Lost, Confused, and Shunned

Let me tell you one thing I have learned about life, kiddos -- it goes on! You can quote me on that, that is an original quotation that came from my brain and has nothing to do with anyone's facebook profile or inspirational tote bags owned by mother.

No but let's get serious! Things be crazy up in here! I have had numerous nervous breakdowns as of late pertaining to my car, aka hell in a wheeled handbasket. The title seems appropriate because that is how slowly my car would go to hell. In a handbasket, carried by an old man. In fact, the other day, Brandy compared my car to an old, old man that I should perhaps let die. Instead, I have continued to drive my car in desperate situations.

The first desperate situation was the wedding of my dear friend and occasional blog reader JOSEPH MANCUSO! I decided to attend his surburban Chicago wedding at the last minute, necessitating the use of the highway and my POS car. I had visions of sweeping into the wedding 20 minutes early, not sweaty, not appearing as though I have an addiction to caffeine pills, with a lovely kept hairstyle, with a smile, and not feeling as though I almost died. This vision is the complete opposite of how I felt. Google maps... you do not tell someone a trip will take them 20 minutes when it will take 80. No. If google is on the bring of taking over the world, we are doomed. But I made it to the wedding! And after a series of events that we can all laugh about now that they are passed, Joseph and Elyse Mancuso are now married and I was there!

But for my car, the worst was yet to come. Also, the worst was yet to come for me, in terms of panic attacks. I set out next weekend for my friend and occasional blog-reader Chris's graduation party. I left with a feeling of hunger in my belly, but whatevs, the trip was supposed to take about 30 minutes. No. Again, abandon your stock in Google, company is doomed, because it took my 90 HUNGRY MINUTES in which BETH NEIMAN TEXTED ME TO SAY THE PARTY WAS OUT OF FOOD and then I got LOST and I could find no one to help me and then MY MUFFLER FELL OFF so I pulled into a church parking lot and cried.

Eventually I made it to the party and it turned out Beth was lying. The party was enjoyable and redeeming. But what was not redeeming was when I got lost on the way home and ended up driving my shitty car all around the Southwest Side of Chicago at night by myself. But I'm still standing!

I have also been a witness and victim of violence lately. One night, I was riding my bike home and about two blocks from my house, I was blessed with the chance to see the kind of catfight I thought only existed at an Indiana County Fair. But alas no! Women in tube tops stabbing each other with stilettos and slamming the each other's heads into the concrete also takes place on tree-lined boulevards in Chicago! My personal experience with violence happened on what one would think is one of the happiest, most welcoming events in Chicago: The Gay Pride Parade.

I know what you're thinking. Lisa, did you make a homophobic remark? Did you make fun of someone's outfit? Did you yell a profanity? Did you refuse a free condom? NO. No to all of those things. I was cheering for equal rights, wearing a gold-sequined flapper costume, being respectful to children, and taking free condoms when they were thrown in my face. What was my crime?

CROSSING THE PARADE ROUTE.

I had to get to my improv class. I had no idea that I'd boxed myself into the middle loop of the longest parade in history, still going strong after two hours. So even though I'd heard horror stories of friends crossing the parade route to jeers and condoms thrown with ANGER, I had to make a run for it. And when I did, no one was happy.

I made it across only to be refused help climbing the opposite barricade. Everyone was yelling at me! It was so scary! Then someone said they would help me climb if I "would give them something." In hindsight, this could have been a prostitution solicitation, but I gave them my Mardi Gras beads. So they helped me over, but not before I slammed and ripped my thigh against the steel corkscrew barricade. And thus, dripping with blood and a dollar-bill sized green welt, I made it to improv.

You see, all of these stories have happy endings.

Other than those semi-painful memories, I've been having fun letting the World Cup break my heart, helping baby Cooper learn about his environment by being patient as he hurls rocks at my head, continuing to wear my helmet, attending rave puppet shows, and trying to survive in a room without air conditioning. We went to a Cubs games to celebrate Mallory's birthday and were treated to a semi-streaker who I'm pretty sure got tased and an 8-run sixth inning by Cincinnati. Excitement! I continue to live in what my friend Lindsay has termed my "Peace Corps gestation period." I don't know how far along I am in this Peace Corps preganancy, but I'd guess I'd have a few months before it looks like a Peace Corps baby/future, and about 9 until I give birth to going anywhere.

Sorry, that metaphor was weird. But we all need to be more open and comfortable when it comes to talking about these things.