bestest friends

so i'm starting to look for a new apartment.

Roomie and i have decided, in the interest of maturity and future growth (and the fact that we might want to develop healthier relationships with boys), to break up the panda pen.

in all honesty, though, i'm hoping to find an apartment down the street. (yes, we might have some attachment issues.)

but what else is friendship other than deep attachment?

the other night, we were talking about the day Roomie and i met; we even toasted the moment. we had just started at Big 4 Consulting Firm. during my orientation, she caught me rolling my eyes at the inanity of a HR girl and she said she knew then that we should have lunch and be friends.

i still remember that lunch. we went for chinese food, she told me a story about minnesota that made me snort out my pepsi and i wrote to friends in LA, 'i think i just met a girl who tells better stories than i do. she's funnier than i am, dammit!' thus began 9 years of our particular brand of cross-cultural exchange. like the night i got really loud in a bar arguing about the impact colonialism had on Africa and she said, 'I only wanted to know why Martin Lawrence is funny! i don't get it!'

Roomie flew out to LA when my mom died, suffering sunburn and church ladies. and when her mother died, i flew out with the rest of the Chicago 7 (as our group was later dubbed) to be her buffer and 2nd family. she was there giving my LA family updates during the removal of Agatha the Fibroid and i was there while we whipped down the hairpin roads of Italy. (to experience Roomie's driving is to experience an uncomfortable closeness with your Maker.)

as best friends, sisters underneath different colored skins, we are slightly demented parts of a unit. when we looked up our astrological signs, our pairing was called 'Sensible Elegance,' as represented by Blake Edwards and Julie Andrews.

the other night, in preparation for a dinner party with her boss, Roomie said: And what's off-limits?
Ding: (sigh) Rich people; yuppies; why Whole Foods and the people who shop there annoy the shit out of me; strap ons; politics; housewives; Republicans; why kids suck; sex.
Roomie: And what else?
Ding: (sigh) I can't have tequila or whiskey. Only beer or wine.
Roomie: Thank you.
Ding: Only for you, dude.

and it's true. there are things that i would only do for Roomie and no one else.

perhaps it's a cliche but LTFs go away while BFFs stay put, you know? it's a high school way of expressing it but i think the burdens of adulthood tend to smooth over the folie a deux quality that youthful friendships had back then.

anyway, to Roomie - Happy 9 years of friendship, lady.

the Black Girl Network.
you know what i'm talking about. it's in almost every corporate entity in america. a subset of the hidden assistant network, it's an even more subterranean network that shares information and usually knows before HR who's good to work with and who's a secret, abusive, alcoholic, sexually harrassing nutbag. like the masons, the BGN could be anyone or everyone. you don't even have to be black. but you can't be management.
you wanna know what's really what in your firm? you gotta find the BGN.

so, from the BGN (via my very minnesota Roomie!) to you, the new BGN motto for 2008:

living well

the dinner party was lovely. i love my friends - not only are they funny as hell, they have style, they can cook (when we've had a week to prepare ourselves) and they appreciate effort. and what a lot of effort we went to!

(in fact, at one point of the night, we bemoaned - unfairly, perhaps? - the fact that not very many of the single men we knew went to this kind of effort at all.)

Roomie tapped into her midwestern hostess geneology and laid a spectacular table - gorgeous silver, great big fat goblets for wine, ruby water glasses and silver candleabra (how the hell do you spell that?) over a creamy white silky tablecloth sprinkled with little sparkly glass beads that caught the light. vintage linen napkins rolled in heavy silver napkin rings were perfect and pretty. T- brought over a delicate orchid as a hostess gift that played nice with the simple red tulip arrangement and the teeny, pretty as can be calla lilies that Roomie bought the day before.

the menu:

1st course - two amuses: an onion tartelet of puff pastry and cooked with thyme and butter (so yummy) and the salmon mousse on toast, drizzled with a bright green chive oil (ti wasn't my favorite, but it did look very feminine and pretty)
2nd course - roasted tomato soup with fresh basil and crusty artisanal bread, accompanied by a really round fruity white wine that i can't recall
3rd course - endive salad with pear, topped with a gorgonzola and honey dressing (which went well with the champagne we had been drinking before the meal got started)
4th course - meat tortellini with a prosciutto/cream sauce, baked in a puff pastry sarcophagus, as well as a filet of baked red snapper in a champagne sauce with fresh green beans and red peppers on the side, paired with a very nice white burgundy (i think it was called Mayhem & Mischief)
5th course - K-'s gastronomic chocolate topper: a little chocolate cake with a kapow of chipotle, three handmade truffles (one was topped with sea salt and it was so good we all just ruminated on that for a while), a lime cream in the shape of a heart, meringue 'cigarettes' and the whole thing was paired with a very manly shot of vodka. dude. we all agreed that she won the Top Chef moment of the night.
6th course - the very nice cheese plate from T- that was a nice finisher to the chocolate and vodka we'd consumed.

then we sat around the table while the candles burned down, smoked our cigs, drank the rest of the wine and champagne until the table was a wonderful decadent mess of ashtrays, half empty wine glasses, cheese and silver. i took a few pictures and everything had a really great golden glow.

the night reminded me of those nights back in grad school when we wanted to distract ourselves from our deprivation and depression and we'd throw over the top, elaborate dinners and hang out with YF because she was the best cook and we'd sit at her long table in her quirky victorian studio, eating and drinking until we staggered home. i have a few photos from one of those dinners: you can see the packs of french cigarettes, the bottles of wine, the wine and sauce stains on the white tablecloth, profiles of heated faces caught in mid conversation, the over flowing ash trays.

every night you're with friends should be like this, don't you think?

(and then i think about the brief phone call i had with S- yesterday, when she called me from the traffic in los angeles. and, again, she mourned the death of her past life - now it was teaching at a local university and constant daycare for her two children instead of nights with friends and going out.

i said, 'S-. you have to stop that. there's no point to wishing or missing what's gone. your life is different now. all of that - it's over.'
she said, 'i know. but what about you? is it all work and nothing else? don't you miss what it was before?'
'no. because i'm at a different point now. i hate bars and clubs - i don't miss it at all; so while there's tons of work, there's also hanging out with my friends at my place, there're movies, dinners, visits, cocktails. it's just different - better, more livable. and...i don't have kids. i have the freedom to schedule around what i want. there's no one else depending on me for sustenance.'
she sighed. 'i know. it's just that we never go out, we never see anyone, my house is full of toys, it's a mess, my mom is living with us because we can't cope with everything and it just sucks, you know?'

and while i made sympathetic noises, i also felt a little superior. i did! i couldn't help it. i just did. so there.)

the weekend begins

fox & obel makes me want to cook. when i'm there i imagine i'm in paris, on my way to my charming flat overlooking the rue de whatever, picking up just a few things for dinner with sophisticated friends. ah, the dream. it's the dream where i'm wearing a simple chic outfit, carrying a chic canvas bag (no proletariat plastic for me!), and i'll use public transportation in a very chic way, effortlessly balancing bread, cheese, flowers, boeuf and wine.

unfortunately, the reality is far different. i'm slogging through crusty gray snow, slushing through dirty water in the parking lot and the plastic bags are cutting off my circulation in my fingers while my glasses fog over in the cold. (all the while i'm bloated with my period and waddling so slowly across the street i almost get hit by a jeep.)

the plan was so easy: take the time before the dinner party to get a couple recipes under my belt so i could get the timing down and such. so prepared! so full of foresight! so deluded. i bought my smoked salmon, my heavy cream, the chives, the grapeseed oil - all to make a fluffy little amuse. how hard could it be?

almost 2 hours later, with a cuisinart, blender and beater going, grapeseed oil burning on the stove while chives burnt to a crisp, pureed smoked salmon looking about as appetizing as vomit, i decided that stores like fox & obel could kiss my ass. even now, i know i should taste the test batch i made last night but i'm afraid.

pureed salmon with cream sprinkled with chive oil? gag.
...
while near blizzard conditions battered chicago tuesday night, roomie and i (with a couple of girl friends) went to the Chicago Auto Show. (it was ladies night! $5!)

i have to admit that when you're on your period, there's nothing better than wandering desultorily around a convention center with your belly all poked out just being lulled by all the shiny paint jobs and the new car smells.

observations:

why do men want to take pictures with cars? i don't get it.

how cool that you can drive the cars in fake rivers and over faux hills?

the mini is really made for a tiny little hipster with no friends. i mean, really. we tried to fit four people in the new mini convertible and i almost dislocated a hip sliding into the driver's seat.

a car that costs over 150k is totally obscene and no one, except a tacky saudi prince, should ever own one.

the new volvo c30 is love love love love. it's not here, yet, and i don't drive but now i'm rethinking that lifestyle choice, thanks to the volvo.

so whaddya know. cooking and car shows.
i contain multitudes.

here i come, old orchard!

Gaining steam, finally Chicago Tribune

so plans are afoot to extend the yellow line to old orchard.
this would make me ecstatic beyond measure. no more bugging roomie to drive me out to the mall - i could hop on several trains and make it myself! yay!
it'd be easier to get to forth & towne sales! yay!

oh, and can you tell my boss is on vacation for a week? (i'm also wearing jeans...heh heh heh.)

deal me out

driving home yesterday in the rain, roomie and i had a conversation about my current dating status which is, to date, zilch. i despaired of 2007 turning into a repeat of 2006, The Year of Celibacy (though there's nothing really wrong with that and i rather enjoyed it - sorta), and she said, 'ding, you need to look at the cards that have been dealt you and be honest about what it is you want.'

i tried to imagine these cards but i had no idea what they were. 'and...what are they?'
'are you kidding me?'
'no! i don't know what cards i have! what cards? is it a good hand?'
'B-! your cards are B-!'
'oh,' i said. 'those cards. i don't want those cards. those cards piss me off.'

'then you need to fold and get a new hand.'
i said, 'and how would i do that? all three of the straight guys i know in chicago are...actually, there's just one. how is it possible i only know one straight guy and he has a girlfriend?'
roomie said, 'i don't know, ding. but you need a new deck of cards or you're going to go nuts. just call B-, arrange to see him this weekend and call it a night.'
'i can't. that would not be good. he makes me mad. but, grr! i want a frolic!'
'you're nuts. get a frolic. go online, choose a boy and get your frolic.'

'but i'm trying to be good!'
'then i don't know what to tell you, ding. you want the frolic or you don't. tradition and habit say that you want the frolic more than being good. so get the frolic.'

so, after a whole night of watching season 2 of Veronica Mars (damn you karis), i went online last night and looked for a frolic. what happened? when my search results came up the first candidate at the top of the queue was B-! aagh! i blocked him and logged off.

the universe has become a cockblock!

why women ain't funny: our uterus sucks out all the funny

Adam Ash: Christopher Hitchens explains why women aren't funny

have you read the hitchens piece about why women aren't funny (faithfully reproduced on adam ash's space)? it's a doozy. shorter hitchens: women aren't funny because mommies are never funny.

that's right; for hitchens, every woman is a nagging, churchy, fecund, humorless, authority-loving priss just dying to kill the funny. in other words, vagina dentata. that toothy vijayjay inhibits everything that makes men funny - irreverence, irreligion, rebellion, and defiance. we're too soft, too emotional, too serious, too dreamy, and too damn biological to be funny.

(however, if we're fat, dykey or jewish, we've apparently got funny to spare.)

never in my life have i laughed as hard, snorted or accidentally farted than when i'm with my girlfriends telling them the latest B- disaster or listening to what happened at so-and-so's birthday party/wedding, or reading the sharply worded, hilarious emails sent from various scattered family domiciles while we're trapped in hometowns for the holidays. (i remember one string of christmas emails from roomie, A- and J- that had me snorting and blowing wine all over my dad's laptop. 'the baby jesus blows!')

women don't like dirty or crude? hitchens, we could make you guzzle a whole bottle of Hendricks with tales of monstrous blood clots, menstrual disasters, catastrophic sexual encounters, embarassing visits to the doctor, the unfortunate thing that happened at grandma's funeral and the reason why sometimes my friends call me Puddles. there's nothing dirtier or cruder than a bunch of women hopped up on tequila, my friend. nothing. (just ask what a bridal party did to the cowboy troubadour they hired then drunkenly held captive until they finally released him, shaking and traumatized, the following day.)

women can't be funny in the face of death? too bad hitchens wasn't at my roomie's mother's funeral this past summer. the tears were expected; the guffaws halfway through my roomie's speech were a welcome surprise. it takes guts, strength and a finely tuned sensibility to get a whole church full of mourning midwesterners to give up the funny.

his tone wavers between 'admiration' of our inherent biological/moral authority over men and a smarmy castigation of it but what's most clear is that hitchens (and other men who always seem to ask these dumbass questions) has never really eavesdropped on a real conversation between groups of women. or maybe it's because he only knows neurotic white women. (expose yourself to a little diversity and suddenly you have a lot of funny.)

neurotic women aren't funny. confident, self-aware women are funny. women willing to look ridiculous are funny. women willing to point out the ridiculous and the neurotic in others are funny. women who tell the truth are funny. women in touch with their anger are funny. (bitter, but funny.) oh, we're funny, alright. just depends on who's listening to us.

i'm supposed to be working, but...

instead, here's something from some friends over on myspace:

2006 Awards

1) DRINKING BUDDY OF THE YEAR?
roomie and the presbyterians, man. no one gets plowed better than a scottish pastor and his minions.

2) LIFETIME SERVICE AWARD
me. i'm working in non-profit, dude. that deserves something.

3) NEWCOMER AWARD
hm, the friend group has been closed for a while. must work on that next year.

4) LOW POINT OF THE YEAR?
most of the summer, august when roomie's mom died and a couple of weeks in november when i just went brain dead.

5) BEST HOLIDAY?
thanksgiving. out of the country and loved it.

6) ANTHEM FOR 2006?
hm. based on my wine intake last night, i think ray lamontagne's 'three days' sort of hits me right in the girly parts.

7) ANY REGRETS?
not a single one. (although this latest go-round with B- might just be it.)

8) BEST NIGHT OUT?
jeebus. H-'s birthday party in november - the tequila, the horrific stories (all of which i told), the pregnant pinata. classic.

9) WORST NIGHT OUT?
last friday, schlepping my tired ass up to rogers park to be with B- and spending as much money on a cab as to go to o'hare. ass!

10) WHO DID YOU SPEND VALENTINES WITH?
when's that again?

11) BEST RELATIONSHIP?
my friends and roomie. love them.

12) WORST RELATIONSHIP?
it's a tie between B- and tequila. but tequila gets me in more trouble than B-, so it wins.

13) BEST CONCERT?
ravinia, tom jones and etta james. watching skinny north shore wives set fire to their picnic table, they were so drunk.

14) BEST MEMORY?
watching the dems take the senate and the house in november. in your FACE GOP!

15) BEST DECISION MADE THIS YEAR?
kicking ass at work. oh, and to go without sex for a year. i think that's why i got my promotion.

16) WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR NEXT YEAR?
well, i certainly hope i'm past that whole celibacy thing.

17) MOST STUPID IDEA WHEN DRUNK?
opening my mouth. sometimes, things are secret for a *reason.*

18) TWAT OF THE YEAR?
it's still the president.

19) MOST LOYAL FRIEND?
roomie. she puts up with more crap...

20) BIGGEST CHANGE OF THE YEAR?
great new promotion. love it.

21) BEST TRIP OF THE YEAR?
thanksgiving in montreal. though the traverse city trip on 4th of july was all sorts of interesting.

22) BIGGEST ACCOMPLISHMENT OF THE YEAR?
my writing gigs.

23) BEST FALL OF THE YEAR?
wearing new shoes and totally biting it in front of my office building, almost crashing my head right into the us bank window.

24) BEST JOB OF THE YEAR?
mine.

25) WHAT WILL U MISS THE MOST OF 2006?
nothing. it's done. over. kaput.

whoda thunk?: b- is back

where to begin?

if my roomie was writing this, she'd say 'and, like clockwork, B- has returned and Ding pretends it's over, but it's not. it never is.' but she's not writing it so i'll fall back on my standard protest: it was like a bolt from the past! i didn't see it coming! it took me completely by surprise!

one day i'm just desultorily pretending to work at my office because i'm muzzy with a head cold, i'm physically exhausted, i'm mentally wasted and i have no energy for anything. i'm all a-fuzz. then, an email from B- signalling that perhaps his Eyore existence isn't all that it's cracked up to be. he misses me. he may even venture outside. because of his email and the ones that follow, i lose a whole week of work.

(my boss says to me monday that she'd like to be kept more informed of what i'm doing. i'm zoning out because of a boy! that's what i'm doing! i can't concentrate of government appropriations because of a boy! actually, that's not true. since i've seen B- again, my powers of concentration are much better. too, this could be a result of no longer overdosing myself with cold medicine.)

so what's different now? i don't know. seeing him in my apartment, on my ground, made a huge difference. he feels different - less closed off, more secure. but am i different? i'm trying to be. Making an Effort.

anyway. that's where we are with that.

robin, can i touch your hair?

ABC News: Confronting Tough Issues of Race

this one made me and my roomie laugh; we saw it advertised on GMA yesterday (roomie watches it religiously) and we recorded it this morning. the clip yesterday of robin getting all sorts of uncomfortable when diane sawyer touched her wrist and said 'what do you say to that?' after a segment about michael richards losing his shit was priceless. we just laughed and laughed and laughed.

but if this segment is supposed to explore race (a woman from my organization is one of the panelists) it seems really sort of Race 101, you know? like, Race for Middle Class Dummies. (see, i was going to write 'Race for Retards' but, though it rings better, that would have been insensitive and boneheaded.)

i mean, really:

Sawyer brought up the first topic: do a lot of white Americans feel they're
being tested by black Americans by having to watch every word lest they be
accused of racism ? She asked, "What if I said something really insensitive and
boneheaded?"

i like my answer much better than dubois' - then you're insensitive and boneheaded, diane. shouldn't the more interesting question be why shouldn't a lot of white americans feel they're being tested by non-white americans by having to watch every word they say?

otherwise, we'll end up finding a nice way to justify/normalize being insensitive and boneheaded. let's put an end to the benign 'pass' we give for comments that make us inwardly cringe but we never call people out for it because we make the excuse 'well, they just don't know better.' i'm putting my feet down; y'all people should know better by now. it's fracking 2006.

again, shouldn't the bigger goal be for all of us to watch what we say? at the very least? i mean, that just seems basic - the dumbass end of the DiversityBehavior spectrum - Don't call someone a derogatory name.

jesus. do people actually have to be told this?

but if you want an extra gold star, how about making friends with someone who doesn't look like you? at the very least, your Diversity Learning Curve will increase rapidly. i remember when me and roomie first met, the first 6 months of our friendship was spent in bars while she asked me things like, "So what the hell is up with Martin Lawrence?" and explaining why the cocktail hour seems to only happen in white households (though i had white friends growing up, i didn't encounter cocktail hour until i moved to the midwest.) by having at least one friend with different levels of melanin, it puts you one step further away from Diversity Dumbass and several closer to Diversity Expert.

(in all honesty, one brown friend isn't going to get you to that Expert level; you'll need to have more than several, be invited over to share a meal with their family and have to attend at least one funeral without freaking out. roomie's already passed this test.)

i'm sick! i'm sick!

like a kid in elementary school, i'm home sick today. i never get sick. maybe a head cold or a tonsil thing but not the kind of sick where i have to leave the office early (ok, i left at five but i didn't feel good about it!) and then go straight to bed, tossing and turning with weird aches and pains.

(last night i dreamed that the canadian prime minister was fake and no one knew but me and my roommate and no one would believe us and the canadian secret police were after us. he was made out of parts! we saw him being put together!)

so after asking my roomie what one does when they're sick (it entails bundling up and watching tv surrounded by vitamins and tea and romance novels) i think i'm all set for a wonderful, rainy, gray day on the couch under a comforter.

you call in sick, too, ok?

oh, canada!

Random thoughts on being out of the country during this most American of holidays:

1. Montréal has a wonderfully silent airport. We shooshed down the people mover and it was eerie – so quiet, so clean, so…Logan’s Run. Fabulous.
2. I tend to freeze like a deer in headlights when spoken to in French. I can’t help it. I didn’t practice any phrases. I could only smile, shake my head and answer in English.
3. It is a city one can crisscross on foot in one day. And, by golly, we were going to do it until my footwear gave out. Old Montreal, Latin Quarter, Ste. Catherine, the business district, the riverfront - very charming.
4. Our shopping is better. It just is – in variety, depth, and style our shopping in Chicago is better. It’s not to say that they don’t have nice things but I didn’t really see anything extraordinarily different or that screamed Must Have! I was hoping for a really great avenue of boutiques and while Mont Royal was nice it was just…meh. However, their winter boots kick ass – stylish AND functional. And, apparently, from Iceland.
5. Being out of the US during a US holiday is incredibly freeing. No blather about shopping or turkeys or worrying about the food or who’s cooking it. It was just about waking up, finding a place for breakfast (an unpleasant sight of the waitstaff eating off of a plate they were clearing meant no breakfast at the hotel), and then walking around. It is the best kind of anonymity.
6. The men are short. And dour, with a kind of existential despair thrown in while also being over-coiffed. Strange. We wonder how the men are in Toronto.
7. Their news is more serious than ours. Quebec nationhood is a big thing. It was everywhere – as well as what looked like the biggest mafia bust in Canadian history. But roomie and I were wondering, Ok, so you get your nationhood – how do you support your new nation infrastructurally? I mean, if Texas wanted to be its own country, I think we’d all be saying Good luck with that.
8. Dinner at Les Remparts was out of this world. Try the tasting menu, if you can. Fabulous. The sommelier, when asked if we should bother getting a bottle of wine with dinner in addition to the wine pairings with dinner, said in his best French-ish accent, ‘You will each consume a bottle of wine with dinner on your own.’ We said, ‘Score.’
9. We had a freaking good time. We planned our days around our meals, took our time with everything and just relaxed. Everyone should go.

Now. Do it. Go.

roomie and i are on our way to montreal for the holiday!
to all five of my readers, have a great thanksgiving.

i wanna hear all about the going home drama when i get back.

roomie and i are silently counting down until we can pack up our passports and get on that plane to montreal for thanksgiving. we're both sorta tired and being in another place for the beginning of the family holiday season makes us really really happy.

really happy.
it has given us a reason (uh, excuse) to shop like we're crazy women.

two pairs of black pumps, a black/white chain print wrap dress, and a bottle of marc jacobs body lotion (YUM) later, i can say that shopping is the *perfect* antidote for not having a boy around.

counting down to another nervous breakdown: politics

Green Party vs. the goliaths | Chicago Tribune

the blagojevich/topinka ads are turning my stomach. can't a girl watch 'dancing with the stars' in peace? apparently not.

so my gaze turns toward a candidate who's been running so far under the radar, when i mentioned him at a work meeting, my very politically astute coworkers went, 'Err?' ralph nader pissed me off but i think i could probably go for a Green governor. and if you check out his profile, rich whitney doesn't sound totally crazy. ok, his gun policy is weird, but i can overlook that. i'm from los angeles.

(my rubric for political candidates is quite simple - don't sound like a nutbag.)

change has to start somewhere, right?
...
speaking of commercials, why don't the GOP just come out and call poor tammy duckworth a 'legless satan worshipper'? it'd cut through all the crap and make their ads so much more interesting.
...
talking to roomie on the phone yesterday, i realized that approximately 2 years ago, bush won his second election, i had a political nervous breakdown and began the shaky process of giving my boss the finger. it's an anniversary of sorts.

so maybe it's rather apropos that senator john kerry (hereafter known as The Supreme Dumbass) says something just ONE frakking week before elections that seemed almost calculated to make the Dems lose any chance of winning back the House, thus leading to another second political nervous breakdown.

so, uh, john. when i quit my job while in the throes of a massive depression and end up living on the streets, shall i blame you?

about 5 years ago i lost my mother. it was devastating.

and now, my best friend/roomie has lost hers. it's also devastating.
i'll be taking the next few days off to be with her and some of our friends who are flying out to join A- and her family for the services.

each parental loss i and my friends experience tells us how finite family is; our friends become our family.

shopping

i have had to patch my favorite pair of jeans. the cuffs are frayed and the pants have that worn in look that impressionable young fashionistas pay scads of cash to get. after years of faithful service, they have become my new weekend jeans. long live the weekend jean.

and long live the jeans i replaced them with from forth & towne. roomie and i trekked in the blazing heat to old orchard and, there, i immersed myself in the really great sale they were having.

(where else can you get a cropped poppy jacket for $30 when it was once over $100? or a green straw handbag for $20, marked down from $98? or a couple of soft as silk t-shirts that drape just the right way for under $10? get thee to this sale!)

these jeans...i thought they weren't going to fit, that they were going to make me look like a big muffin top, but once again forth & towne totally surprised me: dark wash, straight through the thigh and hip, very slight bootcut at the bottom. it makes me look tall-ish. and it rests at just the right spot at my 'waist.' whoever is making their pants, and whoever their fit model is, it is working for me.

we did other shopping at pottery barn (paisely plates for just $13!!), stopped into nordstrom for their anniversary sale, but it was a bloodbath.

(and word to the head honchos at macy's: the field's out at old orchard is already suffering from the macy's malady - over-stuffed floors and racks, poor merchandising and tacky, undistinguished clothes. what used to be a store with at least attractive merchandise, with some really great surprisingly quality lines, is now a jc penney. and MOVE the big soft girl section from the FURNITURE department. not a good way to create a loyal customer.

thanks for that. can't wait until you finally ruin the store downtown.)

then, we came back into the city and stopped at vive la femme, a cute boutique in bucktown for big soft girls, something that's rare for this part of town. bucktown likes to act like everyone is hip, rich and the size of fiona apple. VLF is normally very very pricey (sometimes, prohibitively) so i was cautious when the really aggressive owner made me try on a very disco black/white sweater with kimono sleeves and a wide waist band. what a surprise that it rocked! i never would have picked it but now i'm wearing it to new york. and it only cost the equivalent of a cheap pair of steve madden shoes! add to that a black party frock with a disturbing band of silver under the ruched bodice (hm, must be removed) and this was a surprisingly productive shopping day - all this for just under $200!

see what happens when you wake up in the morning and do your yoga? you turn into a freaking capitalist, shopping pig!
...
and i know i said the door was closed on this topic, but he keeps emailing me.
it turns out B- really wants to date seriously and wants to correct any misapprehension i may have had about him 'bowing out.'

i give up. i really do.

things i did today:

read a couple green arrow comic books; ollie is mayor of star city!
saw 'nacho libre' because jack black is adorable and makes me laugh till i fart; best line - 'i ate bugs, i ate grass/With my hands i wiped my tears.' heh.
walked to the taste of randolph where i ate 4 tacos, drank 2 beers, met our friend T-, and saw The Bellrays (who did a kickass set and will be at the Empty Bottle on the 22nd.)
got a tan
got a little sticky and stinky
walked back home with roomie and T- for recuperative drinks at our local until, 5 hours later, we left.

summer is the best.
(oh, and B- called while i was out. have yet to decide if i'll check his message.)

back when tv was good

my roomie is sometimes amazed at the tv that i know. in our apartment, i have the uncanny ability to stumble upon some gem of 1970s or 80s schlock that she has never seen before but i remember from my childhood and can't shake.

like, The Fury, with Kirk Douglas and Andrew Stevens. so good. or, Baron Blood with Elke Sommer. or either of those Hell House movies (the one with Roddy MacDowall is my favorite). or even that movie with bette davis about the house that was alive. (the scene where it starts replacing its own wood framing scared my hair straight.)

well, roomie will be glad to know that i'm not the only one! author scott heim's list of what scared the crap out of him is a list that could have been written by my own hand. i remember every single one of these shows. (and, yeah, that Trilogy of Terror? that's nothing compared to The Manitou.)

Scott Heim's Noise: Scary, Part II: Television

you know you're old when...

i was having a really great, disturbing dream about hugh laurie last night when, around 3 am, voices woke me up. deep in loud, enthusiastic conversation, the 4 people on the rooftop deck across the street from my open bedroom windows laughed, opened beer bottles, smoked, told jokes, related stories about someone's crazy uncle and a drunk girl screeched like she'd never had fun before.

their voices boomed across the empty, quiet, sleepy street. i knew my roomie was useless in joining me in exasperation - she sleeps like a hibernating bear. there would be no support from her room. so i laid there, listening to them for 15 minutes, hoping one of them would realize that their noise was bouncing off my apartment building like great big bowling balls. but, no. they got louder. their stories became more exciting. and the drunk screechy girl wouldn't shut up.

so i had no choice.

'911 emergency.'
'hi. i have a noise complaint.'
'where are you, maam?'
'i'm at [boop], on the corner of [boop] and [beep]. they're across the street from me on the [beep] side and they're having some kind of party and they're loud and it's 3 am. i'm sorry.'
'no problem. we'll send a unit to check it out.'
'thank you.'

and so i snuggled back into my bed and listened to more of their stories. soon, a unit pulled up and a cop-like voice called out 'hey, your neighbors are complaining. keep the noise down.'

one of them said, 'will do.'

and it was quiet for a while, like 10 minutes. i was drifting back to sleep when the stories started again. i waited for 45 minutes. they were still going at it! i shut my windows, but i could still hear them, they were that loud.

all i could think was, 'maybe they're speed freaks. maybe that's why, on a school day, they're on their roof chatting like it's an italian cafe. or maybe they're all waitstaff and this is their after hours gabfest. or maybe they're just inconsiderate art institute students who are pissing me off!'

i called 911 again.
'i'm sorry. i'm calling for a noise complaint.' i repeated my information. 'if this was the weekend, i wouldn't care, but i have to get up in three hours and they aren't stopping.'
'we'll send someone.'
'thanks.'

15 minutes later, a cop car rumbled up. 'hey! pack it in - your neighbors have called about the noise!' there was the slam of a screen door and then blessed silence.

and then the trucks started to come off the highway.
i almost cried.