A List

I saw this on Hien's blog and stole it. If you know me, you know I like lists. But not as much as my sister . . .

four places that i go to over and over:
UPS store, grocery store, Wine Spot (my wine bar), gym

four people who email me (regularly):
Sadly, not my husband. My sister, the Stingerette book club, Carrie G, my uncle

four of my favorite places to eat:
Caldo Pomodoro, Evergreen (yes, in A2), Yellow Coyote, Hanna

four places i would rather be right now:
In bed, on a massage table, checking out Rachel's new digs, at Banana

four people i think will respond:
Rachel, Hien and Carrie G, my three regular responders :)

four TV shows i watch:
House, Frasier reruns, Project Runway, The Office . . . and many, many more

And now, I'm going to one of those four places. Good night!

Dumpster Diving

That's right, folks. Tonight, I went dumpster diving.

I was headed to the gym tonight and grabbed the garbage on my way out. Since the gym is, literally, only a block away, I left my purse at home. I grabbed my water bottle, my keys and the garbage and headed out. As I passed the car, I set my water bottle on the roof and walked over to the dumpster. I lifted the lid and tossed the bag in . . . and my keys. Yup. The bag ties got caught around my many keys and tugged them right out of my hand and into the pitch black dumpster.

I stood there dumbly for a few seconds. It was pitch black out there. My first thought was, "Go upstairs and get a flash light." Oh, but wait, my door is locked and my keys are in the dumpster. So I tossed the lid all the way up, jumped up and hung over the side at my waist. After groping around a bit, I caught up my bag and thank the Lord my keys were still tangled in the ties.

I hopped down, dusted myself off and walked out of the dumpster shack like nothing had happened.

Praying to the Non-Porcelain God for Relief!

This is probably TMI. But I've been contemplating it lately. I think increasing bathroom breaks during the night is directly proportional to aging. I longingly remember the days when I could sleep through the night without bathroom breaks. Then, shortly after college, came the new policy of a once-a-night pit stop. It's been a pretty standard policy for over 5 years now. (Except the nights when I get the pees, but that's a whole different topic and entry.)

It started in San Francisco a few weeks ago. I started to get up twice a night to pee. Twice! Now it isn't just at 3 or 4a, now it's at 2a and again at 5:30a. Do you have any idea how much it sucks? It is so painful to have to get out of bed, twice, to stumble to the bathroom and have the pool lights flood the room and give me an instant headache. If I've had any semblance of a bad dream, I have to worry about who's hiding behind the shower curtain and whether or not I have time to wash my hands and flush before running from the knife-wielding bad guy, and that's just too much thought process, twice, in a single night. And if I try to put it off until it's time to get up, I start having the dreams full of toilets. You know what I'm talking about.

There are only two options. 1. Bladder control decreases with age and by the time I'm 40 I'll be sleeping in the bathroom. 2. My body's trying to get me ready for a baby waking me up. Well, my answer to #2 is the reason I'm waiting for babies is so that Jon will be around to handle the midnight wake up calls. So come on, let me off the hook!

I suppose there could be a 3rd option. I have been stepping up my workouts since I've been home and thus drinking ridiculous amounts of water. But then, I guess my only fix is to workout less. And if Chip's required to lose some weight, I can't see letting myself off the hook.

Damn aging! My next book will be The Picture of Dorian Gray.

New Baubbles?

A couple more funny things.

I think I almost have every wedding present transported from Ann Arbor to Cali. There's at least one bowl still in the closet. After my last trip, my dad nicely packed up three bowls at their house and mailed them to me. This huge box arrived with everything in tip-top shape. And as I was unwrapping the three bowls and putting them away, I noticed a little jewelry box in the peanuts. I thought, well huh. What did my mom send me now? And I opened the little velvet box to find . . . nothing. Yeah, empty. WTF? Somehow they managed to toss an empty jewelry box into the peanuts and mailed it to me. I can only laugh.

One of my favorite stops on Armitage in Chicago is Lush. The world's best all-natural bath product store. I always stock up on solid moisturizers while I'm there. Perfect for finishing up a shower and skipping the annoying step of lotioning up. So I stop in after a meeting and am the only person in the store, meaning lots of personal attention. The very enthusiastic girl following me around tells me about their new war on liquid soap. Apparently liquid soap can suck bacteria in through it's little pump and then it just festers in there. Solid bars of soap are much cleaner and they dry, so bacteria can't hang out on them very well. Hmm . . . After making me smell every bar they have, and offering to let me try a few at the sink, I was sold. I bought a minty mound. But then I started thinking. So if soap can suck up bacteria, can't shampoo do the same thing? But by definition, soap should be clean. So do liquid soaps really grow bacteria, or are they unable to ? Hmm . . . Oh well, I'm giving it a shot!

Back Home

It is so nice to finally be back at home after 12 days on the road. I picked up Chip at the vet on my way back from the airport. Here's a funny story. Chip had 3 pals - a small green bird about her size and 2 giant parrots. Turns out the parrots belong to Chip's vet. Good to know he boards his birds when he's out of town! Anyway, the green bird was incredibly noisy, singing all day long. And one of the parrots would constantly tell it to, "Shut up!" Chip stayed relatively quiet and just walked back and forth, back and forth.

So anyway, we come home, collapse, and immediately fall asleep. I woke up at an hour to pee then fell back onto the couch and was out again for another hour. I finally dragged myself up and decided I should get my suitcase out of the car. So I started searching for my keys - not in my purse, not on the counter, not on the table . . . what the heck? I finally listened to the nagging in the back of my head and opened the door. Sure enough, the keys were right where I had left them, in the lock. Good job, Lisa.

I saw Walrus man again today! Sorry Rachel, I was driving back from the gym (yes, you may laugh) and I didn't have my camera on me. Hopefully you'll see him next month.

I have been totally and utterly useless for the last two days. I suppose I should finally suck it up and get back into the swing of things, like working. It's tough, those 15 successive days of working and back-to-back meetings with all new people. At least I've gotten to the gym! And almost caught up on my DVRed TV.

Another Story

So here's my latest. After my last meeting of the day, I hopped on the red line, got off at Fullerton to wait for the purple express. It doesn't come as often as every other train. No big deal. I stake out a spot on the platform and pull out my book. After a couple of brown and red trains go by, an older woman, probably late 50s or early 60s, says, "Are you waiting for purple train?" I said yes. She said, "I've been counting and 3 red line trains and 2 brown trains have gone by so far and no purple." I glanced at the schedule then at my watch. I said, "It looks like the next train should be here at 5:25, so another 7 minutes." Oh, she says. Goes back to counting, I go back to reading. The next two trains pull up and she interrupts me again, "Neither of them are purple!" I laugh awkwardly and ignore here. Another brown and she says, "This is ridiculous! I could be at Howard by now." I laugh again and read some more. One more red and she says, "I'm serious. This is ridiculous. I could be at Howard." Um, I truly don't care where you are. I said, "Trust me, it takes much longer to get there on the red line because there are some many more stops. It will still be shorter this way." "Yeah, but I could be there by now." OK lady, fine. You could be there.

Now it's been a few years since I've lived in the city so I don't remember all the ins and outs of the CTA. But another guy asks me about getting to Addison - red or brown. I tell him red and he says that's right, he can take the bus a little west from there. And the older lady jumps in and says, "Can he do that?" And I said, "What?" Seriously, you're talking to me again? She says, "Can he switch to the bus like that?" And I said sure, he has an hour to travel with his fare or maybe an extra 25 cents. And she says, "Yeah, but how?" I said, "With his ticket." "What ticket?" "The ticket you used to get into this train station." I can see the thought running through her head - shit, I threw it away. She's lying to me. "Oh. But my friend asked for a transfer on the bus earlier today and they said they don't give transfers." "Oh. I don't know," I respond. Go back to reading my book and thankfully she walks a few feet away. A minute later, a purple line pulls up. I can see the big purple sign. And the woman walks over and says, "A purple train is here. Finally!" I look at my watch. It's 5:26p. Thanks for pointing out the obvious. I watch where she heads and pick doors a car down. And then she turns around and follows me! I let her on first, watch her walk right and I shove myself into the huddle at the left, hoping that I can put enough people between us to stop the endless complaining and car counting . . .

Chicago

I've been keeping a list of stories to post. Chicago is never dull! So with the help of some naked Chardonnay (love it!), here goes . . .

I was headed to my first appointment of the day in Old Town. And as I was crossing Wells at North, just steps from Second City, a guy jogged past me, head to toe in workout gear, and juggling. Yeah, joggling AND juggling. That's an interesting trick I've never seen before.

So it's been a while since I've been on the El. I don't think I've ridden it since last August. Last time I was on the El, it was $1.75. Before I go any further, think back to the very early 90s hit "Ghost". Remember the old creepy ghost on the subway that teaches Patrick Swayze how to move things? OK, keep that guy in mind. Because he yelled at me. Yup. I'm walking up the steps when my train pulls up. I have a leftover CTA card that I pop in the machine to see how much it has. Perfect! $1.75. I run to turnstile and stick my card in, doesn't go. Stick it in again, nothing. I try the next one, staring at the train driver who is feet from me trying to get my desperation across. The creepy ghost guy, a CTA platform cleaner, walks up to the other side of the turnstile and gets in my face yelling, "It's upside down!" Got it. I stick it in the right way, start to walk and bam! My hips now have bruises. I stare down. The guy yells, "How much is on it?" I say, (we're inches apart) "$1.75!" And he yells, "It's $2.00!" All this yelling is with attitude, by the way. And I say, "It went up?" He yells, "It's been up!" So I dig up some attitude, get in his face, and say, "I don't live here." "Oh," he says and leaves me alone. Meanwhile, my train leaves. So now I'm all worked up, creeped out by the ghost guy and bruised.

Another CTA story. I was hopping from foot to foot, riding the red line north and desperately hoping some people would get off the train so I could sit down and rest my aching feet. Thankfully I was crammed into a corner by the doors. A guy, who I never actually saw, started yelling. "Excuse me. Can I have your attention please? My name is such and such and I am looking for a job. I was just released from prison and need to find a job. I have resumes with me and I need your business card to help me find a job. I also need some money so that I can get a CTA pass to get to interviews. So if you could please help me out. I refuse to steal, so I have to do it this way until I get back on my feet." On the one hand, I felt really badly for the guy. On the other, I was totally weirded out.

Today I had a meeting at a place I'd never heard of before in the Loop, Cafe Rom. (There's a line over the O so it's pronounced like Rome.) I got there early and staked out a table, working on a few thank you notes. It was super modern. The walls were faux (read: plastic wallpaper) red bricks. There were green plastic cubes that served as shelves. The chairs and tables were all white plastic oddities. The banquette I was sitting on was 8 feet wide (from knee to hip when you're sitting) so that I couldn't rest my back unless I literally laid down backward, which I did try. As I was trying to get through my only, and still unfinished, thank you note, the table next to me starts to get a little loud. It's this super jealous and controlling girl yelling at her boyfriend (of 9 months) about how he never thinks about her, he never calls to see how she is, days will go by and she doesn't hear from him. My favorite line was the guy: "You're jumping to conclusions and you're saying things that shouldn't even be said. You're saying the things you're thinking and they just shouldn't be said." That's a good argument, buddy.

I'm sure I'll have more!

Little Women

Little Women. I finally finished the book (a couple of months ago). It took a few years to plow through and in the end, it was a wonderful, lovely story that we're still reading more than 150 years later. Those kinds of books are fantastic.

But the dense story clogs up the emotion. When you sort through all of the minutiae and social commentary, the vignettes about the four sisters are wonderful.

I rented the latest version of the movie and watched it tonight, the one from the mid-90s with Christian Bale, Winona Ryder and Kirsten Dunst. I haven't seen the movie in years and chopped the movie into half itself in my memories. I was horrified by Amy's insolence as a child (Dunst) and hated her bitterly for marrying Laurie in the end. Meg I didn't bother to remember at all and I was creeped out my Beth's death speech (Claire Danes). And all I could really remember of Jo was her disgusting make out session with an old guy at the end.

Oh how wrong I was. I am so glad I finally read this fabulous tale. And while I loved the book, the movie was also amazing. This is one case where I can't say which I liked better - the movie or the book. The movie of course condenses the story, but aptly cuts the minutiae that bugged me so much in the book. All of the actors fully conveyed the emotions of their characters. Beth's death speech wasn't so creepy this time, but heartbreaking. And Jo's jealously when Meg gets married is so easy to empathize with. Amy marrying Laurie? Yeah, totally get it after reading the book and the movie does it justice. Susan Sarandon was Marmee and she was perfect, something I never would have expected.

I put the movie in expecting to be entertained and maybe slightly annoyed. I was amazed. The movie is going onto my all-time favorites list. I was crying at the hour mark and probably would have cried more except that Jon called and I had to pause the Christmas tearjerker. And from the one hour thirty-four minute mark, I sobbed. Death, babies, love . . . come on! Oh, but it was so good. I'm so glad I decided to rewatch it.

Walrus Man

I've noticed a new guy around the neighborhood. No need to worry about an affair - he looks like a walrus. Yes, that's right. A walrus.

The first time I saw the guy, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. He was wearing shorts and running shoes and was jamming to an iPod. Looked like he was just finishing up a run. But streaming from around his mouth was one of the longest beards I've ever seen. Actually more of a fu manchu that a beard. Just around the mouth. It was completely gray while the long hair flowing behind him was brown.



The other day I was turning into my complex when I saw him again. And I was not mistaken. He literally looks like a walrus! If I knew his name, I'd nominate him for What Not to Wear.