Monday, December 28, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
babies
And on the first night of Hanukkah, something amazing happened. Yes, the menorah was lit and would continue to burn for 8 crazy nights. But more importantly -- I got a job! Yes! Yes! Miracle of miracles, someone decided to trust me over a long period of time with their small child! None of us thought this day would ever come! I owe it to the miracle of Hanukkah!
*Note: By giving a shout-out to Hanukkah, I hope that all readers of this blog again recognize the open-mindedness of the writers. Yes, we love and appreciate Hanukkah. Yes, despite the opinions of some, we love and appreciate the neighborhood of Pilsen. Previous entries reveal our love for things like commercials about America, lesbian relationships (see: L word), Oprah Winfrey, art, Matt Thomas our neighbor who is half Indian, Russian women, socially conscious rappers, Nick Krafft, etc, etc. We don't shy away from provocative topics. And we don't plan to change our ways. Just wanted to clarify that point -- and we hope you will continue to join us in supporting the innumerable people and communities that our lives cross -- with a deep respect.
Okay, but seriously, I have now fulfilled the prophecy I spoke of myself, late one night when I was slightly/very/probably the most in my life intoxicated and left a voicemail for Margaret Graber. Basically, the message ended by me yelling "I AIN'T A MOM, I'M JUST A WHITE GIRL NANNY!" True, I was referring to moms at a park mistaking me for another mom, despite the fact that I was wearing cut-off jean shorts, a leather jacket, black tights, ankle boots, and basically looked like the poor hobo that I am. Aka not a mom. But alas, the words have now proved to be truer than ever. I am a white girl nanny.
So for the first time in a long time, I have dreams. I will have an income. I am excited about 2010. My best years are even numbered, discounting the year I was born, which was a good year. Though I was conceived in an even-numbered year, so maybe that should be considered.
I did want to talk a little bit about babies and how much I love them. Babies have become my life. I have three main babies that I baby-sit for, at least I will once I start my part-time nanny job. Let me introduce you to my children:
- Aurora. Aurora is the best baby EVER. We share the same birthday (cinco de mayo), the same hobbies (dancing, singing, reading), the same favorite foods (cheese), the same level of motha-effing adorabliness (well, fine, she beats me at that damn game every day), and the same ability to shake her hips like it is nobody's business -- on command. In the three months I have babysat Aurora, I think she has cried for a collective 10 minutes. Because she is a happy, happy child. She's starting to learn a lot of words, but she mostly just uses like five: "HI HI HI," "more"(always said forcibly), and "GOBO." Okay, that was three. But seriously, kid is obsessed with Fraggle Rock and dipping everything in plain yogurt.
- Cooper. Cooper is going to be the child whose development I nurture and foster as a nanny. I don't know him very well but he seems to like climbing and Wiggleworms. He seems cool. I am honestly more scared about the family dog. Babies? Sure. I used to be one. I never used to be a dog. I don't know what they want. I've never owned a dog. I'm a cat person. A cat and baby person. And apparently, when the dog poops, I have to pick it up with my hands covered by a plastic bag. That is sick. Poop is fertilizer. No one picks up fricking bird poop, or wolf poop. If a human poops outside, no one picks it up. They leave it. So why do I have to pick up the dog poop? Why? Why?
Okay now everyone knows about my life. I'm going to go make some guacamole, which is weird since I was just talking about dog poop.
*Note: By giving a shout-out to Hanukkah, I hope that all readers of this blog again recognize the open-mindedness of the writers. Yes, we love and appreciate Hanukkah. Yes, despite the opinions of some, we love and appreciate the neighborhood of Pilsen. Previous entries reveal our love for things like commercials about America, lesbian relationships (see: L word), Oprah Winfrey, art, Matt Thomas our neighbor who is half Indian, Russian women, socially conscious rappers, Nick Krafft, etc, etc. We don't shy away from provocative topics. And we don't plan to change our ways. Just wanted to clarify that point -- and we hope you will continue to join us in supporting the innumerable people and communities that our lives cross -- with a deep respect.
Okay, but seriously, I have now fulfilled the prophecy I spoke of myself, late one night when I was slightly/very/probably the most in my life intoxicated and left a voicemail for Margaret Graber. Basically, the message ended by me yelling "I AIN'T A MOM, I'M JUST A WHITE GIRL NANNY!" True, I was referring to moms at a park mistaking me for another mom, despite the fact that I was wearing cut-off jean shorts, a leather jacket, black tights, ankle boots, and basically looked like the poor hobo that I am. Aka not a mom. But alas, the words have now proved to be truer than ever. I am a white girl nanny.
So for the first time in a long time, I have dreams. I will have an income. I am excited about 2010. My best years are even numbered, discounting the year I was born, which was a good year. Though I was conceived in an even-numbered year, so maybe that should be considered.
I did want to talk a little bit about babies and how much I love them. Babies have become my life. I have three main babies that I baby-sit for, at least I will once I start my part-time nanny job. Let me introduce you to my children:
- Aurora. Aurora is the best baby EVER. We share the same birthday (cinco de mayo), the same hobbies (dancing, singing, reading), the same favorite foods (cheese), the same level of motha-effing adorabliness (well, fine, she beats me at that damn game every day), and the same ability to shake her hips like it is nobody's business -- on command. In the three months I have babysat Aurora, I think she has cried for a collective 10 minutes. Because she is a happy, happy child. She's starting to learn a lot of words, but she mostly just uses like five: "HI HI HI," "more"(always said forcibly), and "GOBO." Okay, that was three. But seriously, kid is obsessed with Fraggle Rock and dipping everything in plain yogurt.
- Cooper. Cooper is going to be the child whose development I nurture and foster as a nanny. I don't know him very well but he seems to like climbing and Wiggleworms. He seems cool. I am honestly more scared about the family dog. Babies? Sure. I used to be one. I never used to be a dog. I don't know what they want. I've never owned a dog. I'm a cat person. A cat and baby person. And apparently, when the dog poops, I have to pick it up with my hands covered by a plastic bag. That is sick. Poop is fertilizer. No one picks up fricking bird poop, or wolf poop. If a human poops outside, no one picks it up. They leave it. So why do I have to pick up the dog poop? Why? Why?
Okay now everyone knows about my life. I'm going to go make some guacamole, which is weird since I was just talking about dog poop.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Passage to Pilsen
First of all, I think our readers are owed an explanation for the last couple of posts. In a fit of pride and anger, I lashed at our Nick Krafft for his constructive criticism about this blog. Nick, who is like the circle to my square (BECAUSE HE LIVES IN LOGAN CIRCLE, WASHINGTON DC AND I LIVE IN LOGAN SQUARE, CHICAGO ILLINOIS), said, and I quote, that my latest blog entry, "sucked." And that I felt an immediate need to defend myself. But you know what? I was embarrassed and lying to myself. In truth, the blog entry about the L word and my Thanksgiving poem was a piece of experimental writing and yes, it did kind of suck. Ahh. That hurts to write. THE TRUTH HURTS. I had wanted to try to document Chicago events in real time instead of writing sensational narratives about past events. It was an experiment, like when someone lights a decorative gourd on fire. And it failed. Before Nick's comment, I had let myself believe that the experiment was overwhelmingly positive. Now, I can admit, that: it. was. NOT.
ANYWAY LET'S GET BACK TO ADVENTURE STORIES!
The title of this latest blog entry is called "Passage to Pilsen," an allusion to the book I read in senior year IB English called "Passage to India." Passage to India is basically about some white chick who goes to colonial India and is all like "I WANT TO DISCOVER THE REAL INDIA!" instead of living colonial-British-person-in-India life. So she befriends some "natives," and tries to go on safaris and really find "INDIA." In the end, something happens, I think she gets murdered or something, but the moral was something like 'one can never find the 'REAL' India, because such a place does not exist!' I think that this sentiment can be applied to my latest foray into Pilsen.
What is Pilsen? Pilsen is one of Chicago's many ethnically diverse neighborhoods. According to Wikipedia, Pilsen began as a refuge for Czech, Slovene, and other Eastern European immigrants. I only know Pilsen as the place where all the Spanish classes in high school would go for their yearly field trips, and since I took fricking FRENCH, I never got to go. And everyone would go and come back and be like "blah blah blah ISN'T PILSEN JUST THE BEST! I just love using my high school spanish skills among the native speakers in Pilsen! I love the tiny Mexican bakeries and signs written in Spanish! I love the bread! blah blah blah I'm so glad I didn't take French!" So, I spent a few days each year in high school being totally jealous of these people.
But then, last weekend, my friend Nick Simonson (aka Tribal Warrior) came to town. And since TW/Nicky/Niko studied Spanish at a language institute in Guatemala, I decided that it was time for me to discover Pilsen, with a translator by my side. I mean, Nick was excited too.
But how do you "find" Pilsen? I didn't know if the "center" of Pilsen really existed, but I wanted to find it. Unfortunately, if you type in "heart of Pilsen" into google, it just talks about bedrooms for sale. And when I wikipedia-ed Pilsen, it gave me three different subway stops that would take me there. So Nick and I decided to just kind of choose one, and try to find our way to the magnificent bakeries and eateries.
So we get off the (green? orange? some color?) line train, and... we are like on a highway. So we walk. We look down a few streets that we cross, but they are all creepy dead-end alleys that lead to no where except stacks of metal. We continue walking and see some signs with Chinese writing. Note: I have been to Chinatown. This was not it. So don't start saying, oh Lisa, you were in Chinatown. NO. I was not.
We stop in one rando store, pretty much the only thing for half a mile, and ask the guy about Pilsen. He speaks limited English but totally knows what we're talking about: "PILSEN! Ahhh yes... restaurants, stores, many of the Mexican people!" Yeah man. He knows what's up. And when I ask him where the heart of Pilsen is, he gives us a street name, and then tells us we are a few miles away.
So we walk some more. We walk down an abandoned road with overgrown weeds and no sidewalks and cars going by us at 50mph. We pass abandoned industrial factories, wood factories, and numerous landfills. This is: SOUTH CHICAGO. We pass a creepy bar in the middle of nowhere with cans of PBR for $1.50, all day every day. We do not go in. Soon, I see cop cars and churches in the distance, so I figure we must be getting close. AND I WAS RIGHT.
SOMEHOW WE MAKE IT TO PILSEN! I think it took about 2 hours. By the time we arrive, it is getting dark, so we duck into some restaurant that doesn't really look too promising... it's not crappy enough to be a hole-in-the-wall, but it also doesn't have any distinguishing factors (neat colors, weird paintings, radios). Well, I take that back, there was some intense soap opera action on the TV. Anyway, I just want some Mexican hot chocolate, so we order that and coffee. Nick also gets some guacamole, because, hey. Why not.
THIS TURNED OUT TO BE THE BEST THING THAT HAPPENED TO ME ALL WEEK.
Literally. The best. Hot chocolate. And guacamole. Of. My. LIFE. SO MUCH WIN. AND THEN.
This guy named... Barry? Came in and talked to Nick in Spanish about the revolution and school children and didn't realize that I couldn't speak Spanish for about 20 minutes. Then he played 5 traditional mariachi songs for us, and all of the workers in the restaurant demonstrated their favorite dances for us. So that's why everyone loves Pilsen, I guess.
Later in the week, I returned to Pilsen. Only this time, it was to party in a house with steel doors.
Other exciting things that have happened:
1. I've started babysitting for a guy who is on the hot seat of Who Wants to be a Millionaire, airing December 13-14!
2. I got lost on the way to their house and ended up on a scary underpass in the middle of the night!
3. I went to "the Chicago bar scene"(whaaaat there is a distract?) and fell into a dance off with some chicks and bros and schooled them so hard. And... I was wearing snow boots. BOOM.
4. I ordered a sandwich at a bar and they never brought it to me. I wasn't all that hungry, so I didn't mind. When I went up and asked where my dinner was, the bartender become excessively apologetic and gave me a free meal. This is the best experience I have had in Wrigleyville to date. This is also the night where I went with some people to a "$10 drink anything you want from 8-10pm" and the bar never made us pay the $10. This is also the night where I tried to befriend a Romanian cab driver by asking him if I should visit his country and he, in a voice like a pissed off Romanian Napoleon Dynamite, scoffed "YEAH WHY WOULDN'T YOU UGHH!" This is the best experience I have had in a cab to date. No, that's a lie. This was all a good night.
So, I'm looking forward to 2010, when hopefully I will have a steady job of some sort and the freedom to unearth my hopes, dreams, and vocation. This is the only way to end this post.
ANYWAY LET'S GET BACK TO ADVENTURE STORIES!
The title of this latest blog entry is called "Passage to Pilsen," an allusion to the book I read in senior year IB English called "Passage to India." Passage to India is basically about some white chick who goes to colonial India and is all like "I WANT TO DISCOVER THE REAL INDIA!" instead of living colonial-British-person-in-India life. So she befriends some "natives," and tries to go on safaris and really find "INDIA." In the end, something happens, I think she gets murdered or something, but the moral was something like 'one can never find the 'REAL' India, because such a place does not exist!' I think that this sentiment can be applied to my latest foray into Pilsen.
What is Pilsen? Pilsen is one of Chicago's many ethnically diverse neighborhoods. According to Wikipedia, Pilsen began as a refuge for Czech, Slovene, and other Eastern European immigrants. I only know Pilsen as the place where all the Spanish classes in high school would go for their yearly field trips, and since I took fricking FRENCH, I never got to go. And everyone would go and come back and be like "blah blah blah ISN'T PILSEN JUST THE BEST! I just love using my high school spanish skills among the native speakers in Pilsen! I love the tiny Mexican bakeries and signs written in Spanish! I love the bread! blah blah blah I'm so glad I didn't take French!" So, I spent a few days each year in high school being totally jealous of these people.
But then, last weekend, my friend Nick Simonson (aka Tribal Warrior) came to town. And since TW/Nicky/Niko studied Spanish at a language institute in Guatemala, I decided that it was time for me to discover Pilsen, with a translator by my side. I mean, Nick was excited too.
But how do you "find" Pilsen? I didn't know if the "center" of Pilsen really existed, but I wanted to find it. Unfortunately, if you type in "heart of Pilsen" into google, it just talks about bedrooms for sale. And when I wikipedia-ed Pilsen, it gave me three different subway stops that would take me there. So Nick and I decided to just kind of choose one, and try to find our way to the magnificent bakeries and eateries.
So we get off the (green? orange? some color?) line train, and... we are like on a highway. So we walk. We look down a few streets that we cross, but they are all creepy dead-end alleys that lead to no where except stacks of metal. We continue walking and see some signs with Chinese writing. Note: I have been to Chinatown. This was not it. So don't start saying, oh Lisa, you were in Chinatown. NO. I was not.
We stop in one rando store, pretty much the only thing for half a mile, and ask the guy about Pilsen. He speaks limited English but totally knows what we're talking about: "PILSEN! Ahhh yes... restaurants, stores, many of the Mexican people!" Yeah man. He knows what's up. And when I ask him where the heart of Pilsen is, he gives us a street name, and then tells us we are a few miles away.
So we walk some more. We walk down an abandoned road with overgrown weeds and no sidewalks and cars going by us at 50mph. We pass abandoned industrial factories, wood factories, and numerous landfills. This is: SOUTH CHICAGO. We pass a creepy bar in the middle of nowhere with cans of PBR for $1.50, all day every day. We do not go in. Soon, I see cop cars and churches in the distance, so I figure we must be getting close. AND I WAS RIGHT.
SOMEHOW WE MAKE IT TO PILSEN! I think it took about 2 hours. By the time we arrive, it is getting dark, so we duck into some restaurant that doesn't really look too promising... it's not crappy enough to be a hole-in-the-wall, but it also doesn't have any distinguishing factors (neat colors, weird paintings, radios). Well, I take that back, there was some intense soap opera action on the TV. Anyway, I just want some Mexican hot chocolate, so we order that and coffee. Nick also gets some guacamole, because, hey. Why not.
THIS TURNED OUT TO BE THE BEST THING THAT HAPPENED TO ME ALL WEEK.
Literally. The best. Hot chocolate. And guacamole. Of. My. LIFE. SO MUCH WIN. AND THEN.
This guy named... Barry? Came in and talked to Nick in Spanish about the revolution and school children and didn't realize that I couldn't speak Spanish for about 20 minutes. Then he played 5 traditional mariachi songs for us, and all of the workers in the restaurant demonstrated their favorite dances for us. So that's why everyone loves Pilsen, I guess.
Later in the week, I returned to Pilsen. Only this time, it was to party in a house with steel doors.
Other exciting things that have happened:
1. I've started babysitting for a guy who is on the hot seat of Who Wants to be a Millionaire, airing December 13-14!
2. I got lost on the way to their house and ended up on a scary underpass in the middle of the night!
3. I went to "the Chicago bar scene"(whaaaat there is a distract?) and fell into a dance off with some chicks and bros and schooled them so hard. And... I was wearing snow boots. BOOM.
4. I ordered a sandwich at a bar and they never brought it to me. I wasn't all that hungry, so I didn't mind. When I went up and asked where my dinner was, the bartender become excessively apologetic and gave me a free meal. This is the best experience I have had in Wrigleyville to date. This is also the night where I went with some people to a "$10 drink anything you want from 8-10pm" and the bar never made us pay the $10. This is also the night where I tried to befriend a Romanian cab driver by asking him if I should visit his country and he, in a voice like a pissed off Romanian Napoleon Dynamite, scoffed "YEAH WHY WOULDN'T YOU UGHH!" This is the best experience I have had in a cab to date. No, that's a lie. This was all a good night.
So, I'm looking forward to 2010, when hopefully I will have a steady job of some sort and the freedom to unearth my hopes, dreams, and vocation. This is the only way to end this post.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
To Nick Krafft and all the other hatas
I'm sorry my life is not interesting enough right now to satisfy your obsession with my blog! I'm sorry! I'm sorry that absolutely nothing is happening other than me watching the L word! I'M SORRY THAT CITY LIFE HAS BECOME SO BORING. I. AM. SORRY.
NICK KRAFFT.
I AM SORRY THAT YOU ARE A HATER.
I am just so sorry for all of these things.
Coming soon: a review of the Girls album.
NICK KRAFFT.
I AM SORRY THAT YOU ARE A HATER.
I am just so sorry for all of these things.
Coming soon: a review of the Girls album.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
A Thanksgiving Miracle
Right now, I am sitting watching "The L Word" with Brandy, which is a show we started watching over Christmas break a few years ago. Yeah, it's pretty much a serial show about lesbian relationships in L.A., but the characters are REAL. Actually, the show has gotten progressively worse with each season, but this is the last season, so we figured we might as well just finish. For example, there is this character named Jenny, and everyone hates her. This season opened with her death. WHICH WAS AWESOME. But now the rest of the season is happening in flashbacks, and personally, I want to see how Jenny dies. Because that would just bring me a lot of television closure to see.
Anyway, right now I'm watching the L word and I'm making a popping noise with my mouth at the cat. I wanted the readers of this blog to really know what life is like in our apartment. So in the words of Michael Jackson, this is it.
But we've also been doing fun things! Like hosting holiday gatherings, such as our gathering last night!
Twas the night after Thanksgiving, and all through the States,
All the creatures were shopping and redeeming rebates.
But up in Chicago, down in Logan Square
Friends gathered with crayons and ole dishes to share.
We ate meat white and dark and feasted on pies galore
Played board games of fun and heard Neil Young music of yore
So thanks for the cupcakes, the potatoes, the beer
And when we gather in December, we hope you're all here!
Yeah, entertaining is fun. It's especially fun when your friends and family are so generous that they bring way too much food to a potluck and you just end up eating for weeks. What?!?!?!
Okay, Brandy is done watching L word, so I think I'm going to do some cardioke. This is my first weekend off in a few months! Woo! Except for two weekends ago when I had the (not the swine) flu. That sucked. In other news, I'm trying to become a part-time nanny, so if you have young unprotected children, holla back.
Also, L word has the worst theme song/opening credits... EVER.
See here
ALSO THANKS FOR EVERYONE WHO VOTED ON OUR LAST POLL, WE WILL NOW BE ANSWERING ANONYMOUS SURVEYS AS "FLARKER"
Anyway, right now I'm watching the L word and I'm making a popping noise with my mouth at the cat. I wanted the readers of this blog to really know what life is like in our apartment. So in the words of Michael Jackson, this is it.
But we've also been doing fun things! Like hosting holiday gatherings, such as our gathering last night!
Twas the night after Thanksgiving, and all through the States,
All the creatures were shopping and redeeming rebates.
But up in Chicago, down in Logan Square
Friends gathered with crayons and ole dishes to share.
We ate meat white and dark and feasted on pies galore
Played board games of fun and heard Neil Young music of yore
So thanks for the cupcakes, the potatoes, the beer
And when we gather in December, we hope you're all here!
Yeah, entertaining is fun. It's especially fun when your friends and family are so generous that they bring way too much food to a potluck and you just end up eating for weeks. What?!?!?!
Okay, Brandy is done watching L word, so I think I'm going to do some cardioke. This is my first weekend off in a few months! Woo! Except for two weekends ago when I had the (not the swine) flu. That sucked. In other news, I'm trying to become a part-time nanny, so if you have young unprotected children, holla back.
Also, L word has the worst theme song/opening credits... EVER.
See here
ALSO THANKS FOR EVERYONE WHO VOTED ON OUR LAST POLL, WE WILL NOW BE ANSWERING ANONYMOUS SURVEYS AS "FLARKER"
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Brandy's guide to getting a job
All of these things Lisa has written about in my absence are true. There really is a wolf on my new debit card. We really were the only ones who showed up for a party at a piano bar called Howl At The Moon, and I really did ask the waitress to add more alcohol to my $1 drink. Lisa really did subsequently win a free party for 100 of her friends, and really does not know anyone Jewish. I really do have a job.
Also true-- I have, in the past three weeks, watched over 20 hours of Russian women cleaning their homes at said job. I know that Russian women use a Comet to clean everything. I know they sometimes use laundry detergent powder to clean their bathtubs and floors. I know they put a rag over a broom and call it a mop. This and MUCH MORE-- I am a wealth of knowledge.
Before I explain what this job is, I would first like to say, for those of you out there still looking for a source of income, I'm sorry to say I have no advice for you. My getting a job guide would look like this: 1. Apply to as few jobs as possible 2. Interview and get told you have a job at a fine foods market, but get a strange feeling it was too easy and something must be wrong, so fail to follow through 3. Spent a few weeks perfecting a daytime television schedule and become a domestic goddess. 4. Throw a housewarming party and wait for a stranger to offer you a full time temporary position in your field of study.
This is how it happened: Our roommate Sasha invited one of her co-workers to our housewarming party, and when she found out I was unemployed, she told me to send in my resume for a position as a temporary data logger. Sasha works for a market research firm, which is basically a bunch of psychologists and anthropologists who find out what people want or need from products. I watch their interview videos and transcribe what people say, their expressions, what they're doing, etc. Researchers use these logs to find patterns and put together a presentation for the company that hired them.
I don't know if that makes sense. Moving on.
So far I've witnessed several birthday parties, a woman break the news to her husband that she can't get pregnant, an old woman getting kicked out of a party outlet store for bringing in the camera, and yes, over 20 hours of Russian women cleaning their homes. But today I started with a new country-- Brazil! Where women pour buckets of water on the floor to clean. Every day is an adventure. Who will I watch clean tomorrow?
I think when you're feeling uncertain about your future it's good to cultivate a sense of adventure.
I also thinks it's good to set attainable goals for yourself. Which is why I've resolved to cut back on my most common typing mistakes.
Brandy's top typing errors:
1. BEcause
2. equiptment
3. ahve
4. spongue
I will try to decrease or elimnate these errors by next week.
Pioneers! O Pioneers!
Also true-- I have, in the past three weeks, watched over 20 hours of Russian women cleaning their homes at said job. I know that Russian women use a Comet to clean everything. I know they sometimes use laundry detergent powder to clean their bathtubs and floors. I know they put a rag over a broom and call it a mop. This and MUCH MORE-- I am a wealth of knowledge.
Before I explain what this job is, I would first like to say, for those of you out there still looking for a source of income, I'm sorry to say I have no advice for you. My getting a job guide would look like this: 1. Apply to as few jobs as possible 2. Interview and get told you have a job at a fine foods market, but get a strange feeling it was too easy and something must be wrong, so fail to follow through 3. Spent a few weeks perfecting a daytime television schedule and become a domestic goddess. 4. Throw a housewarming party and wait for a stranger to offer you a full time temporary position in your field of study.
This is how it happened: Our roommate Sasha invited one of her co-workers to our housewarming party, and when she found out I was unemployed, she told me to send in my resume for a position as a temporary data logger. Sasha works for a market research firm, which is basically a bunch of psychologists and anthropologists who find out what people want or need from products. I watch their interview videos and transcribe what people say, their expressions, what they're doing, etc. Researchers use these logs to find patterns and put together a presentation for the company that hired them.
I don't know if that makes sense. Moving on.
So far I've witnessed several birthday parties, a woman break the news to her husband that she can't get pregnant, an old woman getting kicked out of a party outlet store for bringing in the camera, and yes, over 20 hours of Russian women cleaning their homes. But today I started with a new country-- Brazil! Where women pour buckets of water on the floor to clean. Every day is an adventure. Who will I watch clean tomorrow?
I think when you're feeling uncertain about your future it's good to cultivate a sense of adventure.
I also thinks it's good to set attainable goals for yourself. Which is why I've resolved to cut back on my most common typing mistakes.
Brandy's top typing errors:
1. BEcause
2. equiptment
3. ahve
4. spongue
I will try to decrease or elimnate these errors by next week.
Pioneers! O Pioneers!
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
How To: Start the Party
Favorite Halloween Costumes Seen in Chicago:
1. Elliot and ET (aka Kevin Wilson)
2. Alan and baby Carlos from The Hangover
3. Guy wearing a throw rug on his shoulders while taking pictures of us who gave me a can of beer on the Red Line/ was he on crack?
4. 60s alien with cone head voice (aka Mallory Laurel)
5. The cast of Candyland
6. Jamaican bobsled team
7. Soot-covered, umbrella-wielding Mary Poppins
8. Anorexic Lindsay Lohan (aka Maggie Graber)
9. Girl dressed up as a rabbit with an inflatable "magician's hat" around her waist
10. A gold digger. Oh wait, that was the worst costume I saw. Girl wearing a gold mini dress carrying a shovel. I saw the shovel and was like... could that be... a hoe? Is she trying to be a hoe? Is she trying to be ironic? Oh, no. It's a shovel.
Some people might look at our Halloween from their lives of glitz and glamour and say, "THEY HAD A LAME HALLOWEEN." They might think this for a number of reasons. True, we conspired to have a giant fiesta birthday party for MATT THOMAS! but then forgot to invite anyone other than Mallory and Sean. We also forgot to buy anything necessary for a party, but that's okay, because we forgot to invite people too. Matt Thomas's birthday party had originally held lofty expectations. We were thinking bobbing for apples, a little Billy Blanks Jr. kardioke, color your own Matt Thomas or pin the beard on Matt Thomas, various holiday treats and activities... but yeah, when Friday night rolled around, all we had was four bottles of beer and an ever-dwindling bucket of pumpkin seeds (ONCE YOU POP THAT PUMPKIN YOU CAN'T STOP!). We did have two nice pumpkins, carved on Thursday night. Brandy made an "oh my god!" pumpkin, aptly named because it looks like the pumpkin just said that. I made a sexy clown pumpkin. It looks like a clown and says the word "SEXY" on the back. It was a cool idea until I realized that our Korean neighbors and their two small children would only see the word "SEXY" illuminated in fire if we put the pumpkins on the front porch.
So since our party had nothing, I decided to bake a birthday cake for Matt Thomas. But then Matt Thomas decided he wanted to be Radiohead so he had band practice and we just all ate his cake. And when I say we ate his cake, I mean that I ate his cake, and Mallory helped.
But no, we did not spend our entire pre-Halloween night watching Scream 3 on MTV and eating birthday cake without the birthday boy. That only accounted for most of the night. When Billy Mays, a French man, and Sookie from True Blood showed up, we decided to confront Logan Square's hippest establishment: The Whistler. The Whistler is this super super super trendy bar around the corner. People come from near and far to stand around in its dark small spaces and look cool and drink PBR and expensive drinks. Sometimes bands come and do super hip shows that "say" things and "mean" something. Each time I have been to the Whistler, I am very bored, except the time that Mallory snuck in pizza that some guy had given her for free on her way in.
Tonight was the Whistler's "funk and soul" night, so we decided to give it a chance, even though the damn bar usually lets us down. And sure enough, we walk in and funk music is pulsating through the joint and no one is dancing. So Mallory turns to the bouncer and asks if it's okay to dance. I respect the fact that she asked this. We had to be sure that we weren't violating some sort of actual written code in the Whistler's rules, such as "Thou shalt not dance ever" or "Thou shalt not have fun." But according to the bouncer, dancing was actually allowed, so WE DID IT. And to our excitement, a few souls popped out of their darkened corners and joined us. It was like those 10 people had been waiting their whole lives for a dance party to break out at the Whistler. They actually did thank us for giving them the opportunity. People would walk into the Whistler and be totally caught off-guard, like "WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY FAVORITE BAR AND WHY AREN'T THE PEOPLE MOPEY?" But then they would put on their judgement faces and go into the corner. The thing about a judgment face is that it's actually the same as a jealousy face. WHAM!
We also had the opportunity to assist in starting a party on Monday night. On Monday night... Brandy, Mallory, and I did something very exciting. WE WENT TO AN ISRAELI HIP HOP SHOW! I am continuously excited by my increasing experiences with Jewish culture. Before moving to Chicago, I think I had known two Jewish people. That's discounting the random guy who let me and Mike stay with him in New York City a few years ago and the lady in the dressing room next to me at Saks Fifth Avenue. But now! Suddenly! In Chicago! The number of Jewish friends I have has increased exponentially! In the Chicago Children's Theatre office alone, I know three Jewish people. And one of them took me to an Isreali hip hop night!
Yeah but it was really fun. I don't really know any "Jewish" dances. I don't really know if such a thing as a "Jewish" dance exists. So I was constantly wondering if I was giving away the fact that I was not Jewish or if I was acting like a paranoid ignoramus. Probably somewhere in between. I must have done something right to blend in, because after the opening act, I was given a very special opportunity. The opening act was named MC Zulu, and he was tight yo. When he finished his act, some dude next to me put his hand around my waist and whispered in my ear, "Come on girl. We gonna go meet Zulu." And then he whisked me away and forced me to meet MC Zulu. I'm pretty sure that I was being majorly used, as a woman, for this super fan to get closer to his hero. And I didn't even know what to say to MC Zulu, so I just shook his hand and said thank you. That was cool. That was how I met MC Zulu. And then we all danced to SOULICO, the end.
Note: Today I found like three entries that Brandy has started and never finished. She has promised to post them tonight. We'll see if that happens. And if it doesn't, I will emotionally abuse her until it does. Y'all are free to help. BYE!
1. Elliot and ET (aka Kevin Wilson)
2. Alan and baby Carlos from The Hangover
3. Guy wearing a throw rug on his shoulders while taking pictures of us who gave me a can of beer on the Red Line/ was he on crack?
4. 60s alien with cone head voice (aka Mallory Laurel)
5. The cast of Candyland
6. Jamaican bobsled team
7. Soot-covered, umbrella-wielding Mary Poppins
8. Anorexic Lindsay Lohan (aka Maggie Graber)
9. Girl dressed up as a rabbit with an inflatable "magician's hat" around her waist
10. A gold digger. Oh wait, that was the worst costume I saw. Girl wearing a gold mini dress carrying a shovel. I saw the shovel and was like... could that be... a hoe? Is she trying to be a hoe? Is she trying to be ironic? Oh, no. It's a shovel.
Some people might look at our Halloween from their lives of glitz and glamour and say, "THEY HAD A LAME HALLOWEEN." They might think this for a number of reasons. True, we conspired to have a giant fiesta birthday party for MATT THOMAS! but then forgot to invite anyone other than Mallory and Sean. We also forgot to buy anything necessary for a party, but that's okay, because we forgot to invite people too. Matt Thomas's birthday party had originally held lofty expectations. We were thinking bobbing for apples, a little Billy Blanks Jr. kardioke, color your own Matt Thomas or pin the beard on Matt Thomas, various holiday treats and activities... but yeah, when Friday night rolled around, all we had was four bottles of beer and an ever-dwindling bucket of pumpkin seeds (ONCE YOU POP THAT PUMPKIN YOU CAN'T STOP!). We did have two nice pumpkins, carved on Thursday night. Brandy made an "oh my god!" pumpkin, aptly named because it looks like the pumpkin just said that. I made a sexy clown pumpkin. It looks like a clown and says the word "SEXY" on the back. It was a cool idea until I realized that our Korean neighbors and their two small children would only see the word "SEXY" illuminated in fire if we put the pumpkins on the front porch.
So since our party had nothing, I decided to bake a birthday cake for Matt Thomas. But then Matt Thomas decided he wanted to be Radiohead so he had band practice and we just all ate his cake. And when I say we ate his cake, I mean that I ate his cake, and Mallory helped.
But no, we did not spend our entire pre-Halloween night watching Scream 3 on MTV and eating birthday cake without the birthday boy. That only accounted for most of the night. When Billy Mays, a French man, and Sookie from True Blood showed up, we decided to confront Logan Square's hippest establishment: The Whistler. The Whistler is this super super super trendy bar around the corner. People come from near and far to stand around in its dark small spaces and look cool and drink PBR and expensive drinks. Sometimes bands come and do super hip shows that "say" things and "mean" something. Each time I have been to the Whistler, I am very bored, except the time that Mallory snuck in pizza that some guy had given her for free on her way in.
Tonight was the Whistler's "funk and soul" night, so we decided to give it a chance, even though the damn bar usually lets us down. And sure enough, we walk in and funk music is pulsating through the joint and no one is dancing. So Mallory turns to the bouncer and asks if it's okay to dance. I respect the fact that she asked this. We had to be sure that we weren't violating some sort of actual written code in the Whistler's rules, such as "Thou shalt not dance ever" or "Thou shalt not have fun." But according to the bouncer, dancing was actually allowed, so WE DID IT. And to our excitement, a few souls popped out of their darkened corners and joined us. It was like those 10 people had been waiting their whole lives for a dance party to break out at the Whistler. They actually did thank us for giving them the opportunity. People would walk into the Whistler and be totally caught off-guard, like "WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY FAVORITE BAR AND WHY AREN'T THE PEOPLE MOPEY?" But then they would put on their judgement faces and go into the corner. The thing about a judgment face is that it's actually the same as a jealousy face. WHAM!
We also had the opportunity to assist in starting a party on Monday night. On Monday night... Brandy, Mallory, and I did something very exciting. WE WENT TO AN ISRAELI HIP HOP SHOW! I am continuously excited by my increasing experiences with Jewish culture. Before moving to Chicago, I think I had known two Jewish people. That's discounting the random guy who let me and Mike stay with him in New York City a few years ago and the lady in the dressing room next to me at Saks Fifth Avenue. But now! Suddenly! In Chicago! The number of Jewish friends I have has increased exponentially! In the Chicago Children's Theatre office alone, I know three Jewish people. And one of them took me to an Isreali hip hop night!
Yeah but it was really fun. I don't really know any "Jewish" dances. I don't really know if such a thing as a "Jewish" dance exists. So I was constantly wondering if I was giving away the fact that I was not Jewish or if I was acting like a paranoid ignoramus. Probably somewhere in between. I must have done something right to blend in, because after the opening act, I was given a very special opportunity. The opening act was named MC Zulu, and he was tight yo. When he finished his act, some dude next to me put his hand around my waist and whispered in my ear, "Come on girl. We gonna go meet Zulu." And then he whisked me away and forced me to meet MC Zulu. I'm pretty sure that I was being majorly used, as a woman, for this super fan to get closer to his hero. And I didn't even know what to say to MC Zulu, so I just shook his hand and said thank you. That was cool. That was how I met MC Zulu. And then we all danced to SOULICO, the end.
Note: Today I found like three entries that Brandy has started and never finished. She has promised to post them tonight. We'll see if that happens. And if it doesn't, I will emotionally abuse her until it does. Y'all are free to help. BYE!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Music Done Wrong, Music Done Right
Sorry about the lack of updates! This disaster has happened for a few reasons, including:
- my (Lisa's) internet does not work. I had been stealing it, but when the neighbors caught on, my fun ended really fast. After a month, I finally called the internet place... which I had been avoiding, because I knew it would involve a lot of "try this. no? try this. no?" from some rando who assumes I'm an idiot. And that IS what happened, although in reality, the end of this phone call still shocked me. After about 45 minutes and numerous troubleshooting tips, my homeboy Rashid just straight up goes "Okay. I've tried everything. Sorry. I can't do anything more. Bye!"... and that's why technology/outsourcing/telephones/Dells SUCK. But it's okay, because in one of my genius moments, I realized that I could hook up the ethernet cord up to my computer.
- other reasons: I've been super busy.
But! Last week I finally had the opportunity to fulfill one of my year-long dreams: GOING TO THE PIANO BAR 'HOWL AT THE MOON.' Now, if you've ever been to Howl at the Moon, you may be thinking, "Why the hell does she dream of going to Howl at the Moon?" But I had never been there so I was living in ignorance. All I knew is that last year, when I went to LA for Family Feud, all the other kids on my Family Feud team went to Howl at the Moon with the Texas team and, in their words, "HAD THE BEST TIME EVERRRR!!!!" And I love pianos. It's a piano bar. And no one would ever go to Dueling Pianos night at Legends with me. But lucky for me, my friend Maggie somehow won a private party at HOWL AT THE MOON on Thursday, October 21, so I knew that destiny was within my reach.
My anticipation for this night was immense. I even turned down a babysitting job to embrace it, which is telling because, newsflash, I STILL DO NOT HAVE A STEADY JOB (but things are looking brighter and I am no longer psychotic about it). Then again, since I STILL DO NOT HAVE A STEADY JOB, I was all about taking advantage of the free cover charge at HOWL AT THE MOON before 7:00pm, the two $1 drinks before 8pm, and the drink specials all night long. I forced Brandy and Kevin Wilson to come with me, and when it looked like we weren't going to make the 7pm cutoff time, I made them run. Damnit, I made them run. Through the pouring rain. Because it was that important.
Somehow, somehow we made it to Howl at the Moon just before the free cover charge turned back into a metaphorical expensive pumpkin. I proudly told the host lady that I was there for Maggie Culhane's party, and she mumbled something about Maggie already having a table in the back. So we went in.
I saw no one that I knew. Which was weird. But whatever, we sat down, in a corner, by ourselves. Got some margaritas. I texted Maggie to tell her I was the first one at her party.
Pretty soon she texted me back to tell me that HER PARTY WAS CHANGED TO THE NEXT DAY.
After all of that. After all of the labor, the running, the possible pneumonia, the hope, the anticipation -- nothing. Just me, Brandy, Kevin Wilson, and some really really crappy drinks that were so bad, Brandy asked the waitress if they were non-alcoholic.
And then. There was. The. Music.
When I think of piano bar, I like to imagine some creativity. Some variations on Billy Joel, but also just some branching out. I like to imagine piano artists doing what they love, with flair. I like to imagine that these people do not hate their lives, that these people are not judgmental, that these people will play our requests for Britney Spears and Lady Gaga, and that these people will not creepily make eyes at my friend Kevin so intensely that I fear he will be killed and stuffed into a garbage bag before the night is over. These are just thinks that I like to think about piano bars. These things are things that did not happen at Howl at the Moon.
The only request we got in was Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight," and I'm pretty sure they only chose it because, oh yeah, Thursday is official 'Cougar Night' at Howl at the Moon. I personally requested it in honor of my friend MK, who thinks it is the most awkward song to play at closing time at a bar, and I agree. In hindsight, I probably should have gone with Nightmoves, because no one seemed to appreciate "We've Got Tonight," except for this chick in sequins that the piano player kept flirting with. I decided that I might be her for Halloween. I'd just wear sequins and flirt with piano players and be annoying, it would be the best costume ever.
We left Howl at the Moon, and I don't know if I will ever go back.
LUCKILY, that bar experience was completely redeemed by a good music experience on Friday night! We went to a bar in Wicker Park for a Variety Night, where MATT THOMAS! was playing with his friend JASON! and some OTHER PEOPLE! and they were doing covers of old soul songs. YES. YES. YES. Interspersed between their jam sessions, random people dressed as nurses came on stage and did mime routines, and one guy told stories under the guise of some sort of sexual predator-vampire-Jason Schwartzmann character. And then the mountain people came! I don't know how to describe them other than saying they were a band of mountain people! At the end of the night, one of them gave me a light up visor. I didn't know they had that kind of electricity in the mountain lands!
Other things that have happened in our Chicago lives lately:
- Our cat murdered a mouse and then ate everything except its spine, which it left on the kitchen floor for us in the morning.
- Sasha, Mallory, and I got trapped in an elevator with a bunch of hipsters after seeing Where the Wild Things Are. When you are trapped in an elevator with a bunch of hipsters, you might not be saved, but you will at least be surrounded by many witty references to Speed, Keanu Reeves, and Fandango.
- I might be dancing at a Bat Mitzvah! My first Bat Mitzvah. YES.
- NBC Comedy Thursdays!
- I found a picture of Audrey Hepburn in a dumpster and stole it.
- Oh yeah, I went to a career fair. Mostly what happened was that weird recruiters invaded my space and I decided I didn't want to work in insurance. Woop!
- my (Lisa's) internet does not work. I had been stealing it, but when the neighbors caught on, my fun ended really fast. After a month, I finally called the internet place... which I had been avoiding, because I knew it would involve a lot of "try this. no? try this. no?" from some rando who assumes I'm an idiot. And that IS what happened, although in reality, the end of this phone call still shocked me. After about 45 minutes and numerous troubleshooting tips, my homeboy Rashid just straight up goes "Okay. I've tried everything. Sorry. I can't do anything more. Bye!"... and that's why technology/outsourcing/telephones/Dells SUCK. But it's okay, because in one of my genius moments, I realized that I could hook up the ethernet cord up to my computer.
- other reasons: I've been super busy.
But! Last week I finally had the opportunity to fulfill one of my year-long dreams: GOING TO THE PIANO BAR 'HOWL AT THE MOON.' Now, if you've ever been to Howl at the Moon, you may be thinking, "Why the hell does she dream of going to Howl at the Moon?" But I had never been there so I was living in ignorance. All I knew is that last year, when I went to LA for Family Feud, all the other kids on my Family Feud team went to Howl at the Moon with the Texas team and, in their words, "HAD THE BEST TIME EVERRRR!!!!" And I love pianos. It's a piano bar. And no one would ever go to Dueling Pianos night at Legends with me. But lucky for me, my friend Maggie somehow won a private party at HOWL AT THE MOON on Thursday, October 21, so I knew that destiny was within my reach.
My anticipation for this night was immense. I even turned down a babysitting job to embrace it, which is telling because, newsflash, I STILL DO NOT HAVE A STEADY JOB (but things are looking brighter and I am no longer psychotic about it). Then again, since I STILL DO NOT HAVE A STEADY JOB, I was all about taking advantage of the free cover charge at HOWL AT THE MOON before 7:00pm, the two $1 drinks before 8pm, and the drink specials all night long. I forced Brandy and Kevin Wilson to come with me, and when it looked like we weren't going to make the 7pm cutoff time, I made them run. Damnit, I made them run. Through the pouring rain. Because it was that important.
Somehow, somehow we made it to Howl at the Moon just before the free cover charge turned back into a metaphorical expensive pumpkin. I proudly told the host lady that I was there for Maggie Culhane's party, and she mumbled something about Maggie already having a table in the back. So we went in.
I saw no one that I knew. Which was weird. But whatever, we sat down, in a corner, by ourselves. Got some margaritas. I texted Maggie to tell her I was the first one at her party.
Pretty soon she texted me back to tell me that HER PARTY WAS CHANGED TO THE NEXT DAY.
After all of that. After all of the labor, the running, the possible pneumonia, the hope, the anticipation -- nothing. Just me, Brandy, Kevin Wilson, and some really really crappy drinks that were so bad, Brandy asked the waitress if they were non-alcoholic.
And then. There was. The. Music.
When I think of piano bar, I like to imagine some creativity. Some variations on Billy Joel, but also just some branching out. I like to imagine piano artists doing what they love, with flair. I like to imagine that these people do not hate their lives, that these people are not judgmental, that these people will play our requests for Britney Spears and Lady Gaga, and that these people will not creepily make eyes at my friend Kevin so intensely that I fear he will be killed and stuffed into a garbage bag before the night is over. These are just thinks that I like to think about piano bars. These things are things that did not happen at Howl at the Moon.
The only request we got in was Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight," and I'm pretty sure they only chose it because, oh yeah, Thursday is official 'Cougar Night' at Howl at the Moon. I personally requested it in honor of my friend MK, who thinks it is the most awkward song to play at closing time at a bar, and I agree. In hindsight, I probably should have gone with Nightmoves, because no one seemed to appreciate "We've Got Tonight," except for this chick in sequins that the piano player kept flirting with. I decided that I might be her for Halloween. I'd just wear sequins and flirt with piano players and be annoying, it would be the best costume ever.
We left Howl at the Moon, and I don't know if I will ever go back.
LUCKILY, that bar experience was completely redeemed by a good music experience on Friday night! We went to a bar in Wicker Park for a Variety Night, where MATT THOMAS! was playing with his friend JASON! and some OTHER PEOPLE! and they were doing covers of old soul songs. YES. YES. YES. Interspersed between their jam sessions, random people dressed as nurses came on stage and did mime routines, and one guy told stories under the guise of some sort of sexual predator-vampire-Jason Schwartzmann character. And then the mountain people came! I don't know how to describe them other than saying they were a band of mountain people! At the end of the night, one of them gave me a light up visor. I didn't know they had that kind of electricity in the mountain lands!
Other things that have happened in our Chicago lives lately:
- Our cat murdered a mouse and then ate everything except its spine, which it left on the kitchen floor for us in the morning.
- Sasha, Mallory, and I got trapped in an elevator with a bunch of hipsters after seeing Where the Wild Things Are. When you are trapped in an elevator with a bunch of hipsters, you might not be saved, but you will at least be surrounded by many witty references to Speed, Keanu Reeves, and Fandango.
- I might be dancing at a Bat Mitzvah! My first Bat Mitzvah. YES.
- NBC Comedy Thursdays!
- I found a picture of Audrey Hepburn in a dumpster and stole it.
- Oh yeah, I went to a career fair. Mostly what happened was that weird recruiters invaded my space and I decided I didn't want to work in insurance. Woop!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Exercise.
We've stayed pretty busy lately, which is why this blog has been updated --- nary at all! What have we been doing? So much! So much! Brandy got a job, which I think she will describe in greater detail later. Lisa got rejected by many jobs, which she will probably never discuss in greater detail because it makes her feel worthless. Notice how I just wrote in third person in order to displace my own pain. But it's okay! Perhaps there are brighter days ahead! Or perhaps there aren't.
Anyway.
I want to talk about some of my adventures in bike riding, but first, I think everyone should enjoy a clip from the latest fitness routine that Brandy and I have been using. After a tough day involving chasing buses and knocking on their windows as they moved in order to gain entry and watching Notre Dame lose to USC and selling $134 worth of friendship bracelets at the Chicago Children's Theatre gift shop, all I wanted to do was go running. But it was dark outside and that felt unsafe. So. Brandy and I decided to find a workout video using Comcast OnDemand.
DID WE EVER!!!!!!!!!!!
After you watch that, I encourage you to watch the related videos of "Don't Cha" and "Cardioke Slide." It will probably help you understand our lives in Chicago better, and you will also whip yourself into shape!
CARDIOKE IS THE GREATEST INVENTION OF ALL TIME
Yes but in other adventures, the other day I was riding my bike and a voice popped into my ear out of nowhere as I was moving. In a heavy Irish accent, I heard,"Eh miss 'er's somethin' wrong with yer tyre!" And sure enough, I looked back, and THERE WAS AN IRISH MAN RIDING HIS BIKE ALONGSIDE ME. And then I looked down and sure enough, MY TIRE WAS DEMONIZED. So I pulled over to the side of the road and abandoned my bike right there (after locking it, of course) and just hopped on a bus. I was so scared. But now I am somewhat spoiled by public transit. Because frankly... I did NOT look cool on a bike. You know how city bike riders are super cool? In their super cute pink and blue trendy Zooey Deschanel helmets? Or helmet-less, windswept hair, fixed gear bikes, leaning forward with messanger bags? Always moving forward at a brisk speed, whipping around cars with ease, proving that green transportation trumps a car any day? Yeah, I've never looked like that. I pass storefront windows and I notice myself. My mountain bike makes me sit straight up. And I can't ride fast. And my helmet is literally the dorkiest thing ever. It's not cute and it's not hardcore. It's just somewhere in the middle... like leisurely... 90s... 10 year old... neighborhood... biker. So anyway, yeah, I really want to fix my bike, but I'm enjoying looking like a real city girl on public transportation with my newspapers and books.
Another sport I've decided to take up is crossword puzzles. I've just never done them. I think it would be a good skill. I realize I am about 6 years behind most people my age, which is why I'm not going to do it competitively. This is going to be something I do for myself. I tried to go to a raucous Notre Dame game watch the other day at a bar. I imagined middle-aged men throwing beer around, spilling it on me, and generally creating a ruckus. This did not happen. This is when I realized that I was imagining watching TV in a pub in Ireland and not Chicago. Chicago: it is not all drunk people and sunshine and rainbow dreams. Sometimes, it is just a few young professionals watching a heart-wrenching game in a trendy bar. Sometimes it is getting sprayed with all-purpose cleaner by your roommate. Sometimes it is being rejected by a job everyone said you were going to get.
But sometimes? Sometimes Chicago is when your roommate brings you donuts and a (another) random man gives you and Mallory free pizza and you get to see The Room in the theater for free! So it's okay.
Anyway.
I want to talk about some of my adventures in bike riding, but first, I think everyone should enjoy a clip from the latest fitness routine that Brandy and I have been using. After a tough day involving chasing buses and knocking on their windows as they moved in order to gain entry and watching Notre Dame lose to USC and selling $134 worth of friendship bracelets at the Chicago Children's Theatre gift shop, all I wanted to do was go running. But it was dark outside and that felt unsafe. So. Brandy and I decided to find a workout video using Comcast OnDemand.
DID WE EVER!!!!!!!!!!!
After you watch that, I encourage you to watch the related videos of "Don't Cha" and "Cardioke Slide." It will probably help you understand our lives in Chicago better, and you will also whip yourself into shape!
CARDIOKE IS THE GREATEST INVENTION OF ALL TIME
Yes but in other adventures, the other day I was riding my bike and a voice popped into my ear out of nowhere as I was moving. In a heavy Irish accent, I heard,"Eh miss 'er's somethin' wrong with yer tyre!" And sure enough, I looked back, and THERE WAS AN IRISH MAN RIDING HIS BIKE ALONGSIDE ME. And then I looked down and sure enough, MY TIRE WAS DEMONIZED. So I pulled over to the side of the road and abandoned my bike right there (after locking it, of course) and just hopped on a bus. I was so scared. But now I am somewhat spoiled by public transit. Because frankly... I did NOT look cool on a bike. You know how city bike riders are super cool? In their super cute pink and blue trendy Zooey Deschanel helmets? Or helmet-less, windswept hair, fixed gear bikes, leaning forward with messanger bags? Always moving forward at a brisk speed, whipping around cars with ease, proving that green transportation trumps a car any day? Yeah, I've never looked like that. I pass storefront windows and I notice myself. My mountain bike makes me sit straight up. And I can't ride fast. And my helmet is literally the dorkiest thing ever. It's not cute and it's not hardcore. It's just somewhere in the middle... like leisurely... 90s... 10 year old... neighborhood... biker. So anyway, yeah, I really want to fix my bike, but I'm enjoying looking like a real city girl on public transportation with my newspapers and books.
Another sport I've decided to take up is crossword puzzles. I've just never done them. I think it would be a good skill. I realize I am about 6 years behind most people my age, which is why I'm not going to do it competitively. This is going to be something I do for myself. I tried to go to a raucous Notre Dame game watch the other day at a bar. I imagined middle-aged men throwing beer around, spilling it on me, and generally creating a ruckus. This did not happen. This is when I realized that I was imagining watching TV in a pub in Ireland and not Chicago. Chicago: it is not all drunk people and sunshine and rainbow dreams. Sometimes, it is just a few young professionals watching a heart-wrenching game in a trendy bar. Sometimes it is getting sprayed with all-purpose cleaner by your roommate. Sometimes it is being rejected by a job everyone said you were going to get.
But sometimes? Sometimes Chicago is when your roommate brings you donuts and a (another) random man gives you and Mallory free pizza and you get to see The Room in the theater for free! So it's okay.
Friday, October 9, 2009
LAZY TUESDAY
[ Brandy with her mysterious bust. Ha. Mysterious bust. But seriously, I don't know which Roman this is. Let's just call him Amelia Earhart]
[ Shower time! Ha. Damnit. Another ambiguous caption]
[ This is our kitchen! This is where the magic happens! When I say magic, I mean burnt cinnamon rolls]
[ THIS KIND OF MAGIC! Two hours. Two. Hours]
[ Brandy's new credit card is a visual representation of the new Shakira song, "She-Wolf"]
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Recent Mistakes Made by Me, My Family, and Those Around Me
Ahh, autumn. As the leaves change and the air becomes cooler and crisper, I find myself making more and more mistakes in my every day life. I do not know the meaning of the correlation, or if there is any causation. But it is fall! The equinox has passed! And so much is happening!
This past weekend, I learned all about taking taxi cabs IN THE CITY! My previous taxi cab experience has been limited to:
- sitting quietly in the backseat of a Spanish taxi, by myself, and silently praying that the cabbie wouldn't rip me off because no hablo espanol
- cursing in broken French at an Italian cabbie after he ripped me off because I no speak ITALIAN
- drunkenly tossing 2-3 dollars at cabbies in South Bend after another night at Fever
Thus, the opportunity to take a taxi cab IN THE CITY was quite exciting, albeit unexpected. Apparently, sometimes your own mother just can't make it to pick you up and drive you to your cousin's wedding. But then again, if she will foot the bill for the cab ride to the suburbs, I'll take it.
My cabbie was named Luis R., and I know his full name, but I think it's best to protect his identity. He was great. Even though he had no idea where La Grange, my destination, was. Whatever, we figured it out. We also started talking about marriage a lot... Luis was from Guatemala, and his wife is from Bulgaria and speaks 6 languages. They've been married three years, and he says their secret is "gentle tolerance and humility." After hearing that I didn't have a job, Luis encouraged me to become his French tutor or just a general teacher at his community college. He also told me that armed security guards are in the back of every class to protect "people like you" aka people like me. So maybe that will work out.
Other important city life information that I have recently learned FROM PERSONAL EXPERIENCE:
- Brie that comes in a can and is sold from a refrigerator in the back of your local liquor store should not be trusted.
- Baking cinnamin rolls for two hours will ruin them and increase the threat of house fire.
- Everyone wears shoes to jazz class in the city.
- EQUAL NUMBERS OF BOYS AND GIRLS PARTICIPATE IN JAZZ CLASSES IN THE CITY.
On Sunday, my theater had their gala opening for The Hundred Dresses, the play they're putting on right now. Afterward, I was put in charge of the coloring activity (after I was originally put in charge of hand games and tearfully begged to be switched because all I know is Stella-Ella-Ohla). The task? The children were supposed to create a crazy costume for a male character, Willie Bounce, or a dress for the poor immigrant girl, Wanda. Because kids are more clever than me, here is a sampling of what we got:
- A Captain Underpants Willie Bounce with a Star of David across his chest
- A Cowboy Vampire Movie Director Willie Bounce with bloody fangs
- A Massacre Dress: complete with dripping blood, bullet holes, and a girl holding a butcher knife
- The Man Dress: where a kid made a giant smiley face on the front of it -- oh WAIT, that's not a smiling mouth, that is a GIANT PENIS in the anatomically correct area
Children. On the other hand, the show has been getting excellent reviews, both from the Tribune and the Sun-Times. My boss was so happy yesterday that she busted out the champagne. Woo woo!
In job-related news, I am currently the manager of a weekend gift shop, a once-a-week babysitter, and I have strong prospects to work at an espresso bar-crepe palace run by some Eastern European men. I am looking forward to taking dance classes, writing more, and maybe getting a job or marketing/publicity internship in the future. Does that make me sound like I have goals in life? Does it sound convincing? I HOPE SO!
Sorry if I have been distant and isolating during this transitionary time in my life. This always happens during transitionary times in my life, and soon it will pass, and I will return to my normal jovial self.
LOVE, LISA!
P.S. More pictures to come soon
This past weekend, I learned all about taking taxi cabs IN THE CITY! My previous taxi cab experience has been limited to:
- sitting quietly in the backseat of a Spanish taxi, by myself, and silently praying that the cabbie wouldn't rip me off because no hablo espanol
- cursing in broken French at an Italian cabbie after he ripped me off because I no speak ITALIAN
- drunkenly tossing 2-3 dollars at cabbies in South Bend after another night at Fever
Thus, the opportunity to take a taxi cab IN THE CITY was quite exciting, albeit unexpected. Apparently, sometimes your own mother just can't make it to pick you up and drive you to your cousin's wedding. But then again, if she will foot the bill for the cab ride to the suburbs, I'll take it.
My cabbie was named Luis R., and I know his full name, but I think it's best to protect his identity. He was great. Even though he had no idea where La Grange, my destination, was. Whatever, we figured it out. We also started talking about marriage a lot... Luis was from Guatemala, and his wife is from Bulgaria and speaks 6 languages. They've been married three years, and he says their secret is "gentle tolerance and humility." After hearing that I didn't have a job, Luis encouraged me to become his French tutor or just a general teacher at his community college. He also told me that armed security guards are in the back of every class to protect "people like you" aka people like me. So maybe that will work out.
Other important city life information that I have recently learned FROM PERSONAL EXPERIENCE:
- Brie that comes in a can and is sold from a refrigerator in the back of your local liquor store should not be trusted.
- Baking cinnamin rolls for two hours will ruin them and increase the threat of house fire.
- Everyone wears shoes to jazz class in the city.
- EQUAL NUMBERS OF BOYS AND GIRLS PARTICIPATE IN JAZZ CLASSES IN THE CITY.
On Sunday, my theater had their gala opening for The Hundred Dresses, the play they're putting on right now. Afterward, I was put in charge of the coloring activity (after I was originally put in charge of hand games and tearfully begged to be switched because all I know is Stella-Ella-Ohla). The task? The children were supposed to create a crazy costume for a male character, Willie Bounce, or a dress for the poor immigrant girl, Wanda. Because kids are more clever than me, here is a sampling of what we got:
- A Captain Underpants Willie Bounce with a Star of David across his chest
- A Cowboy Vampire Movie Director Willie Bounce with bloody fangs
- A Massacre Dress: complete with dripping blood, bullet holes, and a girl holding a butcher knife
- The Man Dress: where a kid made a giant smiley face on the front of it -- oh WAIT, that's not a smiling mouth, that is a GIANT PENIS in the anatomically correct area
Children. On the other hand, the show has been getting excellent reviews, both from the Tribune and the Sun-Times. My boss was so happy yesterday that she busted out the champagne. Woo woo!
In job-related news, I am currently the manager of a weekend gift shop, a once-a-week babysitter, and I have strong prospects to work at an espresso bar-crepe palace run by some Eastern European men. I am looking forward to taking dance classes, writing more, and maybe getting a job or marketing/publicity internship in the future. Does that make me sound like I have goals in life? Does it sound convincing? I HOPE SO!
Sorry if I have been distant and isolating during this transitionary time in my life. This always happens during transitionary times in my life, and soon it will pass, and I will return to my normal jovial self.
LOVE, LISA!
P.S. More pictures to come soon
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Thoughts of Today
1. Comment on our blog! Or should I not say that? We are cool and secure.
2. Kevin Wilson is reading a book called "Cats in the Louvre." Lisa thinks this is the best book ever. It is a book filled with all the paintings involving cats in the Louvre.
3. Lisa thinks that Brandy should take dance lessons at Maternity Belly Dance, one of the dance studios nearest to our home.
4. We are getting cable and internet tomorrow! Even though I am currently writing this from internet in our house! But tomorrow, I'll get to start paying MY OWN MONEY in order to use the internet which will make it so much better! Stealing is wrong.
5. Brandy and I want to recapture the original spirit of this blog. Which was excited! This post seems like a fake and feeble attempt. Brandy thinks even saying that makes the blog sound negative. We aren't negative!
6. But it is cold in Chicago!
7. We had a party this weekend! We saw many of our friends! This is our neighbor Matt Thomas!
8. KATIE SABELLA
9. I went to a biker bar the other night called Handle Bar. It's a biker bar... FOR CYCLISTS! I went with Michael Clemente and Maggie Culhane and we talked about books AS USUAL.
10. Today a magazine called "YOUR LOGAN SQUARE" appeared on our doorstep! We felt welcomed to the neighborhood!
11. Sean Adams spilled tomato sauce on our floor and did not clean it up. He is no longer welcome in our home, even though he is an award-winning writer.
12. The cat eats Brandy's jade plant every day. Brandy also broke everything in her room because she did not anchor her shelves to the wall.
13. I am so clever and funny, I cannot help but laugh as I write these!
14. I transcribe things Brandy is saying in passing onto this blog! BLURGH HA!
15. We might go to the Shedd Aquarium! I AM SO STOKED! BABY BELUGA! And pirannhas. The fish of death.
16. People played Spin the Bottle at our party.
17. Today we talked to Erica on skype!
18. I refuse to bike to work when the wind is above 30mph. I am lazy.
19. The other night, we think someone may have been attacked on our street. But it might have been a dog howling. We don't get a daily paper, so we'll never really know. The apartments below and next to us are open if anyone wants to be our neighbors!
20. Sasha hung this artwork above our toilet. Everyone at our party talked about it for hours! :
Oh, and this is my favorite song right now: I'M GOING DOWN BY BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN COMPLETE WITH PHOTO MONTAGE!
2. Kevin Wilson is reading a book called "Cats in the Louvre." Lisa thinks this is the best book ever. It is a book filled with all the paintings involving cats in the Louvre.
3. Lisa thinks that Brandy should take dance lessons at Maternity Belly Dance, one of the dance studios nearest to our home.
4. We are getting cable and internet tomorrow! Even though I am currently writing this from internet in our house! But tomorrow, I'll get to start paying MY OWN MONEY in order to use the internet which will make it so much better! Stealing is wrong.
5. Brandy and I want to recapture the original spirit of this blog. Which was excited! This post seems like a fake and feeble attempt. Brandy thinks even saying that makes the blog sound negative. We aren't negative!
6. But it is cold in Chicago!
7. We had a party this weekend! We saw many of our friends! This is our neighbor Matt Thomas!
8. KATIE SABELLA
9. I went to a biker bar the other night called Handle Bar. It's a biker bar... FOR CYCLISTS! I went with Michael Clemente and Maggie Culhane and we talked about books AS USUAL.
10. Today a magazine called "YOUR LOGAN SQUARE" appeared on our doorstep! We felt welcomed to the neighborhood!
11. Sean Adams spilled tomato sauce on our floor and did not clean it up. He is no longer welcome in our home, even though he is an award-winning writer.
12. The cat eats Brandy's jade plant every day. Brandy also broke everything in her room because she did not anchor her shelves to the wall.
13. I am so clever and funny, I cannot help but laugh as I write these!
14. I transcribe things Brandy is saying in passing onto this blog! BLURGH HA!
15. We might go to the Shedd Aquarium! I AM SO STOKED! BABY BELUGA! And pirannhas. The fish of death.
16. People played Spin the Bottle at our party.
17. Today we talked to Erica on skype!
18. I refuse to bike to work when the wind is above 30mph. I am lazy.
19. The other night, we think someone may have been attacked on our street. But it might have been a dog howling. We don't get a daily paper, so we'll never really know. The apartments below and next to us are open if anyone wants to be our neighbors!
20. Sasha hung this artwork above our toilet. Everyone at our party talked about it for hours! :
Oh, and this is my favorite song right now: I'M GOING DOWN BY BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN COMPLETE WITH PHOTO MONTAGE!
PICTURES!
Here is a kind of view of our apartment! It's from the party. Notice Maggie came in from Valpo. Notice the yellow walls. Notice how many people are at our party... and then REALIZE THAT THIS WAS BEFORE MANY PEOPLE EVEN CAME! Party got mad cray-zay-YO!!!
Oprah and James Taylor! Best friends.
I (LISA) am making an O for Oprah with the city of Chicago skyline in the back. I am also sunburned, sweaty, and I smell because Oprah's handlers kept me in a giant playpen cage with 600 other people for much of the afternoon.
Brandy told me she wanted a picture of her and Oprah. Then this picture happened.
hahahhahahahahahaha
A picture from the old days, when we came to Chicago to audition for Oprah. Oh, the old days of commuting to our now-place of LIVING
Thursday, September 24, 2009
JOB-HUNTING (just as hard as quail hunting, if not harder)
I will begin this post with two statistics that have guided my week:
1. Out of about 53 metropolitan areas in the U.S., Chicago ranks around 47th in "Ability to Find a Job" aka "Chicago you are the 47th best place to be unemployed aka the 6th worst."
2. Out of 53 metropolitan areas in the U.S., Chicago ranks 3rd in "Places for Singles to Connect! <3 <3 <3!" which means "Chicago you are seeping with single people, from your buses to your pizza restaurants."
So with regards to number 1, my job search, as Brandy described yesterday, has been difficult. I began by searching for nannying jobs with this online site that seems pretty good(pretty good= anything other than Craigslist nannies). But the crazy part has been... NONE of these families are what I expect when I end up meeting them. They'll have these completely normal or completely bizarre profiles on the website and then be completely bizarre or completely normal. I have been grilled about my ability to sleep coach infants, quizzed on infant CPR, and lectured on how to discipline a child... all in my "meet and greet" sessions. Then there was the family that just left when I showed up and left me with their kids and their dog. Their child proceeded to try and milk me, all while calling me "GRANDMA." Most of the time, these situations involve me thinking "What the hell am I doing in this strange person's house, why have they left me with their child, and why did they give their child a glass bottle during his 'throwing' phase?"
But on the whole, I think I just come across as a very untrustworthy person, because the majority of my nanny meet and greets have been total busts, despite my summer nannying experience, my work with infants and pregnant woman, my years of neighborhood babysitting, my fluency in French, and my Notre Dame degree. I don't know what these people want. A 47 year old woman?
I have found a few families I really like though. The family that contacted me because "they liked that I went to Uganda" and the mom who lives down the street. These families reassure me that I don't give off child predator vibes. So that's comforting. If nannying fails, my next courses of action include possible ushering for the Joffrey Ballet (bahhh I WOULD LOVE IT), waitressing at a Dutch pancake house, or making sandwiches where Mallory works. Today, I feel better.
So we'll move onto number 2. The Chicago singles scene.
Last night, for Sasha's birthday, I reaped the fruits of the desperate singles scene. We all went out for pizza at Piece, this trendy little pizzeria/brewery in Wicker Park. I had planned to buy myself a whole pizza and then scrounge it for the rest of the week like the cheapo I am, but like the starving artist I am, Mallory and I inhaled the entire pizza at the restaurant. We also made friends with the rando guys sitting next to us... it was clearly one of those situations where the guys are hitting on you. But they offered us some of their pizza and talked about their lives, so we listened and generally humored them, at a distance. When the guy I was talking to went to the bathroom, his friend was like, "So my buddy! He's pretty cute, huh? Huh? Whaddya think? Huh?" I did what I always did in Uganda: I made up a boyfriend/husband situation and told him that I hoped their kindness was out of friendship as well as lust for me (in maybe not so many words). They seemed okay with it.
AND THEN. THE BEST THING EVER.
THEY GAVE ME ALL OF THEIR LEFTOVER PIZZA.
THIS was the best thing that could possibly happen to me for so many reasons.
a) It was barbecue chicken pizza.
b) It was free.
c) I am poor.
d) I had told them I "had a boyfriend" so I didn't have to feel guilty about mixed singles or owing them a date for giving me pizza.
e) FREE PIZZA
f) They weren't following me home so roofie pizza would have been pointless therefore I felt very safe.
SO THAT WAS GREAT. Anyway, I've got a big weekend planned. We all do. But I've got a few babysitting jobs, plus I'm running the gift shop for my theatre's show this weekend. WOOP. Oh yeah, and we're having a rager. I'm simultaneously terrified and excited. WOOP.
Keep in touch!
love, Lisa
sorry about any typos this may contain
1. Out of about 53 metropolitan areas in the U.S., Chicago ranks around 47th in "Ability to Find a Job" aka "Chicago you are the 47th best place to be unemployed aka the 6th worst."
2. Out of 53 metropolitan areas in the U.S., Chicago ranks 3rd in "Places for Singles to Connect! <3 <3 <3!" which means "Chicago you are seeping with single people, from your buses to your pizza restaurants."
So with regards to number 1, my job search, as Brandy described yesterday, has been difficult. I began by searching for nannying jobs with this online site that seems pretty good(pretty good= anything other than Craigslist nannies). But the crazy part has been... NONE of these families are what I expect when I end up meeting them. They'll have these completely normal or completely bizarre profiles on the website and then be completely bizarre or completely normal. I have been grilled about my ability to sleep coach infants, quizzed on infant CPR, and lectured on how to discipline a child... all in my "meet and greet" sessions. Then there was the family that just left when I showed up and left me with their kids and their dog. Their child proceeded to try and milk me, all while calling me "GRANDMA." Most of the time, these situations involve me thinking "What the hell am I doing in this strange person's house, why have they left me with their child, and why did they give their child a glass bottle during his 'throwing' phase?"
But on the whole, I think I just come across as a very untrustworthy person, because the majority of my nanny meet and greets have been total busts, despite my summer nannying experience, my work with infants and pregnant woman, my years of neighborhood babysitting, my fluency in French, and my Notre Dame degree. I don't know what these people want. A 47 year old woman?
I have found a few families I really like though. The family that contacted me because "they liked that I went to Uganda" and the mom who lives down the street. These families reassure me that I don't give off child predator vibes. So that's comforting. If nannying fails, my next courses of action include possible ushering for the Joffrey Ballet (bahhh I WOULD LOVE IT), waitressing at a Dutch pancake house, or making sandwiches where Mallory works. Today, I feel better.
So we'll move onto number 2. The Chicago singles scene.
Last night, for Sasha's birthday, I reaped the fruits of the desperate singles scene. We all went out for pizza at Piece, this trendy little pizzeria/brewery in Wicker Park. I had planned to buy myself a whole pizza and then scrounge it for the rest of the week like the cheapo I am, but like the starving artist I am, Mallory and I inhaled the entire pizza at the restaurant. We also made friends with the rando guys sitting next to us... it was clearly one of those situations where the guys are hitting on you. But they offered us some of their pizza and talked about their lives, so we listened and generally humored them, at a distance. When the guy I was talking to went to the bathroom, his friend was like, "So my buddy! He's pretty cute, huh? Huh? Whaddya think? Huh?" I did what I always did in Uganda: I made up a boyfriend/husband situation and told him that I hoped their kindness was out of friendship as well as lust for me (in maybe not so many words). They seemed okay with it.
AND THEN. THE BEST THING EVER.
THEY GAVE ME ALL OF THEIR LEFTOVER PIZZA.
THIS was the best thing that could possibly happen to me for so many reasons.
a) It was barbecue chicken pizza.
b) It was free.
c) I am poor.
d) I had told them I "had a boyfriend" so I didn't have to feel guilty about mixed singles or owing them a date for giving me pizza.
e) FREE PIZZA
f) They weren't following me home so roofie pizza would have been pointless therefore I felt very safe.
SO THAT WAS GREAT. Anyway, I've got a big weekend planned. We all do. But I've got a few babysitting jobs, plus I'm running the gift shop for my theatre's show this weekend. WOOP. Oh yeah, and we're having a rager. I'm simultaneously terrified and excited. WOOP.
Keep in touch!
love, Lisa
sorry about any typos this may contain
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Sasha and Bishop meet and greet, Why I need Lisa to find a job ASAP
Today is SASHA'S BIRTHDAY. If you've forgotten, Sasha is our roommate. Happy Birthday Sasha.
THIS IS SASHA.
THIS IS SASHA'S CAT BISHOP
Actually that's my friend Kevin's cat Walter, but they look exactly the same.
It's only been a week, so we don't know much about them so far. I've noticed that Bishop likes to chill in the bathtub and knock mason jars off my dresser at 5 in the morning trying to eat my spider plant, which is apparently LSD for cats. Sasha is more of a mystery. If she has equally weird hangout spots and drug habits, she's more discreet about it. But she cannot hide for long.
Hi Sasha.
In other news, I need Lisa to find a job ASAP so I can have my friend and roommate back. Never one to relax for more than 5 minutes in a row while unemployed, she's taken to interviewing for nanny positions in every second of free time she has. Hopefully this madness will end soon. Yesterday I thought she talked to me while we were at the coffee shop but it turned out she was just mumbling to herself about a cover letter she was writing. And without her around, I do things like try to convince the Logan Square library to give me a library card using Netflix as proof of address. And get paint in my hair while painting our living room because I don't notice that I'm leaning my head against the wall as I work. And shop for another house plant mostly to settle the debate about whether the shopkeeper likes boys or girls (boys), then immediately lose the houseplant. I cannot help but feel that none of these things would have happened had Lisa been there. Yesterday she went to a Starbucks Job Fair; without her around I read an entire Joan Didion book on the death of her husband, stared at the ceiling for a half hour debating whether or not the book made too frequent use of repetition, temporarily envisioned myself leading the life of a non-fiction writer, and ended up with a 500 word essay on why I don't understand death.
Someone please employ Lisa.
But good news: I have found a woodworking studio to barter with. I will be painting cabinets in exchange for classes and studio time. More on me hanging out with retired men later!
THIS IS SASHA.
THIS IS SASHA'S CAT BISHOP
Actually that's my friend Kevin's cat Walter, but they look exactly the same.
It's only been a week, so we don't know much about them so far. I've noticed that Bishop likes to chill in the bathtub and knock mason jars off my dresser at 5 in the morning trying to eat my spider plant, which is apparently LSD for cats. Sasha is more of a mystery. If she has equally weird hangout spots and drug habits, she's more discreet about it. But she cannot hide for long.
Hi Sasha.
In other news, I need Lisa to find a job ASAP so I can have my friend and roommate back. Never one to relax for more than 5 minutes in a row while unemployed, she's taken to interviewing for nanny positions in every second of free time she has. Hopefully this madness will end soon. Yesterday I thought she talked to me while we were at the coffee shop but it turned out she was just mumbling to herself about a cover letter she was writing. And without her around, I do things like try to convince the Logan Square library to give me a library card using Netflix as proof of address. And get paint in my hair while painting our living room because I don't notice that I'm leaning my head against the wall as I work. And shop for another house plant mostly to settle the debate about whether the shopkeeper likes boys or girls (boys), then immediately lose the houseplant. I cannot help but feel that none of these things would have happened had Lisa been there. Yesterday she went to a Starbucks Job Fair; without her around I read an entire Joan Didion book on the death of her husband, stared at the ceiling for a half hour debating whether or not the book made too frequent use of repetition, temporarily envisioned myself leading the life of a non-fiction writer, and ended up with a 500 word essay on why I don't understand death.
Someone please employ Lisa.
But good news: I have found a woodworking studio to barter with. I will be painting cabinets in exchange for classes and studio time. More on me hanging out with retired men later!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Sorry Cat
SPIDER PLANTS!
Today we found out that the cat has been eating what, for him, is the equivalent of LSD.
It explains a lot.
Today we found out that the cat has been eating what, for him, is the equivalent of LSD.
It explains a lot.
Friday, September 18, 2009
How Lisa Beat Brandy to the punch
In my first entry, I openly wondered how long it would take until a random homeless person hit on Brandy. Today, unless Brandy has not been open with me in the past, I succeeded in trumping that little card of hers.
Now, let me clarify: I am not above homeless people, nor do I pretend to be. I try my best not to be the person who looks the other way when they ask you questions as you walk by, and I actually have many homeless friends (I realize this makes me sound like the kind of tool who says "I love gay/black/Hispanic/short/fat/purple/alien people! I even have some of them as friends!"). But seriously. I think I do a fairly good job of not discriminating against the homeless population and even encouraging others to treat them with respect.
That being said.
Just because you're homeless, that does not mean I will let you use my computer. Or my cell phone. Or hold my purse. There are lines that must be drawn.
So today, I'm sitting in the local coffee shop circa 8:15am, planning an exciting day of applying to nannying jobs on sittercity and medical experiments on Craigslist. Some dude comes and sits next to me, but like any casually cool coffee shop patron, I continue about my business. I was actually reading this blog at this point, and the recent comment from Jon Ufer. It turns out that the man next to me was also reading this comment from Jon Ufer, because he opened conversation by saying, "So you're having a friend come to visit you?"
I did a polite laugh and closed the internet window. The man proceeded to then ask me if he could use my computer. I told him that I had a lot of work to do, ha, ha, ha (which was actually the truth, a departure from my typical lying-in-Chicago syndrome). So he decided we should talk. He started listing off all the medications he takes -- which I was fine with, because I've been looking for someone to commiserate with about the slow moving health care reform. Then he started talking about how he was a "level 5, stage 9, numbers numbers numbers." I assumed that this was some kind of Medicare classification. No. I was wrong. This actually turned out to be the level of criminal that he is. WHAT? I DON'T KNOW. I DON'T KNOW. He noted that it was a less dangerous classification than his best friend. At that point, I tried to get back to my work, so he asked to see my cell phone and complimented/reached for my purse. This was all very weird because it was not like a purse-snatching on a subway. No. It was in a coffee shop, at 8 in the morning, and I was surrounded by yuppies who were all blatantly eavesdropping and waiting to see how I was going to handle it.
In the end, I told him I was going to put my headphones in. I prefaced this move by saying, "I'm going to put my headphones in now!" Then, as I placed them in my ears, I announced, "My headphones are now in! I can't hear anything!" He kept talking, and I actually could hear him, but again, I said, "Ahh, yeah, I can't hear you, music! Music!"
As he walked away, I heard him mumble something about wanting to meet me for coffee again sometime.
And that was when I knew that I had been asked out by a homeless man before Brandy.
P.S. We finally got our hot water turned on yesterday! Thus ending my 4 day rampage against cleanliness.
Now, let me clarify: I am not above homeless people, nor do I pretend to be. I try my best not to be the person who looks the other way when they ask you questions as you walk by, and I actually have many homeless friends (I realize this makes me sound like the kind of tool who says "I love gay/black/Hispanic/short/fat/purple/alien people! I even have some of them as friends!"). But seriously. I think I do a fairly good job of not discriminating against the homeless population and even encouraging others to treat them with respect.
That being said.
Just because you're homeless, that does not mean I will let you use my computer. Or my cell phone. Or hold my purse. There are lines that must be drawn.
So today, I'm sitting in the local coffee shop circa 8:15am, planning an exciting day of applying to nannying jobs on sittercity and medical experiments on Craigslist. Some dude comes and sits next to me, but like any casually cool coffee shop patron, I continue about my business. I was actually reading this blog at this point, and the recent comment from Jon Ufer. It turns out that the man next to me was also reading this comment from Jon Ufer, because he opened conversation by saying, "So you're having a friend come to visit you?"
I did a polite laugh and closed the internet window. The man proceeded to then ask me if he could use my computer. I told him that I had a lot of work to do, ha, ha, ha (which was actually the truth, a departure from my typical lying-in-Chicago syndrome). So he decided we should talk. He started listing off all the medications he takes -- which I was fine with, because I've been looking for someone to commiserate with about the slow moving health care reform. Then he started talking about how he was a "level 5, stage 9, numbers numbers numbers." I assumed that this was some kind of Medicare classification. No. I was wrong. This actually turned out to be the level of criminal that he is. WHAT? I DON'T KNOW. I DON'T KNOW. He noted that it was a less dangerous classification than his best friend. At that point, I tried to get back to my work, so he asked to see my cell phone and complimented/reached for my purse. This was all very weird because it was not like a purse-snatching on a subway. No. It was in a coffee shop, at 8 in the morning, and I was surrounded by yuppies who were all blatantly eavesdropping and waiting to see how I was going to handle it.
In the end, I told him I was going to put my headphones in. I prefaced this move by saying, "I'm going to put my headphones in now!" Then, as I placed them in my ears, I announced, "My headphones are now in! I can't hear anything!" He kept talking, and I actually could hear him, but again, I said, "Ahh, yeah, I can't hear you, music! Music!"
As he walked away, I heard him mumble something about wanting to meet me for coffee again sometime.
And that was when I knew that I had been asked out by a homeless man before Brandy.
P.S. We finally got our hot water turned on yesterday! Thus ending my 4 day rampage against cleanliness.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
DAY #1 IN CHICAGO: Oprah, the generosity of firemen, and how to properly deactivate your friend's security system
Lisa's obsession with reading the local paper came through once again to bring us this delightful surprise: Oprah needed dancers. I know I personally try to do everything Oprah tells me to (although not as much as this woman), so when Lisa showed me an ad from the Oprah show that asked if I liked the Black Eyed Peas and like to dance, I said yes, Oprah. Yes I like both of those things.
For those of you who don’t know, this ad ended up being for Oprah’s Season 24 Kickoff Episode. She shut down Michigan Avenue and had a live show with the Black Eyed Peas, James Taylor, Jennifer Hudson, and the Rascal Flatts. Oh and… Criss Angel. As a surprise, her producers hired a choreographer to organize a mass choreographed dance to the Black Eyed Peas “I Gotta Feelin’.” Eventually the entire audience would join in, with the top dancers getting front row access and (we surmised) heightened probability of meeting Oprah. This is what we were signing up to do.
So we went in for a brief “audition,” which mostly consisted of Lisa and I repeatedly failing to grasp about 30 seconds of choreography while the girl auditioning with us not only grasped the moves, but performed them in ballet slippers... because she was a member of the Jeoffrey ballet. We tried to make up for our blunders by smiling a lot and hive fiving employees on the way out. Lesson number one: spirit points are the most important points. Needless to say, were accepted into the last groups, 5 and 6. BUT WE WERE IN.
So on Labor Day 2009, Lisa and I arrived at the Windy City Field House at 8:30 am for rehearsal, fresh faced and deeply aware of how fitting and appropriate spending our first day together in Chicago rehearsing a choreographed dance for the Oprah show would be.
Four hours later, we were kind of over it. Or at least didn’t want to keep rehearsing the same dance until 6 pm. We already had the wristbands we needed for access, and we were feeling relatively confident Oprah wouldn’t make a surprise appearance at rehearsal after all. So we decided to skip out early. I told my instructor I had to leave; Lisa for some reason told hers she had to go work at Coldstone in Wicker Park at 3pm and beat traffic to be there on time or she would lose her job. Personally I think she had tasted the sweet thrill of deceit when lying to our landlord Joe about our roommate, and now she couldn’t get enough. Web of lies, girl. The city and all its dark temptations were already pulling at her previously impeccable moral character.
But rehearsing to participate in the largest mass dance ever was not enough excitement for Lisa, so upon arriving at our friend Sandy's apartment, she immediately locked her keys in the van. Hour five of City Life, Day #1: Obstacles.
Two young men playing cornhole nearby had prime seating to see how we would handle our first encounter with a hostile world. They watched us:
...Circle the van repeatedly
…Call the police (who declined to help)
…Change out of our dance clothes in the back of the van
...Circle the van several more times
...Sit on the curb to call friends for advice because we didn’t want to consult our parents within 5 hours of arriving in the city
Luckily, on the way to the locksmith Lisa’s friend Joe Kwaczala directed us to, we passed a firehouse. Repeatedly declaring that she “trusts firemen,” Lisa suggested that we turn to them for help, so we explained our situation to them, charming them with our innocent mispronunciation of the street name “Paulina,” and asked what we should do.
“Hold on,” one of them said, and went to the back. “Yeah, Frank will drive you over and help you out.” At this point I’m thinking Frank will take us in a small fire department car, or perhaps a fire department SUV. But no. Frank points to the big red firetruck and tells us to get in and he’ll drive us over. And Frank isn’t the only one taking us. All five firefighters get in.
So we all pile in, Lisa and I trying to act casual. Sure, it’s normal that this firemen is currently ensuring that my firetruck seatbelt is properly buckled in my firetruck seat. No, Lisa isn’t wondering what will happen if there is a fire and whether or not we will have to go to. Actually, yes, Lisa is wondering, and yes, she’s asking them. And so we rode, in relative silence. Personally I know I was trying to think of things to say but all my thoughts we obscured by the single sentence I AM IN A FIRETRUCK.
Our cornhole friends then saw:
...Lisa and I roll up in a firetruck
...Lisa and I getting helped out of a firetruckby five large firemen
...The firemen hovering around the car for 20 minutes while Lisa and I cheer and occasionally give high fives
...The firemen driving away honking and blaring the siren
...Lisa and I waving goodbye and promising them a cookie delivery soon.
As if that wasn’t enough excitement for Day #1, I then proceeded to set off Sandy’s alarm system when I tried to get us into her apartment. For those of you trying to break into your friend's apartment in the future, be forewarned, you must press and HOLD the deactivation button.
After that we napped. Because the next day we would be dancing on the Oprah Winfrey show.
All in all, I think this bodes well. Lisa is testing her wiles in a new forum known as unnecessary lying, trials and tribulations have lead only to free rides in firetrucks, and there are at least two boys who must already find us mysterious.
For those of you who don’t know, this ad ended up being for Oprah’s Season 24 Kickoff Episode. She shut down Michigan Avenue and had a live show with the Black Eyed Peas, James Taylor, Jennifer Hudson, and the Rascal Flatts. Oh and… Criss Angel. As a surprise, her producers hired a choreographer to organize a mass choreographed dance to the Black Eyed Peas “I Gotta Feelin’.” Eventually the entire audience would join in, with the top dancers getting front row access and (we surmised) heightened probability of meeting Oprah. This is what we were signing up to do.
So we went in for a brief “audition,” which mostly consisted of Lisa and I repeatedly failing to grasp about 30 seconds of choreography while the girl auditioning with us not only grasped the moves, but performed them in ballet slippers... because she was a member of the Jeoffrey ballet. We tried to make up for our blunders by smiling a lot and hive fiving employees on the way out. Lesson number one: spirit points are the most important points. Needless to say, were accepted into the last groups, 5 and 6. BUT WE WERE IN.
So on Labor Day 2009, Lisa and I arrived at the Windy City Field House at 8:30 am for rehearsal, fresh faced and deeply aware of how fitting and appropriate spending our first day together in Chicago rehearsing a choreographed dance for the Oprah show would be.
Four hours later, we were kind of over it. Or at least didn’t want to keep rehearsing the same dance until 6 pm. We already had the wristbands we needed for access, and we were feeling relatively confident Oprah wouldn’t make a surprise appearance at rehearsal after all. So we decided to skip out early. I told my instructor I had to leave; Lisa for some reason told hers she had to go work at Coldstone in Wicker Park at 3pm and beat traffic to be there on time or she would lose her job. Personally I think she had tasted the sweet thrill of deceit when lying to our landlord Joe about our roommate, and now she couldn’t get enough. Web of lies, girl. The city and all its dark temptations were already pulling at her previously impeccable moral character.
But rehearsing to participate in the largest mass dance ever was not enough excitement for Lisa, so upon arriving at our friend Sandy's apartment, she immediately locked her keys in the van. Hour five of City Life, Day #1: Obstacles.
Two young men playing cornhole nearby had prime seating to see how we would handle our first encounter with a hostile world. They watched us:
...Circle the van repeatedly
…Call the police (who declined to help)
…Change out of our dance clothes in the back of the van
...Circle the van several more times
...Sit on the curb to call friends for advice because we didn’t want to consult our parents within 5 hours of arriving in the city
Luckily, on the way to the locksmith Lisa’s friend Joe Kwaczala directed us to, we passed a firehouse. Repeatedly declaring that she “trusts firemen,” Lisa suggested that we turn to them for help, so we explained our situation to them, charming them with our innocent mispronunciation of the street name “Paulina,” and asked what we should do.
“Hold on,” one of them said, and went to the back. “Yeah, Frank will drive you over and help you out.” At this point I’m thinking Frank will take us in a small fire department car, or perhaps a fire department SUV. But no. Frank points to the big red firetruck and tells us to get in and he’ll drive us over. And Frank isn’t the only one taking us. All five firefighters get in.
So we all pile in, Lisa and I trying to act casual. Sure, it’s normal that this firemen is currently ensuring that my firetruck seatbelt is properly buckled in my firetruck seat. No, Lisa isn’t wondering what will happen if there is a fire and whether or not we will have to go to. Actually, yes, Lisa is wondering, and yes, she’s asking them. And so we rode, in relative silence. Personally I know I was trying to think of things to say but all my thoughts we obscured by the single sentence I AM IN A FIRETRUCK.
Our cornhole friends then saw:
...Lisa and I roll up in a firetruck
...Lisa and I getting helped out of a firetruckby five large firemen
...The firemen hovering around the car for 20 minutes while Lisa and I cheer and occasionally give high fives
...The firemen driving away honking and blaring the siren
...Lisa and I waving goodbye and promising them a cookie delivery soon.
As if that wasn’t enough excitement for Day #1, I then proceeded to set off Sandy’s alarm system when I tried to get us into her apartment. For those of you trying to break into your friend's apartment in the future, be forewarned, you must press and HOLD the deactivation button.
After that we napped. Because the next day we would be dancing on the Oprah Winfrey show.
All in all, I think this bodes well. Lisa is testing her wiles in a new forum known as unnecessary lying, trials and tribulations have lead only to free rides in firetrucks, and there are at least two boys who must already find us mysterious.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Adventure #1: Choosing a Roommate
Brandy and I moved in over the weekend, and we're already anticipating many adventures (for example, why don't either of us have screens, and why does our apartment not have any hot water? Whatevs.) But before we move on to the present, we must confront the past. Our Chicago adventures actually began far before our physical move to Chicago. Namely, our first adventure unraveled last Thursday and Friday: thus, I present, adventure number 1: Choosing a Roommate.
In order to secure the apartment, Brandy and I invented an elusive third roommate for our landlord. Her name was Jessica, and she was a journalism major from a sleepy Indiana time who went to Notre Dame with me. Basically, because we aren't very creative, this fake person was the actual person Jessica Farmwald. We had to have some sort of filler, and it made sense to exploit Jessica's life for my own housing market safety.
But immediately after leaving our new apartment, Brandy and I preceded to freak the frick out. Walking back to the subway stop, we were completely silent. Personally, my mind was reeling off a million worst-case scenarios of how the landlord would reveal our stories as vicious lies and I would be put in a high-security women's prison. Brandy, it turned out, was admiring the sky or the moon or something. But since she is such a good friend, we tried to alleviate my intense anxiety and made a list of 50 people that could possibly be our third roommate. This list included many people we'd randomly seen at the Franklin House bar in Valparaiso, John Siegel, a costume designer that a friend of mine had never met, and Jessica Farmwald herself.
In the end, we chose the most dangerous path. Yes. We turned to Craigslist. Desperate and terrified, we wanted instant gratification -- and no one on our list could give us that. Only Craigslist can fulfill those kind of sick housing desires. And then, like a beacon of light, one ad emerged. A 20-something, young, professional female graphic designer, seeking a place near the Blue Line in Wicker Park or Logan Square with like-minded, clean, creative girls, within our price range. YOINK. THAT. SHIT. Brandy immediately called... and that is how we CHOSE SASHA!!!!!!!!!
SASHA! Who is Sasha? SHE IS OUR NEW ROOMMATE. Sasha is from Washington DC via Drexel, and she has a real job, and she has a real cat. We are telling our landlord that she is one of Jessica's oldest friends. She listens to good music, but she also brought The OC: The Complete Second Season to the new apartment. Personally, I feel good about that balance. WE THINK THAT EVERYTHING MIGHT WORK OUT. And thank God. No. Seriously. Thank the Good Lord above.
Later one of us will tell you about Adventure 2: Ring the Alarms, another adventure that happened in the city before our move. Then, we can move into the present. Wish us luck!
In order to secure the apartment, Brandy and I invented an elusive third roommate for our landlord. Her name was Jessica, and she was a journalism major from a sleepy Indiana time who went to Notre Dame with me. Basically, because we aren't very creative, this fake person was the actual person Jessica Farmwald. We had to have some sort of filler, and it made sense to exploit Jessica's life for my own housing market safety.
But immediately after leaving our new apartment, Brandy and I preceded to freak the frick out. Walking back to the subway stop, we were completely silent. Personally, my mind was reeling off a million worst-case scenarios of how the landlord would reveal our stories as vicious lies and I would be put in a high-security women's prison. Brandy, it turned out, was admiring the sky or the moon or something. But since she is such a good friend, we tried to alleviate my intense anxiety and made a list of 50 people that could possibly be our third roommate. This list included many people we'd randomly seen at the Franklin House bar in Valparaiso, John Siegel, a costume designer that a friend of mine had never met, and Jessica Farmwald herself.
In the end, we chose the most dangerous path. Yes. We turned to Craigslist. Desperate and terrified, we wanted instant gratification -- and no one on our list could give us that. Only Craigslist can fulfill those kind of sick housing desires. And then, like a beacon of light, one ad emerged. A 20-something, young, professional female graphic designer, seeking a place near the Blue Line in Wicker Park or Logan Square with like-minded, clean, creative girls, within our price range. YOINK. THAT. SHIT. Brandy immediately called... and that is how we CHOSE SASHA!!!!!!!!!
SASHA! Who is Sasha? SHE IS OUR NEW ROOMMATE. Sasha is from Washington DC via Drexel, and she has a real job, and she has a real cat. We are telling our landlord that she is one of Jessica's oldest friends. She listens to good music, but she also brought The OC: The Complete Second Season to the new apartment. Personally, I feel good about that balance. WE THINK THAT EVERYTHING MIGHT WORK OUT. And thank God. No. Seriously. Thank the Good Lord above.
Later one of us will tell you about Adventure 2: Ring the Alarms, another adventure that happened in the city before our move. Then, we can move into the present. Wish us luck!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
We're Gonna Make It After All
On Monday, August 31, 2009, Lisa started her internship at Chicago Children's Theatre in Wicker Park. At the internship, which she immediately embraced with a deep love, Lisa contemplated the perils of the two hour commute needed for a timely arrival. She also contemplated her love for the city of Chicago and her desire to live out the gritty life she'd read about in biographies of Suze Rotolo and Marriane Faithfull (minus the heroin thing). At 1pm, she texted the following message to Brandy Parker:
"I'm moving to Chicago. With or without you, though I would prefer with. Let me know."
On Wednesday, September 2, 2009, Lisa and Brandy came to the city for a concert by underground local sensation Color Radio. By 8pm, they had found their apartment and decided that the keyboardist from Color Radio should be their neighbor. By 8pm the next night, they had signed a makeshift contract on scrap paper with a landlord claiming to be the cousin of Robin Tunney, star of "The Craft" and "Empire Records" for said apartment in Logan Square. Suddenly the world was spinning faster and faster!
Without jobs, without money, and without a third roommate to fill the room without a closet -- Brandy and Lisa decided to ignore the naysayers and embrace the dream of living in the city, ,and now, that future is here. Will they find jobs? Will they be able to make those elusive ends meet? Will their apartment have strange cockroach or smell problems that somehow explain the cheap rent? How often will they frequent the IHop and Popeye's chains that are one block away? Can they fit more than one single mattress into their miniscule rooms? How many times will Lisa accidentally stumble into Cabrine Green? How many times will Brandy's generous spirit be mistaken for love interest by creepy people riding the subway in the afternoon? How long can they survive on black beans and rice, and do they need a Brita filter?
Ultimately, will they fail? Will the city take them in? Or will the city spit them out?
Or... will they make it?
(INSPIRATION)
This blog vows to follow the adventures of Brandy and Lisa... AND THE CITY LIFE!
"I'm moving to Chicago. With or without you, though I would prefer with. Let me know."
On Wednesday, September 2, 2009, Lisa and Brandy came to the city for a concert by underground local sensation Color Radio. By 8pm, they had found their apartment and decided that the keyboardist from Color Radio should be their neighbor. By 8pm the next night, they had signed a makeshift contract on scrap paper with a landlord claiming to be the cousin of Robin Tunney, star of "The Craft" and "Empire Records" for said apartment in Logan Square. Suddenly the world was spinning faster and faster!
Without jobs, without money, and without a third roommate to fill the room without a closet -- Brandy and Lisa decided to ignore the naysayers and embrace the dream of living in the city, ,and now, that future is here. Will they find jobs? Will they be able to make those elusive ends meet? Will their apartment have strange cockroach or smell problems that somehow explain the cheap rent? How often will they frequent the IHop and Popeye's chains that are one block away? Can they fit more than one single mattress into their miniscule rooms? How many times will Lisa accidentally stumble into Cabrine Green? How many times will Brandy's generous spirit be mistaken for love interest by creepy people riding the subway in the afternoon? How long can they survive on black beans and rice, and do they need a Brita filter?
Ultimately, will they fail? Will the city take them in? Or will the city spit them out?
Or... will they make it?
(INSPIRATION)
This blog vows to follow the adventures of Brandy and Lisa... AND THE CITY LIFE!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)