Lost, Confused, and Shunned

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CROSSING THE PARADE ROUTE.

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

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

You see, all of these stories have happy endings.

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

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

MIAMI

Recently, my father gave me a gift: the gift of a 2 for 1 Delta Skymiles voucher. With any gift comes great responsibility, but luckily, Brandy and I are two ladies who know how to look good and act bad (that has nothing to do with anything, it's just a quote from the blockbuster Vivica A. Fox smash 'Two Can Play That Game'), and we quickly set out some guidelines to shape our dream vacation.

First of all, we decided to travel on my birthday. This would make people assume that this was a "birthday trip" which allows them to buy us drinks, celebrate us, and excuse our selfish and/or indulgent behaviors. Second of all, we decided to travel someplace neither of us had been before. This ruled out most of the continental US, except for Las Vegas and Miami. We chose Miami, because Las Vegas is gross. Third of all, we decided to buy ourselves special outfits for the trip with the plane ticket money we were saving.

All of these points became important.

FOR EXAMPLE: because we chose to travel the day after my birthday, I chose to throw a rager on the night of my birthday. Because I spent my 21st birthday at the European Parliament instead of throwing up in a classy South Bend bathroom! Because being hungover on a plane is crazy! And because I wanted my birthday weekend to start of right! Well it did start off right, and I enjoyed the company of my friends, but then it went quickly downhill, i.e. walking to the O'Hare Blue Line at 5am, wearing a rainbow dress alongside Brandy in a giant hat which was her only carry-on, which meant we were cute, but didn't change the fact that I wanted to vom.

First impressions of Miami: palm trees. very hot. inefficient information on public transit available at the airport. Two out of those three piss me off.

While riding the bus to our hostel (YES WE STAYED IN A HOSTEL THEY AREN'T JUST FOR EUROPE ANYMORE BUT MORE ON THAT LATER!), the bus stopped to let a shirtless man on. Now, my first reaction to this was, "WHAT?! What about 'no shirt no shoes no service?!' Miami is CRAZY yo!" But then the bus driver said, "Sir, you have no shirt, I can't let you on the bus." So what does this guy do? Of course, with his waxed chest, huge muscles, and at least 18 years, he starts crying. Crying and calling out, "Does anyone have a shirt? Please! Please! Does anyone have a shirt?" And tears are streaming down his face. And it is a strange moment on the bus, personally, I don't know if he's a panhandler out to steal clothes and resell them or what, but from the back of the bus, a white tank top gets thrown at him, so he gets on.

He sits across from us and starts to calm down, so this other guy reaches out, man to man, bro to bro to comfort him. He asks crying naked man what's wrong, and c.n.m says, "My grandmom... she's dead. And my girlfriend... she left me! No like, she just left me on the side of the road. She drove away. When I needed her! She took my shirt!" And the other guy nods with empathy and goes, "Man, I know, I was all set to marry this girl I met on facebook, and I even went and visited her in England, and then she dumped me! But then I found another girl on facebook and I'm moving to Scotland to be with her! Things work out!" During this whole conversation, an elderly Latina is vigorously praying in Spanish over the crying naked man. Wait, no, there was a little bit of English. The English part was "JESUS LOVES YOU HE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU JESUS."

So this was our first impression of Miami.

We had other incidents like...
- seeing the cast of Jersey Shore on the beach (Jersey Shore, now filming at Miami Beach, yeah, we know, it seems paradoxical, but IT WAS REAL)
- accidentally getting drunk because when you order one drink in Miami, they bring you a FISHBOWL. And then they tell you it's buy one get one free day, so they give you another one. And if you're leaving, they put the alcohol in a CUP for you so that you can carry it all around town.
- spinning around outdoor dance floors with Latin men
- befriending club bouncers and getting "insiderz tipz"


But probably the most intense part of our trip involved our HOSTEL. I had been excited about the hostel. I remembered my Euro-treks, exploring exotic cities by day, forming international friendships, and dancing until dawn. I expected these things from the hostel advertised as "THE BEST HOSTEL IN NORTH AMERICA," plus it came with free breakfast, free lunch, free dinner, free club outings, free beach towels, free ping pong, and many other free things. What I did not expect was a zombie cult-land hostel with a bleached blonde 35 year old puppetmaster commanding me to go out clubbing as he rollerbladed around the rec room. What I did not expect was a front desk attendant who, when I asked her how to get to Little Havana, said, "I've never been there?" and then pulled out a map of Miami and circled the words LITTLE HAVANA and gave it to me. I did not expect that when crackers and a tub of peanut butter were placed before me, this was to be my breakfast. I did not expect to meet a French sailor either, but these things happened! Also, there were fat disabled cockroaches crawling around the floor, but they didn't hurt anyone, just added to the ambiance.

But yeah, we did go out in Miami with our hostel, despite the hostel manager's weird peer pressure. Brandy wore sky high white heels that made people holler things like, "You're in Miami, your dress shouldn't cover your butt all the way!" and "Hey, Cheesecake." I wore a gold sequined dress that prompted Russian tourists to take pictures of me in the street and snarky gay men to cry, "What threw up all over her?" We started parties, we got our free drinks, we left parties early to catch our 4am flight.

So yes, Brandy and Lisa DID MIAMI. We saw her treasures and Lisa was, on one occasion, poisoned by her food. In the end, I think we both decided that we are Midwestern girls. I know this is not how most people thought the story would end. I know many people thought the story might involve a little more Gloria Estefan and a little less heatstroke, but that is not what happened. This was the story of Miami. Never forget.

Also, I just want to say that much has changed since my older entries, i.e. I am now obsessed with the babies I nanny for. And when I say obsessed, I mean I have started calling them "my babies."

Love and Politics

So I spent a great deal of the past month wrestling my health issues -- my tongue problem was diagnosed as "geographic tongue"... GOOGLE IT. Or let me condense what wikipedia told me about it:
"Its cause is uncertain... Its prevalence also varies by nationality (0.6% of Americans, 4% of young Iraqis, 2% of young Finns) and gender (females affected 3 times more than males).... More often found in non-smokers."

WHAT? I have the only malady in history exacerbated by not smoking? And am I a young Iraqi? I DON'T KNOW OR UNDERSTAND MY DISEASE.

Anyway, I was also pretty sure I had a mild form of mono for a few weeks, but with sunshine and cutting down my social life, that went away. Woo! Which was perfect because it ushered in a new era of my life. At first I hesitated to write about this new era in case my life took an exciting turn and I FELL IN LOVE. As this has not happened, and I have avoided facebook/technological contact with the at-one-time-possible-lover, I now feel okay about documenting this milestone in my life. Yes. I am a city girl, and now, at age 22, I have finally been on my first real-life city girl date.

Now, a city date is different from any other type of date. Any other type of date involves someone three degrees of separation or less from you. A city date is random and crazy! It is with a stranger! I hate strangers! At least I have for 22 years. Until I decided to open up my heart and finally let a city date happen.

It all started at 3:30am at the local nasty 80s dance bar: The Hangge Uppe. Yes. That is where I saw him. We will call him Diego just to be fair. Diego was not a drunken dirty buffoon like most patrons. No. Diego was not drunk and I talked to him about his homeland Argentina. Diego was a PhD student at the University of Chicago. THIS COULD BE LOVE! So when Diego asked me what I was doing and I told him I was a nanny and he asked me if I babysat 26 year olds, I decided to ignore the inherent creepiness of his words and chalk it up to cultural differences. So we agreed to go on a date!

Unfortunately, over the subsequent weeks, Diego repeatedly texted me asking if I could "babysit." This really grossed me out. Then another bad thing happened: I read Emma. Anyone who has read Emma or seen Emma or watched Clueless or knows anything about Jane Austen knows that these things are never good for male suitors. No one can be Paul Rudd. Sorry. But I decided to let the date happen. City date! My first city date!

Yeah, first mistake, by me: I ordered a hamburger. They brought me the biggest hamburger I have ever seen! I COULD NOT FIT IT IN MY MOUTH. I just... COULDN'T. There was just... NO POSSIBLE WAY. I tried to tear pieces off, but things like lettuce and tomatoes kept sliding off the bun as I ripped and landing in my lap. After about 30 minutes, I just let them take it away.

Second mistake: I asked Diego to tell me about his thesis. Since I've been kind of into nanny labor laws lately, and I like third world countries and stuff, I thought I might be able to handle his eco-babble. I was wrong. 15 minutes of my life, gone.

Third mistake: I dumped my drink on myself.

Fourth mistake: I told a Latin man that I was "into" feminist studies during the first 10 minutes of our date. He laughed and said women just like men with money. I tried to eloquently explain otherwise but he wouldn't take it. So to prove the idiocy of his point, I said, "Well, if you're going to say that, then you can say that men choose women based only on attractiveness." He said, "Yeah. So? That's important. I wouldn't buy an ugly car."

Fifth mistake: No, just look at the fourth mistake again.

Sixth mistake: Then he told me about some time when he found some guy's credit card at a bar and went on a shopping spree. Because everyone loves an identity thief!

Seventh mistake: Due to the utter uneventfulness of my FIRST CITY DATE, when I saw some ND kids headed to the airport on the El, I was unnecessarily harsh with them. With excitement and dreamy tones in their voices, they asked if I was working in the city. I snapped, "YOUR DEGREE IS NOT RECESSION PROOF!" I blame Diego for this.

So is this what being a city girl is?! Is this what city life dating is?! I don't want it! I don't care! Carrie Bradshaw lied! This was a dumb, dumb experience. Though I do like life experiences, so I guess I am richer from it.

I also went to an art show the other day and some old women asked if Brandy was my girlfriend. I guess I would choose her over Diego.

Anyway, I've been pretty happy lately. It's been nice outside, so I've been taking my children to the park a lot. Random homeless men always compliment me on the babies and tell me how alike we look. They aren't my babies, but whatever. Last week, Cooper and I were shown in a CBS News clip about deadly flea medication for dogs. Someone was at the park and taped us petting a dog. Like "Awww, let's get stock footage of a baby and a dog and THEN WHAM! Talk about how all of the dogs are going to die!" Still, I'm famous. Going to the park can be lonely though... because of the nanny politics. I'm... going to write about that in a different entry very shortly. It deserves its own entry. UNTIL THEN!

Becoming a life gangsta

Many people have lately told me that our blog has "fallen off the face of the Earth." These people are wrong and stupid, because anyone who thinks that Earth "has a face" has never seen a satellite image. Welcome to 2010! But yes, I will admit that the writing has been sparse, perhaps because the life has been plentiful? Or maybe the writing has been sparse, because I hate computers.

I realized, with the help of my dear friend Catie Peters, that my recent career choice may be rooted in a repulsion toward technology. Nanny is one of the few remaining jobs that allows me to avoid a computer at all costs! Except it would be much easier if the baby was a robot. Except, OH WAIT --

So I have figured out how to defuse the child. The screaming, crazy, whiny, needy, attention hungry, and literally hungry child. The answer... is fans. I'm not even kidding you. KID IS OBSESSED, in a weird way. In the beginning, it was a cute way. Like, I'd be walking through the living room and the kid would look up at the ceiling, see the fan, and kind of reach toward it and smile. Cute. "Maybe he'll be a scientist!" cried his family. Yeah it's been two months now. Kid is still psychotic over the fan and more. But it's become my favorite weapon. It doesn't matter why the baby is crying -- one day he like ate shampoo, pinched his fingers in a cabinet, and had the flu -- all I have to do is say, "FAN. LOOK AT THE FAN." and he shuts up SO FAST and stares at the ceiling with deferential wonder. I hope you are getting the latent creepiness of his stare.

Anyway, my ability to mind-control the baby has me thinking that I'm on my way to being a life gangsta. What are the other qualities of a life gangsta? Let's see...

- having a shitty shitty car. Yeah, my car died. I wouldn't have fixed it, but it's illegal to leave a car on the side of the road, so I had to shell out mad cash for some mechanic to make it run worse than it did before. Every time I start the car, it gets the shakes like some sort of drug addict for about 10 minutes and then dies 1-2 times as I attempt to pull onto the road. It also smells of noxious gas every time I drive, but that's gangsta, right?

- COWBOY BOOTS. I bought some cowboy boots. I found a fantastic thrift store around the corner, stocked all up on great finds.... only to find out they had no dressing room and no mirrors and no return policy. Consequently, I ended up buying a pair of pants that turned out to be little girls' size 14 and a pair of size 10 cowboy boots for 3 dolla. If I could wear the jeans, I would - LIKE A GANGSTA. And I do wear the boots, despite them giving me jolly green giant feet. GANGSTA.

- Oh yeah, I got aggressive at a bar. I mean, I didn't full on get thrown out like Brandy, but I did rile up some townies. NOTE: This exchange happened at my favorite bar in the world, The Linebacker Lounge, in South Bend.

(Lisa, trying to maneuver through the sardines in a can bar, sloshes a bit of drink on an irritable townie)
Lisa: Oh! Sorry!
I.T.: (rolling her eyes) WHAT THE FUCK?
Lisa: Um, excuse me?
I.T.: I said, WHAT. THe. FUCK!
Lisa: Are you kidding me? You're at The Backer. Are you seriously pissed off at me for getting a little bit of this on you? If you want to stay dry, don't come here.
I.T.: FUCK YOU!
Irritable Townie's friend: What the hell bitch!
Irritable Townie's friend #2: Don't fucking talk to her like that bitch!
Lisa: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO DUMP THIS WHOLE DRINK ON YOU BITCH?!
I.T.F1: Fuck you!
ITF2: Yeah you better run little girl, there are five of us and only two of you!
Lisa: (as Teresa pushes her away) What the hell! What the hell!

These things happen, sometimes.

- Other gangsta things I've done include smoking candy cigarettes on the roof of my apartment, being so tired every weekend that I pretty much never go out, having weird welts on my tongue (I only write about that because I know it is not an STD and I am insanely curious about what is wrong with me and perhaps someone has some knowledge about this vexing issue in my life but I also realize there is a stigma associated with the problem and people probably assume I have an STD), and acting as a standardized patient at the English language center where I tutor (the doctor I work with is a radiologist and told me my tongue welts are probably from not eating meat. I do not agree. Except ... bahhahah nevermind, I'm not gonna go there).

Currently, I'm sitting on the bed, hanging out with our weird cat, being sick, as usual, because it's gangsta to have infectious diseases from infants. But I've been thinking about my future and I still want to maybe do the Peace Corps or teach English somewhere next year. If anyone can recommend a good program, holla back.

WORD. Yeah but it does feel pretty good to have a weekly schedule. Love it.

Oh and Brandy went to Japan and Germany, but those are her stories to tell. GANGSTAAAAA

Nanny of the Year

Let me begin by saying that the past week has destroyed my body. It's funny -- new mothers often say this about babies. But they are usually referring to stretch marks, distorted vaginas, swollen ankles, and the loss of their beloved "six-packs" (though they should have lost those during the pregnancy if you know what I mean -- oh! alcohol/body-part wordplay!). Yeah but I never gave birth. AND YET. These children are destroying me.

It all started on Monday when I was holding one of my babies and I fell down the stairs. Yes. I fell down a flight of stairs while holding a small, vulnerable child. I was wearing very warm, very slippery socks. Life happens! But it was fine, I protected the baby from danger by ensuring that I took all of the shock, bruising, and scraping from the fall. The next day, I couldn't walk on my ankle and to this day, it still hurts to put pressure on my tailbone, aka do anything whatsoever, including sleeping and sitting. The baby was physically fine. But apparently, being hurtled through the air in my arms psychologically damaged him, and he has hated me all week.

Then again, he did have more trauma later in the week. On this point, I blame the dog. I have to do this interesting thing where I push the stroller through the ice and walk the dog at the same time. It's usually all gravy, but sometimes OTHER DOGS ATTACK. And on Wednesday, that happened. And the stroller totally got badass on two wheels. Everything fell out of the stroller. Except the baby. So while I endangered the baby AGAIN, I also saved him. AGAIN. By using the safety harness.

On Tuesday, I was babysitting a different baby, but trying to use my bum ankle. Consequently, when I picked her up to put her in her crib, again, I fell, into a giant fan and a window and then the ground. Again, I destroyed my legs and elbows but protected the baby physically from harm. On the other hand, she screamed bloody murder all night. I think she was having falling dreams.

Today, I was babysitting baby number 3, and guess who calls but GRANDMA! This grandmother and I have a complex relationship. She is the only other babysitter in the baby's life at this time, so I think she has some issues with me. I mean, she likes me because I give her nights off, but I also sense a secret competition. Lately though, the grandma has been cornering me, looking at me with a potent stare, and saying things like, "You're a good babysitter." Today, she called just to chat with me (?!) and ended the conversation by saying, "Thank you for babysitting.... my grandchild." Ominous? Or thankful? We'll say thankful and put it in my nomination for nanny of the year. BOOM.

Other things that have happened lately:
- Brandy is in Japan. I am often lonely and bored.
- Mallory and I befriended a band of middle-aged musicians. They played a cover of "Laughter in the Rain,"which apparently, is Mallory's favorite song. The best thing about friendship is learning something new about your friend every day!
- I went to go see the film Up in the Air by myself. By the time the movie ended, I realized that the message of the movie was "Don't go see movies by yourself."
- I started taking a weekly dance class in hopes of exploring my joy for dance and becoming physically fit. At the first class, the teacher announced that this dance method is "about resisting the urge to use your core muscles and retreat to the body movements we had as babies, without muscles." So I feel like I might not be building muscle in this class.
- I may or may not have been hit on by a lesbian in a bar. Some girl came up to me and asked if I was "weaseling or wormholing." Then she asked if I was going to leave the bar. All I was doing was standing next to Matt Thomas, drinking a beer. And forgive me, but do the words 'weaseling' and 'wormholing' not sound kind of sexual? And why did she ask me to leave with her? Do I give off lesbian vibes? Maybe she just works at a zoo or something though.

Resolved

Happy New Year! 2009 is over! I am so happy. On New Year's Eve afternoon, I was driving Brandy to Target and I hit a dog. I feel this incident was very illustrative of 2009 as a whole. I was just driving, driving down the street, listening to my new "2009: Killer Tunes!" cd that my father made for me with his bare hands (yes it includes Kelly Clarkson AND Phoenix?! AND Jay-Z AND... U2?... YES IT DOES). Yeah, I was just jamming, driving down the road, being safe. Much like I was living my life for this whole year. And then WHAM, a fricking DOG BOUNDS out of nowhere, from between parked cars, jumping all over the road like Balto on crack. And I made some sort of crazed squealing scream sound and slammed on my brakes and basically stopped, but the dog still jumped onto my bumper. So much like 2009, adversity came out of nowhere, but I still reacted so well and knew what to do! But there was still destructive contact! Still! 2009!!!!

Yeah but then the dog just bounded away. He was fine. I just sat in my car and kept making that sound, and for some reason there were a million people on the sidewalks of this suburban street, and they all just stared at me. Like I was the weird one! Like the fricking dog wasn't the weird one here! What kind of dog just runs into a car out of nowhere?! What was this dog, the fricking lead character from Marley and Me? Yeah, NO. I was not the guilty party. And the dog was alive. So why the judgment?! Why? So even the dog survived 2009 and I survived 2009, there was still this overbearing sense of doom and judgment from everyone around me. 2009! DUMB! So then I went to Target. YEAH I DID. I WENT to TARGET. Just like I drove into 2010, alive, with the dog, thirsty for MORE.

Here are my resolutions:

1. Not hit any more dogs, like I did on New Year's Eve at 1:30pm on my way to Target.
2. Develop a more grown up taste in food, as my appetite has been slowing sliding toward that of an infant. FOR EXAMPLE, I don't know how to use spices, and I usually like eating things like plain bread and raw vegetables and CHEESE. I have acquired an addiction to soy milk hot chocolate and I have been drinking it every day. To me, this is the equivalent of a baby being addicted to formula. I am a big baby.
3. Embrace the art of dance.
4. Speak Spanish.
5. Stay hip on music, like the cool kids.
6. Not get swine flu, like Brandy (sorry girl)
7. Invest in cowboy boots
8. Not tear any more of my pants dancing to the bridge of Bad Romance at
9. Be alive more
10. Make more music videos in the living room
11. Not destroy people's souls
12. Have long hair
13. Stop stealing things just for the thrill of it like Winona
14. Learn how to read again
15. Resolve for more resolutions because HA Genie you can't outsmart me

Resolutions of people I know:
1. "get insurance"
2. "buy a car"
3. "stop getting diseases"
4. "find a wood working studio that I can go to without the owner ringing our doorbell at all hours and verbally assaulting my protective roommates"


Good ideas all around! Happy New Year! This list may be annotated at any time in the next 11.9707598167 months

Courtney came to visit