Like A Fine Wine

Before we get into all the year-end items...
Completely unrelated to Alec Baldwin's new film about aging with grace or complications or whatever the hell, I peed on my skinny jeans last week. At the home of my future Grandma-in-law. Why are these toilet seat supplemental tops so complicated? There is a layer of leak potential between the toilet topper and the toilet proper! Come on! I doubt that age brings more peeing skill. More pants to wet. Hello, Future! Can't wait to meet you.
I've created a chart showing the Accuracy of Urination over Time.

I'd do some kind of best-of-the-decade thing, but I can barely remember whether I added cheese to the sloppy joes I had at lunch. And now, per nobody's request, a visual wrap-up of 2009.

2009, Overall Grade: A-
The minus for the shitty layoff and the months of lame-ducking. The A for everything else.

Nothing Cashmere. Obviously.

Gah.
Went to Chicago for work.
Went to Germany for work.
Went to Castaway for Jesus.
Miss all of your faces. Really. Seriously.
All you need to know is that I've spent most of my savings in cardigan sweaters and skinny patent belts. GODDAMN THE J. CREW CATALOGS AND THEIR RELENTLESS APPEAL. (Except for those socks. What. The. Hell.)
The pups is sleeping behind me on the chair, snorting every hour or so. I googled "sleep apnea chihuahua" and got this guy:



So the snoring is probably nothing because my dog has black fur.

Time for a Victory Lap

I got a haircut. It was a mistake. In a month that is soggy and hot, I have forgotten to heed my two most basic life tenets: Keep your expectations low and (2) Keep your ends split and your hair stringy.
Rather than make a complaint at the salon (AWKWARD! HELLO! HER FRIGGING NAME WAS JAMES. SHE WAS ADORABLE AND I DON'T WANT HER TO HATE ME!) I came home and made a complaint at the Customer Service Desk of Trusted Friends: "My head looks like a penis."

Here's my basic outline for problem solving:
If you meet resistance,
1. Make a non-verbal sound of defeat.
2. Back away.
2.5. Give up.
3. Yell a little.
4. Cry a little.
5. Take a nap.

These pictures were taken shortly before my progression through steps 1, 2.5, and 5. AND THIS IS A SHOWER DAY. There is no excuse.





Non-sequitur dog photo:

What is...?

Today is the 10th Anniversary of the First Date I ever went on with Matt.
Today is also the day that Matt asked me to marry him.

I was certain I was getting a bike; he was certain that I was certain I was getting a bike.
So he walked me to the front window with my hands over my eyes and told me to open. I looked out and said "I can't see it...Where is it?"
He said, "Turn around."
And that's when he said, "Marry me."
"Really?"

The rest of the dialogue is non-essential. Just trust me when I say that I am most happy because it changes nothing about the way I feel for this man. He is good. We are good.

Now it's time for Jeopardy, which is also good. Please excuse me.

And Absorbent Hotel Towels

I am so far from being organized enough to read my New Yorker. I am pretending the subscription is for my neighbors. WHO PUT THIS IN MY MAILBOX?

I need an assistant.

I Craigslisted my damned mattress/boxspring combo package and the idiot who stopped by to buy it didn't bring transportation. So that was awesome.
It's in my room, if anybody wants it.
Also, I'm moving in with Matt.
Also, I just got back from New York.

Sun Country Airlines was a total letdown, except for the fact that we got to NYC and home again. So, in the most basic sense, the plane did its job. In the least basic sense: don't ever book a ticket with them if you have somewhere you need to be. They have no pull in the overall scheme of airport politics.

I was so distressed by our air travel that on Friday night, I got into a bar fight. The bar fight was with an old mustachioed man who grabbed at my arm on the way out. There were words and windmilling arms to contend with, but he would have hit me if he had had the opportunity. Thank goodness I had friends with their own windmilling arms and words. I have a bruise and a little cut from his fingernail. Does anybody sell an at-home hepatitis test?

Evidence taken moments ago:





We went back to the hotel where I sleep-peed in the closet during the wee hours. WEE HOURS. Get it?! The realization occurred with these three things:

1. Courtney peeks around the corner to ask if everything is ok. (It was not.)
2. I put my hand left to find the toilet paper roll. (There was none. It was a closet.)
3. My feet are wet. (Because I peed between the slats of the luggage rack.)

I am extra thankful it was a tile floor.
Don't worry, Matty. Your closet isn't carpeted.

Wearing Name Badges in the Historic Third Ward

I loved my trip to Milwaukee.  It's so rare to find a group of grown-ups so committed to play* that for the first three days, nobody even admits to having a day job.  Had a chance to work on my extemporaneous rap skillz and learn about how to not die while auditioning at The Second City. (Bring a friend who will carry your defibrillator.) 

Got a lot of $2 Coors Lights bought for me by a few dudes, all so desperate for a piece of Tourney Tail that they used their best material.

Hm. Where have I been all your life? Um, checking the temperature in hell.  To see if it froze over.  Because then I'd go out with you.  Get it?  ZING AGAIN.

Except that really I just turned around and said awkwardly, Woah. I think you maybe have the wrong impression.  RITA!  Come to the bathroom with me.

This is the stage at ComedySportz Milwaukee where we did some cleaving and some winning and some representing of the ComedySportz Twin Cities.   

 

For the most part, we just had a lot of beer.  

We're all drunk in this picture, which I stole from Nate's Twitter at 2:38 pm.  With a full battery and all bars.  

Bars.

Ha.

Zzzzzzzzzzzz.

*outside the Hedonism circles.  Though I suppose Comedy is its own kind of pleasure cruise. Zing.

Cilantro is Satan's Basil

Last night as I hoisted my arms up over my head to the beat of "ME GUSTA ZUMBA," I thought about how I had neglected this blog for a month.  

Things just add up and then all of a sudden you're blogging about the trip you took to Guatemala, and the trip Guatemala took to your intestines.  

Guat was amazing.  Really confirmed for me that I need to learn Castellano legitimately.  My next step is investment in the Rosetta Stone program (Is there anybody cheaper out there? Rosotto Rock?  Rizzo Pebble?).  Basically I need to be prepared to explain in Spanish the explosive diarrhea that has killed the rest of my traveling companions, without using my current standby "It is possible that my stomach is bad." 

Incidentally, I'm entering July insured.  With my layoff effective June 30, I was considering paying $400 and my firstborn for a month of COBRA.  (Quick shout out to my home girl Joan at Blue Cross for getting me approved before I head out to Milwaukee with some limb-flailing improvisers next week.)   Hit me with your bike!  Pelt me with your avocado pits!  I'll explain it to the medical professionals in English and pay a reasonable amount of money to get myself repaired!  

She Will Be The Baronness

A sweetfaced woman told me yesterday that she and her friends are going to have a Sound of Music theme party this weekend on a treehouse patio.  If I had been invited, I would have gone as the bowing woman from the music festival.  Not saying a word, just dipping at the waist throughout the entire party.

I'm sick.  I'm saving my voice for elated screams at the end of the school year.

Today must be Inspiring Suggestion Tuesday, since everything in my Google Reader is all kissyface and smooshylovehugs, I thought I should pass some of them along.  My inspiring suggestions would be more along the lines of "frown at strangers for no particular reason" or "instead of donating clothes you no longer wear to charity, cut them up, pile them on top of your bed and roll around in all the wasted opportunity."  

They're Really Just Cotton Boy Shorts

When I wore black underoos, it wasn't because I wanted a compliment from the buzzed lady who accidentally walked into my bathroom stall.

We'll call that a fringe benefit.

More Rewarding than a Bag of Sunchips

It's Cinco de Mayo.

I should already be drunk, but instead I'm dressed like I'm drunk.  I figure it will go a lot further, without inhibiting my ability to drive when I get sent home from work.  

Lunch Fail and Not a Basket of Bread to Show for It

I showed up a month early for lunch with Maria. Which really, by itself, is fine. It was probably the two voicemails and frantic G-chatting her son asking about her whereabouts and safety that took it too far.

Hard to know for sure.

Why are May and April even separate?  I blame Daylight Savings.

Say E-WOW

Our hosts: (Brenton Paul in a silk kimono, naturally.)

This weekend we kicked it like Christian rock stars. 

Brent and Maggie won a suite at the downtown W hotel.  

They put lines of salt on a mirrored table, which we all pretended to snort for photos we then pinky swore not to post on our various internet pages.  Aged cheddar!  Chocolate chunk cookies!  For my part, I danced so hard my back hurt for 36 hours.

Worry not, Gentle Reader: I was able to soothe it with some water aerobics. 

To the Victors Went the Mich Golden Light

Today as I sat in one of those dreaded Monday meetings, I finally raised my point: this sucks so bad.  I am frustrated.  I have no answers for myself and no answers for my students to the question of who will do this job when I leave.

The response I got: Try sitting in my chair for the last two months.

The person who made my job disappear just one-upped me.

This weekend was great.  Even the rain was wonderful.  I logged many hours circling the lake, including a few miles tangled in the leash of a six pound puppy.  Saved some old books from certain death at the hands of my spring cleaning parents.  If any of you want to borrow my college Psychopharmacology book, please let me know.  Opioid antagonists are making the news!  Drugs are relevant. 

Speaking of which, Friday night Drew and Peter, my new Facebook friends (Gross.  I swore I wouldn't.  It's horrifying and addictive and stop it, no, I can't) brought out the the table saws and a plywood board for some friendly beer pong competition.  No record of the night survives, save my memories of incredible defeats Drew and I waged on our hapless victims.  

Music Linkabouts

Matt and I saw Chicago native/violin plucker/whistling virtuoso/musical loopmaker Andrew Bird at the State Theater on Saturday night.  My most pleasant concert experience to date.  

(Why were you dating concerts?)  

(Shut up.)

Every member of his band can play at least two instruments: bass and saxophone, drums and piano, kazoo and tin pan (I'm just saying I could be brought on tour and really add something to the mix.  If they need me.).  As for myself, I sat in the back feeling pretty accomplished about the deal I got on this shirt at Target: $7.98, suckas.  (Also, bring your own undershirt.  Target does not advocate nipple-bearing.)

To round out the First Annual Spring Concert Series of the Weekend and Monday of April 11-13, some of my funtimes girls and I saw Alexi Murdoch at the Varsity Theater last night.  He was so reserved.  Toward the end of the show he made actual sentences.  Behind him they projected a haunting series of home-movie-style clips to accompany the last few tunes.   I wanted to sneak up to the front and whisper to him, but I didn't.  Alexi, I can't hate on the music; you know I love your jams.  But please talk to us.  We are here to see you and soak up your UK lilt.  We can get everything else on the cd.  Also, can I run my fingers through your hair, since I'm standing right here and all?  

The Friendly Skies

Argentina was lovely, but the plane riding was not.  As expected.  

Forgot the first rule of international air travel for economy class: always ask for the pasta.  The chicken it is made of shredded clothespins in spiced gravy.  

Hell to pay.

A few more items before I tuck Argentina in and watch some 30 Rock on Hulu.

• Fact: The beef is cheap and tender.  Their empanadas are dusted with sugar.  Their coffee is worth drinking.  Argentina's food is more addictive than crack cocaine.   
  
• Fact everybody in the city will give you directions to somewhere: I have 100 maps in my purse.  Argentina does not like trees.
  
• Fact: Plane paranoia can be medicated, but if the plane goes down and you've just taken a Lorazepam and you're drooling, nobody is going to let you be the first one down the emergency exit slide. Argentina has no opinion on this matter.  You will already be out of their airspace.

Take a left on Honduras

Full day yesterday: saw an opera AND a homeless dude pooping in a trashcan. Photos of neither event can be found here.
We saw La Traviata from a side balcony, dodging the heads of the people with better views. I did, however, have a clear shot of the Spanish supertitles. Helpful. I successfully interpreted the color progression of her costumes (red to pink to white) and drew on my modern drama class to explain the "courtesan redeems herself in real love but still must die" paradigm.
Today we went to Recoleta Cemetary to find the family plot of Eva Duarte Peron. (It was a quietish day around the mausoleums (dead pun) because the entire city's worth of people was down in the Centro paying respect to former president Alfonsin. (Now the dead pun seems too soon, doesn't it?)) The buildings are impressive, but still creepy like that Ashley Judd movie, Double Jeopardy, where they're chasing each other through the New Orleans cemetary. Hello, cemetaries are scary enough without guns.
Respectfully, respectfully.

Sweating in South America

It's 8 pm in Buenos Aires and I'm putting off a shower, since it'll be two or three hours before we go out to our beefy wine-y dinner. Portenos know how to eat, but I'm not sure they can teach me how to stay awake long enough to digest.
Our hotel is lovely wonderful. In a bit, we will sit on the rooftop, drink a bottle of Malbec, and chat about the 50 stray cats in the park today.
If you come back as a cat, move to the Botanical Gardens. Those mini tigers are treated like kings.
Er.
Whatever.

Buzzing In

I'm having some trouble putting together cohesive thoughts lately (and finding the motivation to get out of bed for work. Something in my brain has trouble with Hi, we don't want you anymore, but since we have to pay you through June, just keep showing up.). Thank you for all of your support. I had a lot of beer and hugs and prayers this weekend. Perhaps those are part of the problem. Prayers kill brain cells!

• I have some strongly worded letters to write to some administrative higher-ups, so I'm going to let that simmer a bit while we are gone to Buenos Aires. Matt, Nicki and I are off on Friday. Any tips? Any legal souvenir requests?
• I've delayed grocery shopping, so my sustenance is either from a restaurant or the giant basket of aged tortilla chips on our kitchen shelf. I'm a little desperate. I almost stole some food from bookclub last night to eat as lunch. I'm almost ashamed to write that. Almost.
• At 4:30 pm this afternoon, I will be watching Minneapolis improvisor Fred Beukema on Jeopardy. They taped a while ago and he signed 400 confidentiality papers, but he has posted some about the experience. Neat!
• It's Carly's birthday today. Hi, Sister. I hope you get a serenade over your Ariel Barbie cake. Just maybe skip the candles, because otherwise you'll get a half-day at work and the other half of the day will be filing a deposition with the Brooklyn Center PD.

Free Like Cheesybread

My mother has taken to sending me e-Catholic Greetings. I'm hoping I'll get one today, since I just got laid off.

Is there a Patron Saint of the Unemployed?

What they actually said was that they would be "reallocating funds associated with [my] position." I was the one who had to clarify it meant that I wouldn't be here next year. I'm safe and paid through June, but the district is cutting $2 million and my little position is one portion they will not be funding anymore. I suppose they would probably let me do it anyway.

I was a champion, Friends.

I did not cry.

I stressed the importance of my work here and my connection with the students over these last 5 years, and how they should be sure to figure out where those responsibilities are going: hip hop, butt plugs, investigation of bus incidents, teaching them how to be hypocrites adults.  I will miss some of them more than others.

But it's time for a new adventure. I'll need your prayers and your beers and your hugs.  

Celery, Celery, So Crunchy

Matt and I are in London for the weekend to photograph a special birthday party at the Dorchester Hotel. Peep this, you guys. P.I.M.P.
I'm recovering from a rough flight/time changeroo by watching a kid's show with a Blue's Clues-y song about vegetables. It deserves a visual aid, so remind me to show you when we return. Airplane food tried to ruin this trip for us but I will be damned if I am going to miss an opportunity to eat Cadbury's at the source. Especially when our little American monies can buy more than it could before...
Love and replenished fluids.

National Anger Management Month

Ever since my birthday left, I've been irritable.  The day with all the beer and presents doesn't come around again for 12 months.  I was thinking, today, about all the rules I have in place for human interaction--the ones people don't even know they're violating. If I wrote a motivational book, it would be part really mean and part less mean, so you'd forget about the mean as you moved through it.

Possible Chapters:

1: If you’re going to do something and it’s something that you generally do because it’s your job, just frigging do it.  If you get all tweaked out about the details, and you're not an event planner, people won’t want to work with you anymore.

Me people.  I don't want to work with you anymore.

2: Idea!  Every normal task you do during the day, time it with a stopwatch.  It's more fun if it's a race against yourself.  It's like regular you, but faster.  Warning: Not for readers prone to heart attacks. 

3: If I have to bounce my leg this hard just to stay awake while meeting with you, you are dull and I'm leaving.  Goodbye.  

4: If you're the only one who says hi first, take a couple of days off.  People will think you're selfish taking all the initial hellos for yourself.

5. It smells like decay in here.  Maybe consider disposing of lunchtime garbage by leaving it somewhere else.

6. Draw pictures of bunnies.

Two Microphones, One Dream

I'm 27 today.

Since I don't have Facebook, I have to remind people the regular way that my birthday is coming up: mention it casually, hoping they'll throw me a party.

It worked.  If you're in town on Saturday night and of a legal age for FUN HAVING, join us at the 1029 and we will sing together.  

The Airport Code is EZE

Returned from our Naples trip having worn 1/3 of the items I brought along.  Upside: less laundry.  Downside: hauled a bunch of shit I didn't need all hither and thither.  

iPhone photo of a portion of the shit hauled: 7 pairs of footwear.

The wedding was extravagant, as destination weddings are wont to be: 300 people. $300,000 on food and drink.  You math that out, now.  

The town was...  I could have stayed in Naples, if I had wanted to get old and cranky.  Like, really?

I am about 10 pounds heavier (full of exhaustion (weighs a lot) and ice cream (weighs more)) but since I've got the itchy feet,

WE'RE GOING TO BUENOS AIRES.

Spontaneity spring break at the end of March!  

We booked the tickets yesterday in a feat of SuperHuman ImpulseStrength.  Tips? Ideas? Stowaway bids?

Shortfalls!

It's budget reduction time here in the education world. Woke up at 6:15 doing the silent dance of don't-wake-the-sleeping-puppy and then sat in a 7 am meeting about dollar reallocation.  Now my body is clamoring for endorphins chocolate.  I've given it ginger ale and cheddar rice cakes instead.  Because 8:30 am is too early, see?  Too early for chocolate.  

Never too early for the aftertaste of Canada Dry.

Nicki and I had week two of Community Ed hip hop dance class last night, after which some non-hip hop peeps got together to watch The Dark Knight.  Pretty sure my fitful sleep involved Heath Ledger in full Joker makeup and Beyonce's song "Ring the Alarm."  This and going through the mirror to Gumdrop Mountain is the stuff of dreams.    

Speaking of dreams and sunshine and Gumdrop Mountain (weren't we?), Matt and I leave for Florida tomorrow to shoot a destination wedding in picturesque Naples.  I have packed nothing.  At this point, I'm planning to go nude, so I'll need a good self-tanner.  Or!  Or a wetsuit I can borrow and wear for four straight days with accessories.  Suggestions welcome.

Anne Asked Her to Do It, But Still

Oh my goodness, I totally just got a shout out on Emily Style.  That "PS?" That was for me.  Yessssssss.

Blog boner!

Better than Cotillion

Student: "Hi.  You look tired."

Me: "You always say that."

"You always look tired."

"It's impolite, did you know that?  It's impolite to tell somebody they look tired."

"It is?"

"Yes.  And I'm not offended by it, but I want you to know, in case it comes up again, just don't say anything."

"So what should I say?"

"How about start with, 'Hi' and work from there."

"I did!"

"I know, but here's the thing: you're not my peer.  If at some point in the future you say that to your boss or something, then the next thing you know, somebody's like 'Oh, she's rude, we should fire her.'"

Then her chin starts to wobble.

"Ok."

"Ok."

It Was an Electric Razor, But You Probably Can't Tell From There

I'm walking through the skyway with a security person, carrying two arms full of very heavy photog items.  When he asks me, I'm good.  I got it.  But I don't, and I have to stop to readjust. Twice.  Meanwhile, thanks to the smoothing undergarment* I'm wearing, with each step I take, my gray tights are rolling themselves down.  By the third floor, they have crested my over my butt and are making a break for my knee pits.  Like a great glacial avalanche of underoos.  I am so desperate to pull my garments back up that I interrupt the conversation huffing and puffing to say that I see my car right there and thanks so much. When he turns I run the rest of the way to the car--except for the last 30 yards in which I waddle past the parking attendant, my tights down around my ankles: "Hi!  I'm fine!  Good thing I shaved."  

*One of those "Assets" type items.  I know: HOTTTT. I thought it was Hanes, now I don't know for sure, but check out this awesome typo I found while sleuthing!

Hearts, Stars, Stripes

In December, Matt and I got Riccis to shoot our portraits on real film, as a very classy (very belated) dateiversary present to ourselves.  We just got them back.  The day was wet.  The hair was bad.  But they turned out pretty and real and that is all I wanted.  

[Paparazzi segue. Paparazzi segway.]

It's the perfect week for an Inauguration because, among other things, work is molasses slow (the students are all taking finals and avoiding me when I ask about their test preparations), so I've had a chance to pour over images of the beautiful First Family and the dancing.  Oh, the dancing.  

I know I haven't written about this much here, but since I decided to vote for Obama, I've been so often moved by this country's reaction to our President-Elect now President-Actual.  I am excited and invigorated about what he and we can do together.  There.  I said it.

Hand me that shovel.  Let's start digging up.

Suave, Indeed

It's cold outside, but it's hot in herrrrrrrrrre with Maria snoring on my lap. She's like a hot water bottle that leaves your lap to leak pee every 30 minutes. 

Took Dogums to her first puppy class last eve, and not to be outdone by 8 darling animals, suffered a minor panic attack when my swirly silver lovely ring got stuck on my undeserving middle finger.

I did everything: hand in cold running water, hand in snowbank, hand over head, hand and butter, hand and freaking-out run around the apartment.  You know what worked?  Hand in lotion.  Thanks, lotion!  You kept my ring supple and unbroken by the medical technician's axe.

To be fair, I would have kind of enjoyed the excuse to leave work this morning: "Hi Cindy, I need to take a sick day.  My ring is stuck and I think I should have it removed by a professional.  Back tomorrow! Thanks!" 

Exhibit A: (More Microsoft Paint Art.  I know.  You get the story and the shitty visual.  It's like a gift with purchase!) 

Probably A Leg

Some chick at work decided to capitalize on all this New Year resolve by initiating a Biggest Loser contest.  Bring it on.  Since I hunger for monetary reward and proving that I am better than my co-workers, I will be throwing myself into a total mania:

Step 1: Remove that bag of Hershey's kisses from the cupholder in my car.

Step 2: Put it in my gym bag to motivate myself.

Step 3: Get a gym bag and transfer the chocolate over from the Target bag I was using before.

30 reps of that should do.

This is the second of two very fitness-oriented posts.  Please don't misunderstand; I plan to win by cutting off a limb.

As Old as You Feel or As Old as the Gaming System Tells You You Are

Matt turned 27 yesterday.  We celebrated with a Wii Fitness Test and the announcement that we are both overweight.  Many happy returns.

When you step on the device, it says "Oh!"

As in, "Oh! Aren't you heavier than I thought you'd be!"

I set fitness goals I will likely not achieve, but my balance was good, and that was a pleasant surprise.  Must be from sitting on this ball.  (I was bouncing as I typed that last sentence, and my hip popped.  Did I mention that my Wii Fit age is 45?)

Favorite game on first iteration was also my lowest scoring: Slalom.  It is as close to the real ski hills as I get.  Unless the ski hills are made of chocolate and the activity is eating. 

New Year, Same You

Merry Christmas! We're still before Epiphany, so it totally counts.
Top 5 Holiday Things:
1. The very best holiday card: PMack took the top image from a Google search of "family Christmas card photo," photoshopped his own face on, and mailed it out with love from "Pat, Cindy, Wendy and Skip." Skip! Could not get better!
2. The quickest way to share witticisms and broadcast holiday pain: Twitter.
3. Awesomest present I asked for and got: Freaks and Geeks.
4. Least accomplished promises of 2008: Last time I looked at my resolutions was when I created them. So it would have been incredible if I had done them all, right?! Right, so I didn't! Because I'm not incredible. Then you wouldn't even believe me. In. Credible. Anyway.
5. Most accomplishable hope for 2009: clean my vehicle quarterly.