rugged balance of this outing impossible. Viva la BYOB!