[insert literary masterpiece here]

Super, super, superstar!

2009-10-05T13:03:00.000-07:00

A few days shy of New Years Eve 08, I found myself in a conversation with a handsomely bearded fellow. The conversation was sparked upon mention of a popular Electric Six song. I made a joke about how the two of us would go to see Electric Six perform at a local, rundown bar in 10 years …where they would without a doubt play their one big hit. This brought on a laugh and a promise that the first round would be on him.

Ten months later, I was home, glancing through the latest Chicago Reader, next to my handsomely bearded husband.

Me: “Guess who is playing on December 31st …New Years’ Eve?”
Brian: “Hmm …Who?”
Me: “Electric Six.”
Brian: “Really? Where?”
Me: “Double Door …It’ll be our 1 year anniversary ...Granted 9 years early.”

This brought on a laugh …And he still owes me that first round.

What My Husband Does to Make Me Smile

2009-06-03T18:51:00.000-07:00

Goofy 'stache: Check!
Silly wig: Check!
Leather jacket w/ chest hair: Check!
Kept this look for me the entire day: Check!

A Memo From the Desk of Me

2009-05-13T11:30:00.000-07:00

"Writing is like pulling teeth. Out of my dick"

-David Rakoff (from Don't Get Too Comfortable: The Indignities of Coach Class, The Torments of Low Thread Count, The Never-Ending Quest for Artisanal Olive Oil, and Other First World Problems)

I'm A Slugger, Dottie

2009-05-06T15:43:00.000-07:00

Last night, while on the phone with Brian, I teased that I will soon write a book titled “Long Distance Marriage: Things I Find Myself Doing While My Husband Is Away,” which would include my newest past time: hitting balls.

With the season of nice weather seemingly here to stay, my friend Mike and I have added a spin on our bi-weekly burrito meet-ups: the batting cages, located just on the outskirts of the city. Mike has been going for years and swears that the small park has changed little since the 70s. Thirteen hits per dollar token and you get to choose what you want to hit: softball, slow, medium and fast.

I had my apprehensions, at first. I haven’t had a bat in my hand since I was a first grade tee ball player, for one season. Contrary to popular (dis)belief, I was a shy child and I often chickened out or refused to participate in any activity that included “all-eyes-on-me” attention. I hated when my grade school teachers would pick students at random. I would sit at my desk, heart pounding in my eardrums, praying silently to the Gods of “do-not-pick-me“. Around the same time, my Mother, in efforts to break me out of my shell signed me up for dance classes. She finally allowed me to quit when I was 12 yrs old and had developed a nervous/anxiety induced skin rash (which has since gone away, thank you very much).

So with my apprehension mixed with my established adult go-to attitude, I entered the batting cages in front of a handful of people … And you know what? Come to find out I’m quite the slugger. My generally pacifist nature aside, I enjoy hitting things with a bat.

After my first time, I left with the triumphant feeling that I had somehow come to terms with my shy past. The slate felt wiped clean of all of those activities that I talked myself out of as a child, the misadventures, bridges never crossed and both skin creams and anti-acids (respectfully).

After I arrived home, I called my husband and explained with great enthusiasm and hand gestures left unseen my newfound aptness with a baseball bat. Brian laughed and his voice took the tone of “that’s the goofy broad I married” (he would then switch to a concerned tone or “please do not harm my goofy broad’s melon” after I told him that I don’t wear a helmet. “Honey, my hair is helmet enough!”). **

Tuesday evening, as Mike and loaded up on tokens and took turns choosing what we wanted to hit amongst the other batter ups, I took notice of a woman who appeared to be on a first date. She seemed nervous and held her bat as though it were a golf club, while her date shouted “Bend your knees!” and “Watch the ball!”. She giggled warily and continued to swing without much might. As she walked out of the cage and I tightened my batting gloves, I offered a bit of advice: “I just think of my bills whenever I take a swing.”

…Of course, the woman gave me a dirty look but I’d like to think that she will heed my advice on any other future dates to the batting cages.

The same night (with my electric and cell bills in mind) I made it up to the medium (which come at you 55 mph) pitch and found out that I can hit curveballs!

With less than 4 weeks left before my husband (finally and officially) moves in, I hope to make it up to fast pitch …And yes, I’ll wear a helmet.

**The “that’s the goofy broad I married” tone is old hat in Brian and I’s marriage.

A Sunday night, in February:

Brian: “How’d burrito go, honey?”
Me: “Great! We went to Milwaukee!”
Brian: “What!?”

A few days after our wedding:

Me: [out of breath] “Hi honey, how are you? I’m just calling to let you know that I’m ok. I know I said that Mike and I were going to go to the Polish museum, today but it’s so nice outside so we decided to go to a forest preserve out past Midway …Well, the walking path was boring so we got on the horse trail and that was boring too so we decided to make our own path … [out of breath] We got lost for nearly 2 hrs but don’t worry! We made it back to the car! I have scratches all up my arms but don’t worry! We‘re going to go get a celebratory burrito!”
Brian: “Honey …What!?”

This past Monday:

Me: “I was sort of bored so I was trying to think if I owned any movies that I haven’t seen yet …So I went through the dreadful DVDs that my Mother has sent me throughout the years and ended up watching a movie with Kevin Costner and Ashton Kutcher, as US Coast Guards.”
Brian: “What!?”

Buy Buy Love: The Ongoing Quest For A Certain Feline's Affection

2009-04-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

Something Meets Boy: A Love Story

2009-04-27T10:02:00.000-07:00

“Steve’s with Leslie at the Green Mill’s poetry slam…,” Brian said, his eyebrows raised in disbelief, as he hung up the phone.

Less than a hour later, our apartment’s buzzer sounded and I quickly ran across the living room to push “door” to let Steve …and Leslie in.

I noticed Steve’s hair right off the bat. Slightly but noticeably shorter since a couple hours previous.

“I brought her back home, in time,” Steve started explaining as he walked into the living room, Leslie at his side, “Leslie took me to her former work and I got a haircut.”

Me: “Where?”
Steve: “The little Vietnamese place up on the corner.”
Me: “The one with all of the neon?”
Steve: “Yeah!”

Brian laughed, shaking his head.

We all sat in the living room, as Steve continued with the details of his date with Leslie.

Leslie sat across from us and stared straight ahead.
_______________________________________________________________________

As I’ve explained in previous entries, my husband of nearly two months, has yet to move into our apartment. Six more weeks and counting … So that leaves us with the weekends. Brian comes in Friday morning and catches an evening Metra train out of the city, Sunday so that he can make it to class Monday morning.

This past Sunday, I wasn’t scheduled for my ritual Sunday night burrito w/ my friend Danger. Brian and I had planned for him to take a later train (more time and dinner with my husband!). However, thanks to Steve (Brian’s best friend and a fast friend to me), he had plans within the city and offered to take Brian back to their suburb later that night.

Brian and I opted to walk up the grocery for a few dinner trimmings. As we walked towards the crosswalk, we passed the Salvation Army’s drop box, which is squeezed between the corner gas station and a Dunkin Donuts. I often know when it’s going to rain whenever I pass the box and see bags of donations. Without fail and for the sake of irony, it always rains.

We noticed the mannequin’s head right away.

Brian: “We’ll get that on our way back!”

…And so we did, Brian with a bag of groceries in one hand, my hand in his other and the mannequin’s head nestled into my left shoulder, we continued home in the rain.

A close crop of reddish hair, grey eyes and a failed attempt at glittered lipstick, we set our newly found mannequin’s head on the television set as the cats looked up in wonder.

Me: “What should we name it? Is it a boy or a girl?”
Brian: “We should name it something androgynous. Here honey, look at it from this light, it looks like a boy.”
Me: “I think it’s supposed to be a girl though …”
Brian: “Leslie.”
Me: “Yes, Leslie!”

Soon after our debate, the apartment’s buzzer went off. Steve took the chair by the window, Brian sat on the sofa and I sat across from them with Leslie’s head between my knees and a bottle of “sinful“ nail polish, painting her lips.

Steve explained the Chicago Improv Festival, as we finished dinner. The evening was still young and I wasn’t ready to say bye to my husband.

Steve: “I’m going to go out and give you guys some time before we have to leave.”
Brian: “Steve, where are you going to go?”
Steve: “I’m going to take Leslie out …I’m not sure but we’ll find something.”
Brian: “You’re going to take Leslie out …?”
Me: “You better have her back by curfew …And no kissing!”

As we shut the door, Brian pulled me in close.

Brian: “Honey, Steve is actually taking that head out …Where are they going to go?”
Me: “He said something about the Annoyance Theater …It’s a comedy club, honey …They’ll understand.”
_______________________________________________________________________

Brian and Steve first met in the 3rd grade. Both were the “new kids” at St. Irene's. Come recess, Brian wandered around. Being “new” meant that the soccer team had already been chosen and Brian wasn’t sure what to do. He noticed another lone kid sitting underneath a nearby tree and decided to walk over to him.

Brian: “Do you want to play tag?”
Steve: “Yeah!”

They’ve been best friends, ever since.

The first time I met Steve, Brian and I had been dating for a few weeks. Steve came over to our apartment the night before and unsuccessfully tried to get us to go out dancing. The next morning, as Brian brushed his teeth and I started coffee, the door buzzer went off. It was Steve.

He was excited and curious by the restaurants on the east side of my neighborhood and was intent on “eating the neighborhood”. I gave him a list of places and eats to try and off he went. At the top of the list was a highly recommended and rated corner spot known for their delicious pho.

As Brian and I stepped out of the shower, my phone’s text alert came from the living room.

Steve: “Is it safe to come back yet?”

Steve barreled up the stairs with a paper bag, in hand. The top list choice had been packed so he had opted to get his pho to go. I fished out a large mixing bowl from my cupboard, as Steve laid out the many accouterments to his pho, including raw beef to be cooked within the hot broth.

Since then, I often share the story of the first time I met my husband’s best friend: He cooked raw beef on my coffee table (in my vegan household).

Me: “Do you need a bigger bowl, Steve?”
______________________________________________________________________

Some highlight’s of Steve and Leslie’s date:

-Shortly after Steve left, he passed a Vietnamese hair salon. He decided to stop and see how much a haircut would cost. As the woman told him “$10,” the other ladies in the salon scrunched their noses and giggled at the sight of Leslie. “What is that? It’s scary!” on woman shrieked as Steve took a seat in a salon chair.
-As Steve continued up Broadway, he passed a popular new bar/lounge with outdoor seating. He heard snickers and patrons audibly slack-jawed at the sight of Leslie, in his arms. At one point, someone called out to him, Steve turned around and without breaking his “date” story, casually and quite normally introduced Leslie. People started snapping photos as Steve posed with Leslie. They became very popular. One woman remarked that he must be interested in what matters: the brain and eyes. Steve remarked that Leslie also gives “great head” but not that he would know …He’s a gentleman.
-Steve inquired to his newfound friends where would be a good spot to go …Everyone suggested the Green Mill. As Steve made it up to the Green Mill, the bouncer stopped him for the $6 door fee. “Don’t you mean $12?” Steve joked with the bouncers, who laughed.
-Sunday nights at the Green Mill are devoted to poetry. Open mic turns into a $12 poetry slam competition. Steve sat the bar, Leslie still at his side. “I’ll have one PBR …And a water w/ lime, for the lady.” Leslie wouldn’t drink her water but Steve tipped for two drinks, anyway. It mut have been first date nerves.
-The poetry slam, according to Steve, was fantastic …A lot of talent took the stage and Steve intends to attend and perhaps participate in the future. People were making comments here or there but most seemed to understand the humor. Steve and Leslie had a great time.
-As Steve headed back to Brian and I’s apartment, from the Green Mill, a man passed him and did a double take.

Man: “Oo shit, I thought that was a real person! What’s with that, man?”
Steve: “Oo, this is Leslie …It’s our first date.”
Man: “You a comedian or something?”
Steve: “I work at Walmart.”
Man: “I’m a construction worker.”

As Steve explained his evening out with Leslie, Brian and I shook our heads, our cheeks burning from laughter.

Steve: ‘Guys …That was the best date I’ve been on in a while!”

And the Cabbie Will Rock ...

2009-04-23T11:26:00.000-07:00

I was tired when I stepped into the cab. An understatement upon catching my reflection in the plexi-glass partition between myself and the driver. I was exhausted. Drained. Weary. My eyes burned with every blink and the tightness in my neck seemed to be welding my shoulder blades together (I briefly entertained the thought that the hunchback of Notre Dame/Quasimodo was more due to stress opposed to any physical abnormality).

The better part of my morning and the entirety of my afternoon was spent on Primo’s scheduled vet exam. Primo in tow is the only way I can sanely reason taking a cab anywhere. His insulin supply was near non-existent and I had spent the previous days of the week calling around to various vets near and far. A harrowing experience that is best left un-typed (more for me than you). A game of phone tag that left me grateful for the time I spent within the business and the knowledge I had gained. Primo and I are nearing 4 yrs since he first crashed diabetic. In cat years, we‘re ol‘ pros.

“$149 for a full panel work up? What tests that consist of? Umm hmm ….Ah umm hmm ….Umm hmm …Yeah, he’s already had this, he’s already had that, this is updated and he doesn’t need that for another two years.”

With my cellular daytime minutes already burning, I leveled out the handful of calls with my husband.

Brian: “Honey, you didn’t break Primo’s pancreas.”
Me: “It’s the recession.”
Brian: “Primo’s pancreas was the first to be laid-off!”

As Primo and I sat in the small, ill-lit vet office it was clear that I would be handling my own cat. The assistant excused herself and the vet started in on the exam. The exam that was only needed in order for her to write a script for his pre-existing condition. Much to Primo and I’s relief, she opted to wave taking his temperature and kept any cutesy talk to a minimum.

When all was said and done, Primo’s insulin was ordered and due within 2 days. I was out a quarter of my monthly rent and both Primo and I wanted to hiss at passerby. Per usual when it comes time to see the vet, I spend most of the time apologizing up and down to Primo, with his vindictive green eyes.

“I’m sorry, Prim. I’m so sorry. We’ll be home soon, I promise. I’m so sorry. Go ahead, hate the world. You’ve earned it. I love you, though. Mom is going to figure it all out.”

As the cab pulled into rush hour traffic, I sat in a daze by my own worn reflection. I blinked as I heard something from the front seat.

Me: “What? Sorry.”
Cab Driver: “Beautiful day, no?”
Me: “Oo yes …A beautiful day.”
Cab Driver: “I think it’s going to rain later, though.”
Me: “I bet that’s good for business.”
Cab Driver: “Business? What business?”
Me: “Ah, the rain. I bet it’s good for cabbies.”
Cab Driver: [laugh] “Ah not so much.”

I kept my glance fixated on his Bono-shades in the rearview mirror, trying to find his eyes.

Cab Driver: “It’s not so good business rain or shine but it is a job.”
Me: “That’s true.”
Cab Driver: “I think there is a game, today. Beautiful day for a game. That is good business.”
[we weaved throughout traffic passing Wrigley Field]
Me: “The Sox played last night …The Orioles …in Baltimore. They lost.”
Cab Driver: “Oo ok, the Sox.”
Me: “10-3”
[I stared back at my reflection: Shut up, self.]
Cab Driver: “I am from communist country. I’ve been here for 18 yrs.”
Me: “Oo? You’ve been driving a cab for 18 yrs.?”
[And now for the cabbie reveals his soul to me portion of the trip]
Cab Driver: “No. I’ve been driving a cab for 3 yrs. I’m a musician, you see? I’m a musician and I’m from Romania. In Romania, even with communism they treat their musicians and artists with respect. You can make a bit of money …But in America, it’s the other way around. No respect. No money. You are not under communism but you know …I didn’t mind the communism that much. I made money.”
Me: “Ah, yeah …So why did you move here?”
Cab Driver: “I came here 18 yrs ago to see my favorite band. I never wanted to come here but rock band Van Halen …I wanted to see them. So a friend and I came here to see them play. I’m a classical guitar player.”
Me: “Ah …Yeah, Eddie Van Halen is quite the guitarist.”
Cab Driver: “You know Eddie Van Halen! Yes! He is very good! …So I came here and I never went back …You see all of these shops and restaurants? Wine bars? People spending thousands of dollars in one night and they are all the same.”
Me: “Yeah …”
Cab Driver: “See, I spend money at places that are special. You get a special experience. But this ….It’s all the same. I never wanted to come here.”
Me: “But you wanted to see Van Halen …”
Cab Driver: “Well, yes …I’m a musician and I got all mixed up with the drugs and the drink. Coke. You know what they do? You think it’s just marijuana and you say sure, I’ll have some marijuana but do you know what they do?”
Me: “What’s that?”
Cab Driver: “They put the coke in the marijuana so you think you’re just smoking the marijuana but you get hooked to the coke. That’s what happened to me. I was with this girl. Beautiful …like you. I loved her very much but she got hooked on the coke and she wouldn’t stop.”
[We were hitting every red light]
Primo: “Meow.”
Cab Driver: “I stopped and started driving a cab for money. She didn’t and I said goodbye. It was sad. She was crying but I had to do it.”
Me: “Yeah …I can imagine.”
Cab Driver: “I never wanted to come here but I drive a cab and it’s a job. Americans don’t understand money. My country had a civil war and so did this country but nothing change. America still has the same people in power.”
Me: “Yeah …”
Cab Driver: [holds up hand] “The Jews control the money. There are 5 Jews in charge of all money and that never changes. They get control of everything. They tried in my country and they play theater to Americans and Americans don’t understand. Did we pass Carmen yet?”
Me: “Almost …Next street north.”
[I looked at my reflection …Do I play the Jew-card or not? No, I’m too tired.]
Cab Driver: “Ok, very good.”
Me: “You can pull to the side right here …Thank you very much. I’ll hope for rain, for you.”
Cab Driver: [laughs] “I thank you! Have good day!”

I pulled the strap to Primo’s carrier over my shoulder and pulled out my cell phone, as we made our way home.

“Honey! I just got out of the cab and the cab- Yeah, Primo’s ok, he’s a bit upset but we made it …But honey, the cab driver …”

Patience, Patience

2009-04-06T12:07:00.000-07:00

This is what happens when:

1) I'm PMSing + retaining water.
2) Brian gets his mitts on the camera.

__________________________________________

Believe it or not, I have a handful of works in the works ...From my post-burrito drive to Milwaukee, getting lost in a forest preserve to the time I met Brian's best friend, Steve for the first time (+ he cooked raw beef on my coffee table) and the whole "she-male" incident.

Not to mention a piece about Brian + I's recent marriage ...on Friday the 13th.
__________________________________________

To the Posting, To the Posting ...

2009-04-06T11:49:00.000-07:00

Originally written on: March 31, 2009

March 20th (Friday) marked the one week anniversary since Brian + I said our “I dos”.

I grabbed my apartment keys that hang on a hook near the front door, gave myself one more look over + headed down the winding staircase towards my apartment’s courtyard. Brian’s train had pulled into the city nearly a half hour before + he was now on the city’s red line headed towards me. I usually make a point to be waiting in front of the stop, denying having any spare change + at times pretending to be in the midst of a very important phone call to detract passersby, when Brian arrives.

“My husband” still feels funny to say …Especially when followed up with “actually lives two hours away + has yet to move in with me.” “Yet” being the keyword. Brian finishes school, in May + has slowly (and kindly) been moving his things into my apartment. There are a handful of his shirts hanging in the closet, comic books now take residence on top of the toilet’s tank in the bathroom. There’s turkey and real cheese in the fridge + an assortment of chicken flavored rice in the cupboard. During one of our weekends, he proudly placed one of his own books on my overcrowded bookshelf. I’ve framed a few of his sketches + he recently left a pair of his shoes, which greet me every time I arrive home. Come May, he will get off of that train once more, for good and our newlywed days of commuting will be something we will laugh about in the distant future …Much like pants with stirrups or 20-sided die.

Last week, marked not only two full weeks since our marriage but our first 10 days together, spent in secession. It was his spring break and a taste of life within the Phelps-Larsen household. Both a crowning achievement + a roaring success. It could be argued that most married couples have already crossed the bridge of cohabitation by the time they exchange their “I dos” but aside from our weekends spent together + a couple “extra” days together come holiday, Brian + I reveled in the simple joy that is going to bed + waking every morning to your spouse.

As I passed through my apartment building’s mail room, towards the courtyard …I noticed a brown package on the ground. Suspecting that it was for my next door neighbors, I took a quick glance + noticed that the address tag read: AMANDA PHELPS-LARSEN.

Aside from my Mother addressing her cards to me with “Amanda Phelps (Larsen),” I had yet to receive mail with my married name so I was pleasantly surprised + equally perplexed with the package at my feet. With my mail key, I proceeded to slice the tape + pull the flaps. Inside I found an order form + a note:

“Canon PowerShot A470 7.1 MP Digital Camera w/ 3.4x Optical Zoom (Orange)

Congratulations Amanda and Brian! We hope you use this to record all your times together and then post them on Facebook! Misses and Kisses, Lexi and Gabe”

I was shocked and quickly sprang to my feet, package in hand + the order form still between my fingers. I quickly walked towards the train, excited to tell Brian, stopping every few steps to reread the note.

One of the reasons Brian + I had such a small/quiet wedding was due to the fact that it seemed slightly wrong to invite people to a wedding with the expectation of giving gifts. Most of our friends are either unemployed, underemployed, fearful of losing their jobs or in Lexi’s case giving birth to her first child three days after Brian and I’s wedding. If anyone was to be off the hook, it would be Lexi and Gabe. I’ve known Lexi since our days at Central Intermediate. One of my best friends, she moved to Albuquerque three months before I moved to Chicago, 7 yrs ago (which had a role in my jump ship of Michigan).

Brian shared in my surprised after he stepped from the train and we walked towards home.

Me: Oo my goodness! You didn’t have to! Thank you so much …Brian + I are shocked! It’s perfect! We hope that you, Gabe + Diego are doing well! I can’t stop the !!!
Lexi: I’m glad you guys like it. I thought it would be better than a toaster.
Me: I bet it could make toast. It’s just that awesome! How are you? How’s Diego doing at home? Is he in college yet?
_____________________________________________________________

Mr. + Mrs.

2009-03-16T09:19:00.000-07:00

March 13th, 2009

Going to the Courthouse ....

2009-03-11T12:34:00.000-07:00

Brian (left), waiting on the southbound train, Saturday March 7th, 2009.

We were headed downtown to the Daley Center to acquire our marriage license. It had been raining since we woke up at 9AM. We would joke later on in the day just how the thigh area of his pants managed to get wet; the rest remaining dry.

Me: “One trout, one sea bass.”
Brian: “The cooler was broken.”

Brian’s throat had been hurting throughout the week. It was especially scratchy on this morning. We left with a travel mug of throat coat tea, in hand.
_____________________________________________________________________

Since my lack of internet, Brian and I were camped out in front of a thick, neglected copy of the Yellow Pages and a couple Chicago tour guides, as we sipped our morning coffee.

Me: “Well, it must be where I get my state ID …I just don’t remember exactly how to get their via train …”
Brian: “This marriage court number isn’t answering …”
Me: “They must be open on the weekend. It’s City Hall!”
Brian: “Let’s try again at 10AM.”

10:04AM

Phone: “Ring. Ring. Ring.”
Woman: “Richard J Daley Center …”
Brian: “Ah hi! Ah, is this the number for marriage licenses?”
Woman: “No, that’s a different department.”
Brian: “How late are they open today?”
Woman: “They’re open until Noon.”
Brian: “Ok, thank you very much.”
Phone: Click.
Me: “What’s the number for the other department!?”
Brian: [jaw drops]
Me: [jaw drops] “Honey! WHERE is it!? That’s why we were calling!”
Brian: “Honey! This is why you shouldn’t have had me call!”
Me: “We FINALLY get a hold of someone and you forget to ask for the information we need!”
[fits of laughter]
Me: “I will just ask the CTA attendant what stop to get off at.” [putting on pants + cap]
Brian: “We have until Noon!” [putting pants + socks on]

We were out the door, umbrella + tea in hand, 5 minutes later.

[on the train]
Brian: “What time is it?”
Me: “I don’t even want to look!”
Brian: “We’re going to make it …We’re really doing this!”
Me: “We really are …I’m being cautiously optimistic. About getting there, honey, not about the marriage …I just don’t want us to get our hopes up.”
Brian: “We’ll make it, honey. You’re going to be my wife!” [leg shaking uncontrollably]
Me: [refusing to look at the time]
Brian + I: [smile] “We’re doing this.”

11:14AM

Brian: “I have to have my last cigarette as a single man.”

After a couple detours (and puddles), we made our way into City Hall. We were greeted by a somewhat stern woman at the metal detector. We emptied our coat pockets, I placed my bag on the conveyor belt. The stern metal detector woman pointed towards an escalator.

I should note that the City of Chicago City Hall’s marriage license office is located at the end of the longest + darkest hallway imaginable. There’s was an almost Lynch-like feel as Brian + I walked arm in arm towards our destination. A lone security guard sitting at a card table, nibbling at a sandwich, wordlessly pointed us towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

The set up was much like a bank, with drab furniture and teller podiums. There was a Korean couple, who seemed to be having a communication issue with their teller. Another couple, with the blonde leaned over the counter, sniffling here and there as she signed her certificate. To Brian + I’s left, a man who had been there earlier was arguing with a teller about why his wife-to-be wasn’t present. Brian + I looked at each other with a look that said “We’re a team” and stepped up to the closest open teller.

Man: “First things first, have either of you ever been married?”
Brian + I: “No, never.”
Man: “All right then. That’s done then. Good job! Congrats!”

1133AM

Brian + I walked up the same dark hallway, smiles ear to ear with our newly processed marriage license.

Brian + I: “We did it!”

As we reached the top of the escalator, the rainy grayness of the windowpanes shaking the darkness of our marriage license voyage …The (formerly) stern metal detector woman called us over …Her voice had taken on a completely new, near sweet, tone as she asked to see our license.

Woman: “Aww …When you two gonna do it?”
Brian + I: “Next week.”
Woman: “You just going to the courthouse?”
Me: “Yeah, for now …”
[at this point two other security guards join us to look at our marriage license]
Me: “ …We’ll have a more proper ceremony + reception later on when we are more financially secure.”
Security Guard: “That’s a good idea.”
Woman: “Aww …[looks Brian directly in the eye] …You love her right?”
Brian: “Yes, yes I do.”
Woman: “How long you two been together?”
Brian: [laughs]
Me: “…The first of the year.”
Woman: “Hey, all right now …[looks Brian directly in the eye] …Love at first sight, right?”
Brian: “Yes, yes it was.”
Woman: “Hey now, that can work …I’ve known people who have been together longer and they’re marriages didn’t work out. I see that you two are in love.”
Me: “Aww …Thank you, my parents were high school sweethearts, married 17 yrs and are divorced.”
Woman: “See? [looks Brian directly in the eye] You not gonna divorce her now are you?”
Brian: “No, no I am not.”
Woman: “Ummhmm, that’s good . Aww.”

All three security guards congratulated and wished us the best as Brian + I walk towards the exit. I quickly called my Mom + left a voicemail, as Brian + I opted to catch the train back. As the train neared our stop, Brian kept leaning over to kiss my cheek, both of us exclaiming “We did it!” and sneaking peeks at our license. I noticed a woman seated behind us.

Me: “Sorry …We just got our marriage license.”
Woman: “Oo congrats!”
We decided to head to the grocery + pick up a few celebratory sandwich fixings. I texted Lisa + invited her over to join us. We checked out with turkey, mock-turkey (for me), chips and a celebratory splurge on beer.

Me: “We just got our marriage license …We’re going to celebrate with turkey + beer.”
Check-Out Cashier: “Congratulations!”
Brian + I: “Thank you!”
Me: “I can’t help it, honey!”
[laughing]

_________________________________________________________________________

Later the next evening, as Brian + I headed out to meet a few friends for drinks, it had been another day of rain. We were skipping puddles on our way to the train …When it occurred to me that since I’ve never had a driver’s license, our marriage license was my first license ...for anything.

Me: “Honey, this is my first license ever!”
Brian: “It is!”
Me: “Look at these puddles …That’s a lake over there.”
Brian: “We could go fishing.”
Me: “I don’t have a fishing license!”

Fly Around My Pretty Little Miss(ter)

2009-03-09T12:11:00.000-07:00

Like A Stamp To A Letter ...

2009-01-29T05:34:00.001-08:00

Scene: 8AM, Lisa's kitchen. Lisa's busy making coffee, I step outside + quickly turn around.

Me: "Lisa, I'm going back outside but I'll be right back ...I need my camera! There are birds in your fence!"
Lisa: "What?"
Me: "You'll see -Birds!"

The Sharpest Crayon In The Box ...

2009-01-21T00:54:00.000-08:00

Suffice: intransitive verb
1 : to meet or satisfy a need : be sufficient (a brief note will suffice) —often used with an impersonal it.
2 : to be competent or capable
transitive verb : to be enough for
____________________________________________________________________

Scene: Saturday evening; Brian + I sitting on my living room's sofa.

Me: "[insert analytical mastery that escapes me at the moment] ...suffice."
Brian: "What does that mean?"
Me: [face falls]

Self-Mental Flash: "Oo no, he's dumb. Oo crap, wait, what? He's usually so smart, how can he not know what 'suffice' means? Uh-oh. How do I explain without being condescending? I don't want to hurt his feelings. Crap. I can't believe he doesn't know what 'suffice' means. I'm dating a guy who doesn't know what 'suffice' means. Crap. He's looking at me. He's reading my face. Ok, here goes ..."

Me: "Uh, well suff-"
Brian: "Honey! I know what suffice means, I was teasing! Did you really think I didn't know what 'suffice' meant?"
Me: [sigh of relief]

Self-Mental Flash: "Thank goodness! Thank you, thank you. I knew he knew what it meant! Of course he knew, I never doubted him for a second!"

Me: "Don't scare me like that! I didn't want to hurt your feelings!"
Brian: "Honey ...Suffice it to say you are a whore. Did I use it in the right context?"
Me: "Yes! I'm so relieved!"

[side-splitting/tummy aching laughter ensues]
____________________________________________________________________

A-Click-Click-Click: Lima Bean, You A Bean!

2009-01-16T19:44:00.000-08:00

“Remember: Fluffernutter (compared to life)”

I had been awake for nearly 24 hrs., last December and as I laid in bed, daylight highlighting the snow, I started to construct my next bit of writing.

My eyes grew heavy and my pillow was all too soft so before sleep finally found me, I reached for my bag which was hanging on the knob …I took out my pocketbook + fumbled for a pen. In my mini-notepad I wrote the above.

Everyday since then, I’m reminded: “Fluffernutter (compared to life)” and the piece that remains unwritten, unpenned.

So please bare with me, I assure you it’s coming ‘round the bend. For those who know me know that piece is within me with fluff, peanut butter + two slices of bread.
___________________________________________________________________________

I ventured out in the negative temperatures + purchased a couple necessities for my night in. My first stop was a small Mexi-mart, nearby. There I would purchase a can of butter beans. As I stood in line, a man cut in front of me.

Cashier: “Sir, the end of the line starts behind the woman with the red hat.”
Man: [on his phone] “She only has a can of beans.”
Cashier: “Sir, please step behind her.”
Man: [still on phone] “I won’t take that long, I only have a few things.”
Cashier: “Sir, she only has beans, it won’t take too long.”
Man: [still still on phone] “I’m in a hurry!”
Me: “It is a BIG can, sir.”
Man: [on phone, glares at me + my red hat. Insert audibly aggravated sigh as he steps behind me]

I made a couple more stops before heading home, my ears bright enough to match my cap but still intact.
_____________________________________________________________________

This evening, as I started to make dinner, I turned on a collection of Nina + started my chopping.

On the menu was a tried + true recipe that will forever mirror my life here, in Chicago.

It was the winter of 2003-04, I had lived in Chicago for nearly 2 yrs., in my then-breadbox sized studio apartment. I shared my first Chicago residence with only one cat, the infamous Lola. I was 21 yrs old on my way to 22. I was in a long distance relationship with a snarky artist, spent my evenings over cups of black coffee at a nearby diner, wore a white belt and picked up freelance work here/there after recently (and indefinitely) pulling myself away from writing reviews.

It was during this time I happened to befriend a man named Bill, who was raised in one of Chicago’s many Irish/Italian immigrant homes. His Mother, Italian, had spent her days cooking recipes for her family of 8 …”Peasant” recipes that were inexpensive, hearty + from her homeland of Italy. It was her recipe for butter bean soup that Bill would teach me + years later continue to find it’s way into my kitchen.
_______________________________________________________________________

I’m sure everyone has that one recipe, that one meal or dish that they’re good at …Even the worst of cooks must have that one culinary pitch-perfect note. Whether it be an expert bologna sandwich, the way you add carrots + tofu to Ramen or on a grander scale, Grandma’s Stove Top stuffing recipe. Microwave to oven-made, hot dogs to filet mignon.

I could make butter bean soup blindfolded (I also believe I‘m the sole owner of such bragging rights). I’ve changed the recipe somewhat from the original (fresh garlic opposed to garlic powder) but it remains basic, tasty + especially nowadays the all too important: cheap w/ budget-friendly leftovers. I’ve never posted the recipe but I’ve always been game to share it.

Ingredients:

-5 cloves fresh garlic (I happen to love garlic + with this weather any boost in immunity will do. Less/more depends on taste)
-1 can butter beans
-1C (or half a small bag) of pastini (small pasta)
-Water
-Salt/pepper to taste

_______________________________________________________________________________

In an event of a fire, I’d be sure to grab my cats (it’s in their contract), hopefully have enough time to grab my pocketbook, my laptop, Primo’s insulin (that too is in his contract) …Of course, given more time I’d make sure to grab family photos, a few select books and my beloved stockpot.

Yes, beloved. Yes, a stockpot. Given to me as a gift a few years back by a former neighbor who manned the kitchens at the Drake Hotel, this stockpot has been the base of many a meals. Plus, I store it on the top shelf, in my kitchen, which makes me step onto my tippy-toes. Great for calve muscles.

____________________________________________________________________________

Back to the soup …

I start by smashing the garlic cloves (I buy them pre-peeled, a genius idea that secretly makes me bitter for not thinking of it). Placing my stockpot on a front burner, I click on the gas + coat the bottom of the pot with extra virgin olive oil (vegetable oil would work but eww).

Adding the garlic on low, I wait until it becomes fragrant w/ a few stirs before adding the complete contents of my one can of butter beans. Raising the heat to med/high, I half-cover + bring to a soft boil. It’s at this point that I add black pepper (sometimes red pepper flakes + celery seed because well, I like celery seed), stir.

Using the same butter beans can, I add one canful of water.
Half-cover + bring to a boil.

La Moderna makes great small pastas which can be found at grocery chains + small Mexican marts alike. Usually priced at 75 cents or less a bag, I opt for the stars due their strong resemblance to the Star of David. I never measure an exact amount but find that half a bag makes for plenty. When bean/garlic/olive oil mixture comes to a boil, add pasta + lower to a simmer, stirring occasionally.

Within 10-15 minutes (I chose to play with my brand new Slinky during this time. Note: Cats hate Slinkies) …Ta-da, soup’s on!

I like to add Saltine crackers (and ok, steal Saltines from the counter every time I walk back into the kitchen to stir the soup) + sometimes I add whole green beans or frozen sweet peas along w/ the pasta. I’m sure there are many things that could be added, Bill liked to add parmesan or a parm/romano blend.

Ridiculously simple. Store leftovers in the fridge, soup will thicken. Delicious.

__________________________________________________________________________

And now how about some more Nina?

This Lil' Light of Mine ...

2008-12-10T01:38:00.000-08:00

I walk by this building nearly everyday + every time I hope to run into a tenant ...Just to ask: "Did you have a choice in this matter?"

Dear Self, Rub-A-Dub-Dub: Fool In The Tub

2008-12-05T23:45:00.000-08:00

For those of you who know me throughout my day by day or year to year …You’re well aware of just how many “Dear Self,” moments I have given a day. “

Dear Self, “ as in “Dear Self, This is your life + it’s happening right now” …Also known as the “I hope no one calls me right now + asks me what I’m up to,” moment(s).

It was nearing 11PM and I thought about taking a shower …I then wondered what the rush was, seeing as I had nowhere to go, wasn’t expecting any company and surely I’d be awake for a while …Why not take a bath?

There’s something comforting/discomforting about taking a bubble bath …First you’re filled with the thoughts of relaxation. A nice hot bath, lay back, read a book, perhaps some music …Ah, a bath. Then there’s the thoughts of being naked, vulnerable and the possibilities of what could happen while you’re confined in a tub* of water. What if there’s a fire? What if one of the cats injuries itself? What if there’s a burglary?

I decided to throw caution to the wind and focus on the relaxing aspect. It had been a bitterly cold day and I had spent most of my afternoon schlepping via bus throughout the city …Yes, a bath would be just the way to wrap up my evening.

*Other words for "tub": barge, barrel, bath, bathe, boat, bucket, cask, crate, firkin, keeler, keelfat, keeve, keg, piggin, scow, ship, tank, vat, vessel.
___________________________________________________________________________

Having cats means lending yourself to their own neuroses.

Feline Neurosis #1: The bathroom door is to never be closed …Never. It must be open at all times. Closing said door may result in zombie-like paws reaching underneath the door and possible whining. A pitiful sight to see.

Feline Neurosis #2: As with the bathroom door, the shower curtain must remain open …Unless you are showering and therefore water would splash everywhere. Closing the shower curtain while bathing results in pawing and the voyeuristic, sporadic peeking. Keep shower curtain open.
___________________________________________________________________________

Bubbles a plenty and the water temp was just right, I laid back and opened my latest read. A few pages in, I noticed Primo was sitting near the edge of the bathtub …His ears were back and he was focused on my foot peeking through the bubbles. I wiggled my toes and Primo took off. Slowly he crept back, stalking my left foot. I set my book aside and watched Primo’s curiosity unfold. After glaring at my orange toenail from various angle, it was time to strike …He raised his paw and “SWAP!” …He took off running towards the safety of the living room.

I thought to myself “Dammit Primo, why must you do this when I’m in the bath and my camera is in my bag?”

Eyeing my slippers near the door, I stood up and quickly wrapped my bubbly self in a towel, slipped my wet feet into my slippers and pranced to find my bag and try not to leave puddles. Camera in hand, I stepped back into the bathtub and sat there with my toe sticking out of the bubbles.

Camera: ON.

I thought to myself “Ok Primo, come back!”

I sat there, with my camera …Primo was nowhere to be found. After a few minutes, he reappeared in the doorway.

Wiggling my toes, I called for him “Primo, Primo! Come here!”

Nothing.

“Primo …Primooo, come here! Primo!”

Nothing. And that’s when it dawned on me:

“Dear Self,

You are sitting naked in a lukewarm bath of bubbles with your camera …Calling for your cat.

Crap,
-Self”
________________________________________________________________________

Friday, 5PM

Me: “I should wash my hair …I need to run to CVS.”
Lisa: “Yes, you must shower before going to CVS.”
Me: “Lisa, if I ever crack …And I’m found pushing an empty shopping cart, mumbling to myself up Broadway …I hope people will say ‘Hey, I just saw Amanda with a shopping cart, talking gibberish to herself on Broadway …And you know what? She smelled great!’.”

The Latest Craze: My Mother Has A Passion For Technology

2008-12-03T19:31:00.000-08:00

Mom: “You both never -NEVER-had a pacifier!”
Me: “Ah, I couldn’t have one …I couldn‘t even have a bottle.”
Mom: “I know, honey but you know what I’m saying. My children NEVER needed a pacifier.”
Me: “Mom, I had a ‘suck-blankie’ until I was 5 and Matthew had a bottle until he was 4…”
Mom: “What I’m saying, Mandy, is that cell phones …ipods …All of those goo-gadgets are just pacifiers.”
Me: “Yes …”
Mom: “I see it everyday at work …These grown children visiting a sick family member and they both come walking in on their cell phones …And the moment their phone goes off, well by golly they have to answer it!”
Me: “I know but in some cases it’s relevant …I mean, I live alone, it‘s my main mode of communication.”
Mom: “Well, honey, we’re not talking about Amanda Jordyn Phelps, right now.”
Me: “I know but I’m just saying …Why I agree with you on people’s dependence on technology, especially their cell phones …It’s all relative, person to person …I’m just playing devil’s advocate here.”
Mom: “Well, what do you do when you go into a place of business or a restaurant?”
Me: “I put my phone on vibrate or on a rare occasion, I leave my phone at home on quick errands …But hey, we’re not talking about Amanda Jordyn Phelps here.”
Mom: “You shut the phone off or turn the ringer off! I raised my baby girl right …But Matthew had to go and call me crazy -CRAZY- when I got upset over him checking his text messages during our brief time to see each other.”
Me: “Well, the next time Matthew calls you ‘crazy,’ Mom …Just say that you’re not ‘crazy,’ that you’re ‘passionate’ …Say it very calmly and have that be that. There’s no need to exasperate the situation.”
Mom: “Passionate! That’s right …I’ve always been passionate, Mandy …I know I’m not Italian but when Matthew kept checking his phone during our visit, I was very passionately peeved about that.”
Me: “Yes …But Mom you have to look at it from Matthew’s standpoint …Think of all of the people he has to contend with, all the relationships that he has to juggle whenever he comes back to town for a short while.”
Mom: “Yes but I’m his Mother, Mandy!”
Me: “Now Mom, I hate to burst your bubble and I hate to state it so bluntly but look at the situation, you are the only person that unconditionally loves Matthew and I …And there are so many conditional relationships that Matthew must juggle that when it comes down to it who do you think he’s going to cater to at the end of the day? That‘s just how it goes fortunately and unfortunately.”
Mom: “ [sigh] I have two wonderful children, you know that Mandy …Oo, can I call you right back? I need to take this call.”
Me: “Ha! Take that conditional person’s call, I’ll be here.”

Why Cindy Brady Never Collected Coins

2008-12-03T17:26:00.001-08:00

Numismatics (nu-mis-mat-ics): n. study of coins. The study of money or means of exchange. Usually exclusively used for the study of coins and tokens.

Numismaticist (nu-mat-I-cist): A coin collector. Numismatics deals with the historical, artistic, technological, social and commercial nature of money in the present, the past and in all countries of the world.

Last Friday, my friend Chris and I met up for drinks at a favorite neighborhood bar. Chris bought the first round with his newfound collection of $1 Presidential coins.

Chris: “I don’t know why …I was just at the bank and decided to ask for some …Look at John Quincy Adams.”
Me: “He’s never looked so good.”
Bartender: “You know, most bartenders would be upset over this but I’m totally taking some of these home!”
Chris: “These are a big deal for coin collectors …Numerists? Oo c’mon, they have a name ….”

[Note: The following is an excerpt from Chris and I’s great brainstorm. I’m noting to say that this all occurred before any proper sip of our hoppy beverages.]

“Numeri-st-es”
“Numatit-s-ist! Numatitsist!”
“Numer-o-cist-ses?”
“Numers”
“Nu-nu-s!”
“Coini-sists”
“Coiners!”
“Coin-deros!”
“Numa-mint-ists”
“Coin-minters”
“Wait, does it even involve ‘mint‘?”
“Numa-meros”
“Numa-numa!”
“Numathmaticians?”
“Num-Nums”
“You know I’m going to Google this when I get home.”
“Coin-countess”
“Numero-icists-s-s”
“Coin-istsas!”
“Nubians!”
“Rubulists!”

[Post-Google phone conversation]

Me: “Numismatics!”
Chris: “Yes! I knew it! Numismatics, nu-mis-mat-icist!”
Me: “Numismatici-st-s-s …No wonder Cindy Brady never collected coins.”

Maine is for Lovers

2008-12-01T16:24:00.000-08:00

I'm now the proud owner of a chunk of the original granite flooring (circa 1927) from the Pittsfield Building. Located at 55 W. Washington St., the Pittsfield Building is not only the location of my dentist's office but one of my favorite buildings in Chicago.

Built in 1927, the Pittsfield was designated an official Chicago landmark in November of 2002. At the time it was built, the 38-story Pittsfield was deemed the highest building in the downtown area. It's art deco and gothic stylings make every dentist visit well-worth it for me. Look for yourself: www.pittsfield55.com/

Unfortunately, aside from being a Chicago landmark, the owners of the Pittsfield have decided to uproot the beautiful granite flooring and replace it with ...vinyl. Which will undoubtfully start to discolor within a year or so ...Plus not to mention all of the foot traffic that will cause numerous dents, scuffs and dings.

I'll always have my slab though ...I think it sort of resembles Maine.

And to Those I May Have Forgotten ...

2008-11-27T10:16:00.000-08:00

Written on Nov. 14th, 2008

Yes, I write. Yes, at times I’ve referred to myself or have been referred to as a writer. Yes, I overuse commas and ellipsis’s. Plus, due to my texting habit I often replace “and” with the plus symbol. There are times I neglect to pre-edit but if any of you (and most of you have) have ever spoken with me there’s the ongoing debate that either I write how I talk or talk how I write. Hello chicken. Hello egg. On your mark …Get set …Go!

What I’m getting at is that whether or not I’m a writing writer, a talking writer or a writing talker …I have stuck to my guns that I have never dreamt or have aspired to write a book. The next “Great American” novel is not in me and I take much glee in that. Though it’d be an honor to write a how-to pamphlet or perhaps a collection of saved voicemails …I prefer to keep any and all ties with books (of which there are many) at a reader level.

That all said there is one fantasy I think any and all writers be it lit, blogging, even music share in …That one page sometimes put in the front and sometimes buried in the back: The “I’d like to thank …” page. So I figured I’d cut to the skinny of any good book and write my “I’d like to thank page”. Especially due to recent events throughout the past couple of months, I find the act of thanking quite fitting be it between two covers or on your computer’s screen.

Ahem.

The Author would like to thank:

Lisa + Paul (there’s a bottle of wine on my counter with our names on it), Jovan + Rey (I’ll be sure to pour you each a glass as well), Nick (for your continued presence in my life + pushing me to keep writing. I have the utmost respect for you), Jason (we’ve stuck to our guns for 6 yrs. [insert something deep + meaningful that would make us both sort of vomit in our mouths but is meant just the same]), Lexi (I miss your face always + my coffee is lonely), Jeff (we are retarded + our child would have hooves. You know the rest), Chris (for being a beacon of laughter + getting me to do outrageous digit drops on your behalf), James (for giving my plants a home, the smiles + steady breathing),Luke (for what it is worth),Mikey (for all of the fiercesness, taking expert care of my tresses + your no-bounds honesty), John (for all of the days of red mung bean dumplings + midget witch brooms. I wish you + Fando the best on your travels), Paul + Ana (the best neighbors turned friends a person could ask for), Elena (for calling me “snarky” + finding it refreshing), Greg (my phony green card husband by way of Finland), Danger Mike (for all the burritos + Bears/White Sox scores), Carissa (for all of those pep talks that went without questioning), Mat (for all the California lingo), Rebecca (your enthusiasm + downright sunny disposition is infectious), Mark (for becoming Canadian + 8 yrs of friendship), my Kopi family for keeping me slathered in hummus, fueled with caffeine and taking me in (Scott, Jesse, Garrett, Liza, Jenny, Chris, Rebecca + Lance, the best hummus rolls ever), to both Tristin + Rob (new friends + amazing Americanos).

I’d also like to say thank you to the four faces I start my days + end my nights with: Lola, Primo, Milo + Alton. You have never been able to truly comprehend all that is going on around you but you all find me when I need you the most. I’m always reminding you in some foreign language that we will be ok + I mean it more with each day.

To my family: Matthew, the best brother I’ll ever have (Thank goodness Mom just went through the change). I love knowing you + I'm proud. My Mother, my Mom, my Mommy, Robin. Thank you most of all for your unwavering support, pride and the unconditional love that defines Motherhood, that defines you. I should also say thank you for all of the material you give me on a near daily basis. You are truly the funniest woman I’ve ever known + your reflection follows me throughout my days. To my Father who instilled in me the importance of a clean home, the proper use of a lint brush and taught me that unexpected people might break your heart but that they too are human. Without meaning to you taught me the most important lesson that is empathy.

To Ben Schaafsma (Sept. 7th 1982-Oct. 25th 2008), the memory + the inspiration of you is now a part of me. You helped wake me up + there’s a lot I wish I could to tell you. Seeing how many people you’ve touched, how much you were able to cram within 26 years. I will forever be in awe + admiration, both of which continue to be inspiring.

To Chris Saathoff (July 1st, 1978-February 14th, 2004) , your life + loss carries throughout today. There are many moments I know your memory has kept me safe.

Dianna Catenacci + Patricia Bouck, there are no words try as I might to say thank you for all that your pressence + memories have instilled within me. Dianna, your laughter still echoes + the memory of your tenacious fight for life has picked me up when I’ve fallen. Patricia, you gave me the best gift of all that is my Mother and it was her who instilled in me your legacy.

I’d also like to extend gratitude towards: Harry Nilsson, traffic lights, Merrium-Webster, NPR/Chicago Public Radio, the Hopleaf, Bell + Howell, Richard Dreyfuss, Dean Martin, fabric softener, Sprint, the city that is Chicago, Intelligenstia, indoor plumbing, Simon’s, both Dell + Apple respectively, Featherproof Books, my dentist Dr. Deaver and ibprofrin.

What A Difference 5 yrs. Makes ...

2008-11-27T10:00:00.001-08:00

Archives: October 2008

2008-11-27T09:55:00.000-08:00

Org. Post: Thursday, October 09, 2008

Say Hello to 1500 (Give or Take) of My Closest Friends

After sitting on my sofa, playing air drums for a good 5 minutes I've decided to finally bite the bullet + tell the most memorable (if not best known story) of my summer.

The summer of 2008 will forever be remembered as "the summer of the ladybugs" or to be more specific: "the summer I bought 1500+ ladybugs …willingly". Actually, it was what I purposefully sought out to do on that hazy Saturday, in late June.

Two things you need to know beforehand:

1. I moved into my current apartment at the start of July, 2007. Anyone who has ever moved knows how consuming such a task can be both pre + post move. My new apartment brought about a decklet ripe for all the plants I so dearly wished for in my non-decklet/former apartment (it also brought about my common usage of the non-word "decklet"). With all of the aches + (growing) pains of moving, my plant aspirations would have to wait until the following summer. Enter 2008. Lisa + I made it a bi-weekly to-do to visit our nearest greenhouse. There we would enable one another to purchase new plants that would be added to our rotations ("Lisa, that blueberry bush wants to go home with you, c'mon!"). This summer, my decklet would play host to a handful of foliage. Aloe, various cacti + succulents (a personal favorite), a beloved (and sorely short-lived) Star of Bethlehem, coleus, a hospice tomato plant, an orange dalia, various sedum, oregano, cilantro, chocolate mint, flax, a dwarf sunflower (another personal favorite) …and a chili pepper plant. None too shabby for someone raised in a household of plastic green décor.

2. Aphids. According to Merriam-Webster, aphids are defined as: white, mealy worm-type pests.

Out of all my plants (the Star of Bethlehem + sunflower aside) my most prized was my chili pepper plant. I was determined to see a pepper by summer's end.

One sunny afternoon, Lisa + I were sitting out on my decklet, when I pointed to some white specks I'd noticed underneath the leaves of my seemingly stunted chili pepper plant. "Oo no! You have aphids!," Lisa exclaimed, "Yep. Those are definitely aphids."

After a little bit of research (something I'm prone to do …obsessively), it was true. Aphids. After further (obsessive) research, I discovered that all was not lost. A natural predator of such plant killing pests were none other than ladybugs. They seemed the least harmful to my edible (dream a little dream) plant. I knew they were sold at my trusty greenhouse …Though, I wasn't sure on the specifics (…yet).

Saturday rolled around, the pitch perfect summery day (and take it from me, I hate summer). It was also my neighborhood's annual Midsummer Fest. All of the businesses up + down N. Clark had a display, live music, free food + scantly clad, neckless leather daddies. I waded through the festivities with one goal in mind: ladybugs.

When I got to the greenhouse, I quickly found an employee + inquired as to where the ladybugs were.

Employee: "Aphids?"

Me: "You bet."

The guy pointed towards the outdoor checkout.

I walked over to the check-out, thinking "I'll just buy a few …Maybe 10." As I rounded the corner, I saw bowling ball sized bags made of plastic netting. Inside I could see a ball of hay + red flecks crawling all over.

Me: "I'd like to buy some ladybugs, please."

Check-out Guy: "Sure!"

(he grabbed one of the bowling ball bags behind him)

Me: "Um, how many are there?"

Check-out Guy: "About 1500 give or take."

Me: "Great …."

[I would later read the bag's description. Flown from California, they actually bag 1800 but estimate 1500 make the trip or for "mortality losses".]

My new 1500 aphid killers in hand, I started back down N. Clark towards home. As I made it through the festival goers, it occurred to me that I was out of my breakfast go-tos, green apples …I figured a quick stop at Edgewater Produce wouldn't do my new friends any harm seeing as they had traveled across the country.

Ladybugs in hand, I picked out a handful of apples + went to the check-out. The cashier gave me a sideways glance as I set my bag of ladybugs on the counter in order to pull out my pocketbook. In Spanish, my cashier spoke across the lane to the neighboring cashier. I couldn't pick up all that they were saying (I learned some German from a Swedish woman when I was a child. You'd be amazed at how little that has helped me in life) but I noticed they were staring at my ladybugs + then at me. I stood there with my cash in hand for my apples when I heard my cashier say "loco" …"Hey! I know what that means!," I blurted. They laughed. I grabbed my apples + my bugs.

Given all that Andersonville's Midsummer's fest entails, you'd think there would be plenty of things to oogle at aside from a girl with a bag of ladybugs. People made no secret of eyeing me as I continued, chin up, towards home.

"Hey, what's in the bag?"

"Whoa, are those ladybugs?"

"Whatcha got there?"

"Can I look at your ladybugs?"

"Is that your real hair?"

I nonchalantly tried to explain that my chili pepper plant has aphids but it fell on (leather-clad) deaf ears.

I finally made it home, unloaded my apples + changed into my summer home loungewear of choice: a strapless/sleeveless sundress (I assure you this description is key to the story). I had taken off my handkerchief + decided since it was my day off why not open a bottle of Old Rasputin (when drinking Old Rasputin you do not call it beer) before heading to my decklet to unleash my little black + red aphid terrorists. As I walked outside barefoot, I made sure to grab my camera + my fly swatter, which is in the shape of a ladybug + says "GOTCHA!" when it hits something (a gift from James after I told him about my plans to buy ladybugs).

I read the label for instructions.

"Dust off aphids before applying ladybugs."

This seemed silly since I wanted the ladybugs to EAT the aphids. They'd traveled a long way + had been living off of a few raisins. They deserved a real meal + my chili plant's aphid population promised to be full-course, OCB-style. I dusted off a few aphids but kept most of them attached.

"Open bag and sprinkle a few ladybugs onto plant. In a couple of days repeat process by re-applying more ladybugs."

Easy enough. I took a swig of Old Rasputin and tore the top of the bag open.

The label had said to "sprinkle a few" …The moment I tore the netting, there would be no sprinkling. My ladybugs were smart. They knew where out was + they knew how to get there. Within seconds, ladybugs were pouring everywhere …Including up my legs, between my toes, down my dress, in my hair (I was foolish to remove my handkerchief!). They were going up posts, down steps.

I did what I'd like to think anyone would do: I dropped the bag on my chili plant + started jumping, all the wile shouting "OH CRAP! OH CRAP!"

It was then that the wind decided to pick up + I realized just how touch sensitive my nearby ladybug fly swatter truly was.

"GOTCHA! GOTCHA! GOTCHA!," it started to shout.

"I KNOW! I KNOW!," I replied, while jumping up + down, left + right, arms flying.

"GOTCHA! GOTCHA!"

"I KNOW! OH CRAP! OH CRAP!"

And then, just like that, there was a calm. I caught my breath + tried to stifle my laughter. I stood there, watching as 1500 (give or take) ladybugs took over whole leaves on not only my chili plant but all of my other plants as well.

I shooed a few ladybugs off of my kitchen door's step + sat down. I couldn't stop laughing + was afraid that my neighbors would come out to our shared decklet.

I imagined having to break the news "Ah, Ana …Paul …Don't worry. I just unleashed 1500 …Give or take, mind you …ladybugs on our decklet. Everything is under control. I have aphids!" (Fly Swatter: "GOTCHA!")

The next morning, before work, I took a cup of coffee out to the decklet …I sat down and counted 1, 2, 3 ….7 ladybugs! 7!

As I sat there, sipping my coffee, I thought: "Well, thanks for sticking around guys."

The following days, the ladybugs would come back and within the week the aphids were gone. As the months rolled on, my chili pepper plant would become huge and offer one full-sized pepper.

The ladybugs would disappear entirely by summer's end …But I refused to see this as a loss. I'm sure that my neighborhood was the most pest-free neighborhood in all of Chicago.

Org. Post: Wednesday, October 22, 2008

A Tale of Two Siblings

[10/21/08, the eve of my brother Matthew's 22nd birthday]

Me: "I'm not wishing you a happy birthday yet. I'm not going to do it until it's official."

Matthew: "Don't do it, Manda."

Me: "I'm not going to and you can't make me!"

Matthew: "Don't!"

Me: "I won't!"

Matthew: "Good!"

Me: "Fine!"

_________________________________________________________

Me: [brother's voicemail] "Well, it's officially your birthday so I'm calling to wish you just that. Happy birthday! Twenty-two years ago I met you. I remember having to go to a friend's house after pre-school. Even though it was only October for some reason that day in school we had glued Honeycomb cereal into a snowflake pattern. As my friend's Mother drove me to their house, while Mom was in labor, I proceeded to eat the Honeycomb cereal off of the blue construction paper …glue and all. That's why I will forever correlate your birthday with the taste of glue. It's an acquired taste. Happy birthday! I miss you and like I said last night, enjoy your day, own it! I'll talk with you soon. "

___________________________________________________________

I've probably made mention of this before but I remember when my Mother first told me that she was expecting a child. I was three and a half years old.

Mom: "Mandy, honey, do you want a brother or a sister?"

Me: "I'd like a unicorn!"

Nine months later …

My best friend in preschool was a girl named Nicole. Best friends because we were close in age (she was a year older) and our Mothers had gone to high school together. The latter factor might also be the reason why I attended preschool at a Lutheran church (we had just moved back to my parent's native Michigan and my Mother was all for recommendations from close friends).

On one October day in 1986, Nicole's Mother picked us up from school …She quickly explained to me that my Mother was in labor and I'd be staying the night at their house. I hated staying over at Nicole's house. Her Mother made me eat things like salad and peanut butter/jelly sandwiches without the proper ratio of either.

_________________________________________________________

Years later, while making a pb+j in front of my childhood babysitter, Candy*:

Candy: "Hey, are you like making a designer sandwich or something?"

Me: [making sure the peanut butter + jelly evenly touched each corner of crust] "I guess so. Yes. Yes I am. How do you make yours?"

Candy: "Well, it doesn't take me forever!"

Later that evening, I successfully stayed hidden in the dirty clothes hamper during a game of hide + seek for two hours. Candy started to get upset, yelling my name throughout the house. I waited until she was near tears. No one makes fun of my sandwich making.

*Candy was my babysitter with dreams of being a "stewardess".

_________________________________________________________

Nicole and I sat in the backseat of her family's station wagon, as we drove to her house. You know, the station wagon where the seats actually face the opposite direction so that you can make faces at the driver behind you. A childhood rite of passage.

_________________________________________________________

Me: "Mom, I want a station wagon! They're so cool! Yesterday, Nicole and I were sitting in the backseat, pretending to choke each other and the guy driving behind us raised his finger at us …"

_________________________________________________________

That day in class, we had used Elmer's glue to place Honeycomb cereal into the shape of a snowflake. Nicole and I had finished eating our glued cereal bits by the time we arrived at Nicole's house.

The afternoon became evening and I wanted to go home. After desperately trying to brush the taste of lettuce out of my mouth and borrowing one of Nicole's nightgowns, I laid in their guest bedroom, staring up at the ceiling …There was a knock on the door.

Nicole's Mother: "Amanda, your Mother had a baby boy! You have a new brother!"

Me: [pretending to be asleep]

Nicole's Mother: "Your Father is here to take you home."

Me: [jumps out of bed] "Yay!"

The next day, I met Matthew. He was ruddy cheeked and his eyes wouldn't focus. There was also a horn missing from his forehead.

_____________________________________________________________

"Ninda," that's what Matthew used to call me. The mushy parts of his brain had yet to fully form and he in turn couldn't properly pronounce my first name. Within a year's time I answered to "Ninda" and to this day whenever I hear "Linda," I look over my shoulder.

Matthew would end up being my only sibling and honestly I couldn't imagine having another. I often wondered how the Partridge Family, the Brady Bunch or the Osmonds did it. All of those …children. Much like I'm amazed nowadays at the talk show teens who desperately want a baby or the sympathy I feel for first-time parents giving birth to quadruplets. I have four cats, who are exhausting within their own right but who I can legally put in a cage or leave alone for a few hours.

____________________________________________________________

Four years apart, Matthew was my best friend as a child. We shared a room up until I was 14 yrs old.

"Ninda, are you awake?"

I'd open my eyes to see those the same shade as my own, inches from my face, wrapped in a Ninja Turtle's comforter. I'd get up and pour us bowls of Fruity Pebbles. We'd then sit on the den's sofa, wrapped in our respective comforters like Eskimos, watching Tom & Jerry cartoons.

Like any family (especially of divorce), there's water under the bridge. As Matthew and I grew older, our tight childhood bond fell into such water. The four year gap that benefited us as children started to stretch as I entered my teens and left Matthew behind in those awkward pre-teen years.

_____________________________________________________________

Matthew locked me out of the house the first time he saw me smoke a cigarette (he hates this story). As I stubbed out my cigarette and ran up to the front deck after him, I heard the lock click. I also heard Matthew crying.

Matthew: "You're not my sister anymore! You're dirty! I'm telling!"

I pounded on the front door, begging him to let me in, apologizing, trying to explain to no avail. Finally, I would end up crawling through my bedroom window and finding him curled up in a ball on the sofa.

He stiffened as I appeared in the den.

Matthew: "How did YOU get in?"

He would spend the next couple of hours in our Mom's bedroom, until she arrived home.

[My bedroom, my Mother's and the bathroom were the only rooms in the house that had locks on their doors. That same year, Matthew would lock himself in the bathroom for two hours after I gave him a rather unsuccessful haircut. To this day I contest that I had no idea his hair was that thick.]

___________________________________________________________________

Enter the grey years. On one side of ring the burdens of being the eldest on the other side the burdens of being the youngest. The things I thought I was sheltering him from verses the things that neither of us could avoid. The missteps of being thrust into a parental battlefield. Matthew and I coming at things from two different perspectives, two different histories. We lost one another along the way. We lost those cartoon mornings and the afternoons of inventing games until the streetlights flickered. I thought of him as a spoiled brat that didn't understand what was going on and he thought of me as an nonsensical embarrassment.

Looking back now, it makes sense that Matthew didn't like me much then …I didn't like myself.

Recently, I was going through a pile of CDs that I have on the top shelf of my closet. I came across a weathered Sleater-Kinney album. Inside the jacket's sleeve, a small Post-It with "From your beloved brother," written in my Mother's script.

It was 2000, Matthew had taken to breaking my CDs as payback for any earlier upset. My Mother would sooner or later replace them, hence the note.

_____________________________________________________________

One year, for Christmas, Matthew gave me a thumb-sized, cast-iron gorilla statue perched on top of a plastic red ruby.

_____________________________________________________________

Today my brother is 22 yrs old. My own 22nd birthday marked two full years I had lived in Chicago. Things were changing, my visits back home had lessened, Matthew and I would talk here or there but we had yet to truly reach a point where we recognized one another.

The past couple of years (this past year especially) have marked the turning point for both of us.

Last year, he came out for a solo visit and stayed with me for the better part of a week. I took him around and showed him the sights that made up my day to day life. We spent our evenings playing Scrabble (a childhood pastime long forgotten) and for the first time in years: we talked about more than just the weather. We talked about Mom, we talked about Dad. We talked about high school. We talked about the times I couldn't leave my bed. We talked about what we loved, what we lost, what we missed and what we wanted.

This past August, Matthew visited with his girlfriend Andrea. It was unfortunately a brief stay but shortly after he left, I called my Mother.

Me: "Mom, Matthew just left and I miss him. I really miss him. That was the best visit he and I have ever had."

__________________________________________________________

When Matthew was 6 yrs old, I helped my Mom put together his Easter basket. While she was busy with his real basket, I was filling another with dental floss, raisins and his soap-stained bath toys.

The next morning, Matthew froze as he started to open the basket that I had made for him …Before the tears started, my Mother uncovered his real basket that the "Easter bunny" had tucked away behind the sofa.

__________________________________________________________

The little boy I built forts with out of pillows, that I taught to walk, that (briefly) liked Hanson has grown up. The boy that I had lost sight of was now taller with broad shoulders and sporting stubble. I have always loved him but most importantly now, I like him. If he were just another face in the crowd, I'd want to know him. Even as I type this, I want to introduce you to him.

Every year, on my own birthday, my Mother explains to me that it's a birthday for her, as well (forget the fact that her actual birthday is 4 days after mine). Today I understand what she means. It's a given that I don't think I'd be the person I am today without my Mother or even my Father (who I haven't seen in 4 yrs and counting) but I know I wouldn't be the person I am without having Matthew in my life. I'm happy to know him. I'm happy that due to our shared genetics we are stuck together.

As I type this, Matthew is in his third year of college in Grand Rapids, MI. He's an English major (therefore looking at a career in teaching, ahem). His intellect surpasses "smart" and his wit grows sharper each time I speak with him. We talk about music, books, politics, school, relationships and what crazy thing Mom said the other day.

Me: Matthew, Mom tried to talk politics with me again.

Matthew: Ah, I know! She tries to do that with me too!

Me: I just can't do it!

Matthew: Me either!

He's the brother I've always wanted and I finally feel like the sister that's worth having.

My brother, Matthew -November 2008.

Archives: May 2008-Oct. 2008

2008-11-27T09:49:00.000-08:00

Org. Post: Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Chewing Gum For the Eyes: This Show Was Filmed In Front Of A Pseudo Audience

Wikipedia explains quantum entanglement as: "a quantum mechanical phenomenon which the quantum states of two or more objects are somehow linked together so intimately that one object cannot be adequately described without full mention of its counterpart — even though the individual objects may be spatially separated. This interconnection leads to correlations between observable physical properties of remote systems."

Albert Einstein described quantum entanglement as: "spooky action at a distance".

Dean Stockwell (who played Al, on the 1989-93 series "Quantum Leap"): "You're part of a time travel experiment that went a little ca-ca."

______________________________________________________________

(Nearly) A year without television.

"Good for you!"

"I couldn't live without cable!"

"Wait, you mean you haven't seen that commercial …"

"No television!?"

"What?"

That's what I've been hearing over (nearly) a year, now without cable.

"But wait, you have a television …You don't need cable, just get local. What? You don't want local either?"

Nope. No cable. Nope. No local.

"Go green!"

"It's nice to see someone keeping up with the punk 'kill your television' aesthetic!"

Truth be told, the sole reason I had cable in my former apartment was due to the fact that the ever faithful employees at Comcast never disconnected the former tenant's. Actually, they finally did disconnect "my" service …A full week before my move.

As for local, I apologize for the embarrassing simplicity of my explanation. In order to hook up local, I'd have to run a cord across my living room …I have four cats. Yep, that's what it comes down to. No thanks.

Sure, I miss CSPAN, who wouldn't? There are times I realize what a fantastic distraction television is …The urge to numb my brain …However, I refuse to fork over any money and even more so I'm not even going to begin the trials and tribulations of a lengthy cord and my cats' need to well, chew.

And then I take in consideration: Who needs a sitcom? Lemme tell you about my week!

_______________________________________________________

As a toddler, in Houston, TX …I remember sitting in front of our small tube television. My skin tanned from quality sandbox time, clad in a swimsuit, an orange sherbet push-up in hand …and dripping from my chin, sticky sweet in my hair.

"Savvvvvvve yooooooou monnnnnney!"

Ooo, it's on! My favorite commercial! I'd quickly hold out my hand, as though holding a fan of dollar bills (a dollar is a lot of money for a child) …"Savvvvvve yooooooooooou monnnnnnney!" I'd gleefully repeat back to the man with Ken-doll hair, on screen.

_______________________________________________________

It was Friday, I had spent my morning medicating cats and clocked out at 3PM. The telltale signs were all there: it was muggy, the bruised sky was moving by fast. It was going to rain.

After debating train and bus time, I decided it best to be out the door by 730PM. That gave me plenty of time to do a quick apartment clean, shower, powder my nose, practice walking in my new heels (which I did while washing a quick load of laundry, in my building's basement) and slip into my dress for the evening's event …which was located in the west Loop.

I grabbed my umbrella, "just in case," gave myself a look over in the mirror (because I do that …I also secretly question the width of my hair), grabbed a book for the ride and headed out … I congratulated myself for safely making it down the three flights of spiraled stairs to the courtyard.

I open the gate: TYPHOON!

Rain from the left, rain from the right, I quickly tucked my dress between my knees, my umbrella turned inside out the moment I foolishly opened it.

For those of you have been reading this "blog," over the past couple of years …You're aware of my feelings when it comes to cabs. They usually go something like this: "Don't hit me, don't hit me, don't hit me. Going to O'Hare? Going to Union? Nope. No. I'm not taking a cab."

I hailed the cab within seconds. Wet splotches across my dress, my hair surprisingly holding together, my bag completely soaked.

"847 W. Jackson. Yeah, it's nuts out there."

There's a reason Batman is filmed in Chicago. My cab driver seemed to be under the impression that he was not only in the sequel to the sequel to the sequel but he had in fact taken the lead. We're hydroplaning up Lake Shore in record time. It's barely 745PM. I guess I'm going to be early …if I survive.

I start playing the silent game of "Please don't do that. Please don't do that. Please …I have a Mother who loves me. Put down your phone," as Cabman starts sending/receiving texts on his phone …Meanwhile, I can barely see the city through the flood, whizzing by my window.

We turn off Lake Shore and start darting through the grid that is the Loop. Over this bridge, under this pass, take a left, a right, zig here, zag there. I try to divert what last moments of free thought ("Amanda ate all her strained peaches and she moved her big toe a quarter of a centimeter to the left, today, doctor") to my attire, my hair and my now soggy book (just add water). Such in-depth notions before Cabman kills us both.

Suddenly, both back windows start to roll …completely …down.

Cabman: "How you feeling? You look dehydrated!"

Me: [nervous laughter/the synapse of shock starting to flare] "Oo no! I'm quite hydrated! Ha-ha-ha …I'm just going to roll this up now, OK? Thanks though!"

We idly stop at a stop sign, a homeless Vietnam vet (according to his sign) thrusts a cup in my open windowed direction.

And off we go again.

847 W. Jackson. We pull up. Record time. I begrudgingly pay (and included an even more so begrudged tip) and reach for the door's handle. Nothing. I pull again. Nope. I silently begin to mindfully will the door open. A woman walks by. I tap at the window.

Woman: "Hey! Why won't you let this girl out!?"

She springs me free and I firmly plant my heels into the pavement. I successfully managed to stay both dry (yet hydrated) and vertical for the rest of my evening.

_________________________________________________________________-

My Mother taught aerobics as a hobby shortly after Matthew was born. For the longest time she taught Monday and Wednesday nights, 630-8PM. She'd kiss my brother, my Father and myself 'good-bye,' dressed in spandex and making sure she had the latest Toni Braxton c-single, in her bag.

Monday nights, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air came on at 8PM/Eastern. What sort of crazy hijinx would Carlton and Will get into tonight?

Monday nights also served as family pedi/mani night. My anal retentive Father (I assure you that reads rather sweetly in my head) would take it upon himself to make sure Matthew and I were the only kids in elementary to never suffer a hangnail. We'd sit there on the sofa, watching Will Smith hitch a ride from a cab that had a license plate that read "FRESH" and dice in the mirror …While my Father clipped our nails and scolded us for biting them.

Television is a great bonding experience between families.

_________________________________________________________________________

"You are wonderful."

That's what he said over brunch before we parted ways.

I stayed behind for a few minutes, opting to get a cup of coffee, a vegan cookie to go and chat with my friends Scott and Jesse, who were working.

It was a typical spring Saturday, albeit a bit cold and windy. My hair was down and I feared hitting others as I walked over to a nearby bench on the generally hectic stretch of Clark St. I dialed my Mother's number and we talked until I found myself back on my feet.

I wasn't sure what to do with the rest of my day. I knew if I headed back to my apartment, I'd just think and I didn't want to waste a perfectly fine day-off with such an annoying habit.

I started walking up Clark, the wind shuffling me forward, my hair masking my sunglasses, keeping an ear out for any sudden honking or a good Samaritan yelling "Watch out!".

That's when I walked smack dab into a longtime friend. Longtime seeing that we've known each other for a handful of years. A friend because we attempted dating at the beginning of the handful and make a point to hang out a few times a year. The modern day friendship.

After more coffee and walking throughout the neighborhood, we decided to grab a drink at a favorite spot, nearby, known for their unpretentious setting, a 10 cent historical tour and stellar jukebox selection (enough so that I can freely use the term 'stellar' without a hint of sarcasm).

There were two other people seated at the bar, Luke and I took a seat at a small table, drinks in hand. We were debating the usage of air quotes and I successfully managed to air quote the term air quote. He told me about the drawing class he had just come from ("We're all basically drawing 'WANTED' posters") and his boss's emoticon habits (the same boss that shares a name with a rail hoppin' forefather of folk music).

I put my morning's events on "delay" and was happy to be in good company, familiar company, fellow air quoting company.

In the time it takes to snap your fingers …Go ahead, feel free to do so for reference sake …Luke and I found ourselves elbow to elbow with zombies.

As though a clown car sat out front and had opened it's door, zombies started piling in (still with me?). Big, small, fake flesh wounds, green face paint …and packed in for some swill.

It then occurred to me that it was Saturday, the "annual zombie pub crawl," Saturday. My calendar had somehow neglected to include this (it does however highlight "National Dog Bite Awareness Week").

Luke and I looked at each other from across our dwindling space. My shoulders began to slump forward to make room for the bloody elbows and elaborate costuming making a beeline for my face. Luke reached over to a nearby zombie and asked "Hey, where are you guys going next?"

In a rather uncharismatic exuberant zombie fashion, the girl replied "CHARLIE'S ALE HOUSE!"

Luke [to me] "Do you want to go to the Hopleaf?"

Me: "Yes."

Amanda Jordyn, this is your life.

________________________________________________________________________

Every year, Matthew and I would get to pick out a new comforter. My choices ranged from Thundercats to the Care Bears and the Little Mermaid (Yep). Matthew opted for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, X-Men and Lion King.

Every Saturday morning and certain mornings throughout the summer, Matthew and I would wake up in time for cartoons.

We'd sit there, on the living room sofa, wrapped in our respective comforters, a bowl of cereal in our laps. I was never one to put milk on my cereal and I remember using the term "muddles," a lot to explain this.

"But the milk just muddles the cereal's flavor."

I was a yenta in training.

For years, this was my brother and I's routine. Eventually, the trademarked themes of our comforters would fade, we'd opt for more solid/neutral …more "mature" tones. By that time, we also each had a television in our bedrooms and were beginning to realize the joys of sleeping in.

This would mark the beginning of my brother and I growing apart (for the usual teenage duration) and the end of cartoons.

_________________________________________________________________________

Last Sunday came and went. I had a somewhat abusive caller call for a spay/neuter appointment. A story that by this time I've had repeat so many times that it's become redundant, suffice to say:

-No, you cannot bring your cat in a produce box (And no, I don't care if there are holes in it).

-Even assholes name their cats "Snowball".

_________________________________________________________________________

My Mother's all-time favorite show is/was Friends (Yes, I had my money on the OJ Simpson trial or Dallas too).

To this day, come Thursday evenings 8-830PM, it's programmed to magically pop into my head "Oo, Friends should be on …Where's my Mother?"

_____________________________________________________________________________

I went into work Monday morning, throwing myself into work and my need for distraction.

It was raining and I was debating what state I'd find my decklet plants, when I clocked out at 3PM …Katie walked into the clinic and I followed her out to the front foyer. There stood a women, her hooded sweatshirt tied tightly around her grimacing face. At first, I debated whether or not her face was so obscured due to the damp drawstrings being tied too tightly …It then occurred to me that she was crying. Sobbing. In her arms she held a large tan canvas bag.

Her 18 yr old cat, Smitty was dying and she needed help. Before I had time to really decipher this information as she mouthed the words …Her crying was near hysterics, the type of hysterics that makes one lose their voice and gum their words …She thrust the canvas bag into my arms.

There he was, Smitty …He was starting to grow cold but his green eyes still flashed signs of recognition, as he wavered back and forth.

Smitty and I hung out for a little while, while it was decided that we'd euthanize him and give his remains back to the woman, to bury in her backyard.

I sat there on the wet foyer floor, holding this canvas bag, "Hi Smitty …"

"You are wonderful"/zombies/"go fuck yourself"/Primo's tumors/rent due/stomach flu/"You look dehydrated"

…And now Smitty.

Dear Self,

This is not about you. Do not make this about you. Do not cry. Do not choke up. Just do your job. Insert mental file of comforting things to say.

Crap.

While Smitty went to sleep, I sat with his owner, her fingers digging into my arm as she shared stories of the Smitty she had known for the past 18 yrs.

Smitty was closest to one of her other cats, Goldie. I commented that "Smitty and Goldie," sounded like "quite the team. Sort of like Cagney + Lacey." …The woman fortunately was able to choke out a laugh, as she wiped her nose and patted her eyes.

I told her that she had done the right thing.

She told me that she wasn't sure. That it's lonely in this world. That she just needed someone to listen. Someone to care. She asked my name and told me that she'd remember it because it's the same as her neighbor's. I listened. Putting on my best poker face. I silently tried to will her to please, just please stop crying. I know it's lonely. Please don't cry.

She kept talking about loneliness. I kept listening. I caught myself choking up briefly but quickly reminded myself: This is not about you.

Smitty was returned in a cardboard box …The woman slipped him back into the canvas bag. I held the door and asked if I could hug her. For some reason I always feel the need to ask ahead of time …It seems like an appropriate question after years of unsolicited hugs from strangers and acquaintances alike.

Her fingers dug into my back. It was still raining when she left.

I walked towards the backdoor. I stood out in the rain.

Hello, hello? Can I have some lemons? I'd like to make some lemonade.

____________________________________________________________________________

I've been writing the above for the better half of the past week …As of today, I have yet to step into another cab (I opted for the bus, last Friday night), no one has told me to fuck myself (or at least to my face or over the phone), cats continue to come/go/come again at work and I just sent Luke a text asking if I should get a map for the upcoming "Big Wheel Biker," pub crawl.

Last night, I brushed my teeth/washed my face …Content and ready to partake in a bit of escapism, some mindless fluff before sleep arrived, I turned on my television and put a DVD in (one that I had been neglecting to watch for the past few days). I pulled my throw closer to my chin, adjusted my pillow and hit "play".

"Le Scaphandre et le Papillon

Un film de Julian Schnabel"

Crap. I forgot that it's in French.

Org. Post: Friday, May 23, 2008

Whatever I Am: Messages From My Mother

May 9th, 438PM

Hello my darling daughter, I love you and I miss you …I'm not ignoring you, I've just been busy the last couple of days …I'm doing a garage sale and it's just going to be a one day thing …And I had to pay 20 bucks for that darn ad and I hated it! It kills me to do that! But that's how much they are …They start at 20 bucks at Midland Daily News and I thought the best way to sell my stuff is to advertise it so we'll see how it goes. I put in the ad, I put "Great sale! Everything under $3," [laughter] …I thought that might get them through the door. We'll see just how well I do. But I've been just so busy cleaning out CRAP. You wouldn't believe all of the CRAP. Downstairs in that basement …Old dishes, just sets of dishes that I've had and glasses and CRAP. So I'll see if I sell them. But I had to kind of tap into your brother when he came home today to help me lug the tables out from the little shed, that I use to put the stuff on, you know. So I've been really busy. I'm not ignoring you, honey. I'm thinking about you and I miss you! Hope you're doing fine. If I don't get a chance to talk with this evening …Well the sale is tomorrow, gotta get stuff together. Have a great day and weekend. It's Mothers' Day and I'm celebrating! I have the two best children in the world! I love my babies! They are the best! I'm proud of you! Love you! Bye baby!

May 18th, 210PM

Hi honey, I'm thinking about ya! I know you're at work …I was just driving back from Saginaw. I had to pay on the consumers bill. I'm thinking about you. I just passed the Saginaw mall. God, I can't believe how many times trip to Saginaw I made back in the day, just to go to the mall and Target …It's made me a little reminiscent. It's sunny here, still chilly but sunny and pretty. Hope you're having good weather and doing good. Matthew's off to Grand Rapids to visit friends …So I won't be seeing him this weekend. I have to get my brakes fixed. They're grinding. Yikes! It's going to be a bit expensive but Oo well. I hope Primo's still doing good and the other kitties are doing fine. If I don't talk with you later I love you, thinking about you. Bye honey.

Today, 131PM

Hi honey it's Friday I'm just getting out of work going home to change out of my work clothes. Tonight, Kristen's son's getting married so I'm going to that. Of course it's a dry reception, no drinking …Which is just as well since I have to work all weekend, be up at 5, work Monday/Memorial Day and then Tuesday. Can you believe gas is now $4.18! Yesterday, it was $3.99! So that's where most of my time and money is going. There's some kind of deal going on, if you ask me …Isn't that ridiculous? They know it's Memorial Day weekend! Anyway that's barely 2 gallons for $10.00. I'm lucky I can drive to Bay City and back. It's crazy. It's just really crazyQ Anyway honey, take care I'm thinking about you! If I don't talk with you it's because I'm working. I love you! Take care my baby! Bye!

Org. Post: Saturday, June 28, 2008

Just So That You Know That I Know + Then We Can Both Know

Me: I haven't written anything in almost 2 mths.

Nick: You have plenty to write about. No excuses.

Me: I'm sure I might if I had the energy. It just never feels right. I have my ladybug attack on the back burner.

Nick: Haha.

Me: 1500 of those little suckers all wanting me. I was very popular …The catch? I bought them.

Nick: !?

________________________________________________________

It's in the works.

________________________________________________________

Let's pretend for a moment that tone (yes, tone) wasn't acknowledged within the 19th century + to further this self-imposed land of make believe ...Let's say that the tone button on your radio came about between 1975-1982.

With that thought in mind (1975-1982), it's clear that the need for a tone button was mainly due in part to Michael McDonald's time with the Doobie Brothers.

It's the only way to understanding the first 30 seconds of "Taking It To The Streets".

Me: Michael McDonald ruined the Doobie Brothers.

Nick: The Doobie Brothers ruined the Doobie Brothers.

...You think you know someone after 6 yrs.

Org. Post: Wednesday, July 23, 2008

To The Market: Orange You Glad I Didn’t Say Never?

[Weds., evening-time, phone conversation w/ Mom]

Me: The truth is, Mom, I know 3 people who are battling cancer …Well, one of them it's possible, results will be back next week …When Dianna passed away, in February, you called me at work, I then returned to work …I worked the following day …During her funeral, I was at work. I mean, you called me from the procession …This is the first break I've had to really take all of this in …I hadn't seen Diana in years and now I just have that photo framed on my wall, nothing truly tangible, no sense of closure …

Mom: I know, Mandy …Dianna was very proud of you, sweetheart …And as far as closure, honey, I was there at the funeral and it didn't even seem real enough for closure …You've had a lot on your plate, Mandy …Don't let not being here for Dianna eat away at you. You had a great day today, honey …Dianna was very proud of you.

Me: …Well, when I ran into V, this evening, she started filling me in on her chemo …I didn't even realize my eyes had welled up until she stopped and told me to not get upset …So when you called and asked what was wrong, I was walking back home from talking with V and I couldn't help it.

Mom: You know what I wish you had, Mandy?

Me: What's that?

Mom: Rabbit ears for your TV.

Me: Ok …Mom, I really don't miss television all that much.

Mom: I know but honey, the Olympics are coming up and you would just love it!

Me: The winter Olympics? Mom, I haven't been a fan of the Olympics since I wanted to be a figure skater …And that was in the 4th grade.

Mom: Well, there's this one guy …I forget his name …But he's an amputee …You know, from the knee down, some accident …Well! They're not sure if he can be in the Olympics …He has those curved, long prosthetic legs and boy, he's fast! He could beat anyone with real legs!

Me: ….Well, I can imagine so, Mom? …

Mom: You really don't miss TV?

Me: I really don't …Mom? I love you for this, thank you.

[laughter]

_______________________________________________________________________________

Weds., 1045AM, Day III of my vacation, pay-day!

Me: [ring work's front door bell]

Russell: [answers door] "Well, if it isn't the lady of substance! Hellllllo!"

Me: Well hello, Russell, how are you? …Psst …You don't see me, ok? I'm still on vacation …Don't hassle me I'm local!

_______________________________________________________________________________

Yes, I'm off from work for entire week …Since Monday, I've been focusing on the things that have been set aside on my day-dreamy mental checklist of "Things I Wish I Could Do If I had The Time" (Yes, even my mental to-do list of hopes + dreams is in capitals).

On Monday, for instance, I packed a small bag w/ lakefront reading essentials: book (for the reading or for the "I'm Busy Don't Talk With Me" vibe), blanket, water, cell-phone (to keep track of time, of course) …I then stopped by a friend's place who I'm cat-sitting for through Thursday …Followed by a stop at Shan Foods for some amazingly tasty, amazingly cheap Indian-Pakistani take-out (I believe the term is "Indo-Paki" but I fear saying such out-loud) …And off I went.

Three things …

1. It was a beautiful day for the lakefront …I quickly found a grassy knoll with full view of downtown's points of high interest …I also, after a hour or so, glanced over towards a nearby patch of grass and noticed a ladybug. This amused me more than I care to admit.

2. I made the mistake of ordering only one slice of naan with my order of chana pulao …Remedy? I would take the unused lid off from the complimentary yogurt sauce (which I skip) and proceed to use said lid as a shovel from plate to mouth. I did this as inconspicuously as possible. Eureka!

3. Going to the lakefront on a nice afternoon with a pleasantly full stomach sounds great but doing so alone crosses out any chance for a nap. This bummed me out.

______________________________________________________________________________

Weds., 11AM

Next on my list? The Green City Market, located on the south end of Lincoln Park …A well-publicized, yearly farmer's market, open 7AM-130PM every Weds. + Sat. I'd never been and had always wanted to go …What better a time to nix that off of my list and revel in my need to take photos of pretty produce …Not to mention the promised joy of watching hoards of people under the illusion of expendable incomes, peck at produce like wild chickens.

Enter my friend Jovan, another Green City Market-newbie. After picking up my paycheck, we met up and made a quick stop at the nearest Jewel grocery for batteries (I needed them for my produce photography, after all).

I Yelped my Jewel experience, here (let this be a lesson): One Star Too Many

With coffee in hand, we were off to the market! After looping around the neighborhood a handful of times in search of parking …We were off to the market! (This little piggy …)

Immediately we were greeted by a tall fellow with a clipboard …"Would you like to help out the environment?" (I hate that question …It's like asking "Would you like to wake up tomorrow?" or "Are you upset with the state of our country's affairs in the Middle East?")

I politely, as much as one could, said (simply) "No, sorry, maybe later." (Insert a sad clipboard)

Jovan and I walked around for a good hour …To be honest, the market wasn't as large as expected but fortunately it wasn't as crowded, either.

I, of course, was attracted to any and all orange hued vegetables + fruits.

Orange Zucchini Seller: Would you like one?

Me: I'll take one, please …I'm a sucker for anything orange!

Orange Zucchini Seller: I wish I had an orange shirt on!

Me: …Ha.

String Bean Seller: Well hello, it's a great day to be at the market!

Me: Yes, it is.

String Bean Seller: Have you ever been here before?

Me: Actually, this is my first time.

String Bean Seller: Well, where do you usually shop?

Me: Ah [crap, ahem], Edgewater Produce [quite proudly, I might add]

String Bean Seller: Oh.

[End of conversation, wordlessly hands me my change]

I had brought along a separate bag, to put our produce in and by the time we left + broke the hearts, yet again, of the environmentalists. Sorry, Earth.

All in all, I spent under $20 and left with:

-1 orange zucchini

-3 orange cucumbers

-a bunch of purple onions (green onion-style)

-broccoli

-sweet cherries

-3 greenish/orange sweet peppers

-fresh basil

-fresh cilantro

-a rather large bunch of Chinese field greens

-Japanese radishes

-1.5 lb green/yellow/purple string beans (What? You expected orange?)

-green tomatoes

Now it's just a matter of deciding how to properly make the best use of my new edibles.

___________________________________________________________________________

Me: I went to the Green City Market today + bought 3 orange cucumbers!

Luke: Those aren't cucumbers. Whatever they are don't leave them alone with the cats. And don't feed them after Midnight.

Me: What about the purple green onions? Oo my!

Luke: There's no such thing as purple green. Clearly hallucinogens.

___________________________________________________________________________

The rest of the day, Jovan + I treated ourselves to a healthy dose of thrifting, lunched at the Chicago Diner (which has surprisingly good margaritas) and stopped along the to a few shops …We eventually ended back in my neighborhood, outside at the Coffee Studio, high-fiving ourselves for a day well done (and ok, a few pats on the back).

And wouldn't you know, I'm now seated cross-legged at the foot of my bed (that's a lot of appendages) and I'm actually writing.

[moment of silence]

[Ok, another pat on the back]

As for the rest of my "Things I Wish I Could Do If I had The Time" mental to-do list …Well, I need to find a kite …

Org. Post: Wednesday, October 08, 2008

All the News That’s Fit to Print: Sharing is for Suckers

For the first time in recent years, autumn appears to actually be here on time and I for one couldn't be happier (Also for the first time in recent months it appears that I'm writing).

Usually when you make mention of the autumn season, in Chicago, people smirk ("A whole two weeks worth") or jump straight towards their winter season dread. Be it two weeks or two months, I'll take any + all of autumn that I can.

Throughout the summer I refused to pack away my scarf + fuzzy red hat …Instead, they remained on my coat rack + greeted me (bitter sweetly) every time I came home. I've uncovered my slippers that I immediately slip into as soon as I enter my apartment (or like last night, I take them over to Lisa's to slip into as soon as I enter her apartment. My slippers + I were there for dinner). I've already accidentally left my apartment twice without noticing I still had them on.

I kicked autumn off with a complete apartment clean. An overhaul, really. A week long project with no holds barred. Why I had empty tea boxes in my cupboard or socks without a match but with holes, I haven't the slightest. Gone. Gone. Why I felt the need to keep every rent paid receipt from my former apartment (an entire 5 yrs worth) is beyond me. Gone x1000.

I'm waiting for the temps to drop + the city of Chicago to turn on the heat …Mainly because I have taken to tastefully stacking books on my radiators. Since my apartment stays toasty with only my bedroom + bathroom radiators on, I'm waiting for word so that I can take the books that occupy my bedroom's radiator + add them to the one in my living room (which remains off).

The days of humidity are gone once again + my mind is filled with daydreams of large cupped Americanos + leg warmers.

Wednesdays are my days off + within the past couple of autumn weeks I've taken to waking up early and heading over to one of my favorite coffee shops, which luckily is within my neighborhood. Once there I pick up the day's New York Times + the week's new Time Out: Chicago. I order a large Americano (in a large cup, of course) + find a seat in the back where I can browse the latest newsy tidbits + people watch on the sly.

Today, I did just that …Sort of.

The Wednesday edition of the NY Times includes the "Dining Out" section …Along with the Arts + front page sections, I neatly stack all three in front of me like a three course meal that I fully intend to devour …That is after I pick out the business day section.

Seated next to me was a man who I would later describe as looking like Bill Clinton's brother (sans curly mullet but with a young Donald Trump comb over) …I guessed him to be in his early to mid-40s. He was reading the Chicago Tribune's business section .

Light bulb!

Me: "Excuse me, sir …Would you like my NY Times business section?"

Man: "Sure! You're not going to read it?"

Me: "No, I usually toss it but if you'll get some use out of it, it's all yours."

Man: "Well thank you! I'd definitely read it!"

Me: "Well, good. You're welcome."

I started on my first course: the Arts section.

Man: "What sections do you read?"

Me: "Ah, well …The Arts (ahem), Dining Out + the front page."

Man: "Art is good."

Me: "Yes."

I turned the page.

Man: "I usually keep a copy of the Tribune in my bathroom."

Me: "…Oh. That's a …good idea."

This is when I decided to put on my best "I'm involved in a very interesting article: Do not disturb," furrowed brow look. That is to say for the next 5 minutes I read the Angelika Film Center's movie times (Vicky Christina Barcelona at 4:45 …It might take me a little longer to get to Houston + Mercer).

The man next to me started to laugh out loud as he leafed through his newly acquired business day section. I had to hand it to him …You'd be hard-pressed to find someone that would find a recent business article laughable. That aside I didn't take the bait. After 10 minutes of his laughter, the man fell silent. Enough time for me to quickly start in on the Dining Out course ("What's Hot, What's Not In Pots and Pans," I was just dying to know).

One measly paragraph into metallic mille-feuille and heat-conducting alloys, the man next to me decided to overlook my silent "do not disturb" distress signals and continue a conversation that unbeknownst to me we were having.

The stock market. Oo brother.

I continued to look back at my newspaper being sure to throw in the occasional "Oh yeah?" "Umm hmm" and "Ah ha" …Hoping he'd get the clue. Nope. He was halfway through telling me about what he lost in ENRON (don't worry, he sued and won),when he suddenly asked me if I had ever been to Washington DC or the east coast. I commented that yes, I was actually born in New Hampshire. A woman dressed in red and sitting nearby with her laptop piped in.

Woman: "I was born in New Hampshire!"

Me: "Really? I was born in Exeter."

Woman: "Me too! Exeter Hospital!"

Me: "Me too! Do you have a really small birth certificate?"

Woman: "Yes! It's the size of my social security card."

Me: "Mine too!"

Woman: "It's a small world."

(I knew she'd say that)

Me: "Yes it is."

She then launched into some story about trying to get into a show with her New Hampshire license + being given a hard time. She then realized it was an 18+ show. Silly her.

The man seated next to me sat back + took in the woman + I's conversation.

Man: "I think it's real cute that the two of you are from the same city."

…

The woman put her headphones on and I attempted to get back to the toils of Teflon …Secretly wishing I had taken the open chair next to my fellow Exeterite. Too late now.

The man continued to detail his career (something involving two prestigious sounding last names), a story about his "alcoholic" uncle who drives a limo (no punch line needed) throughout Washington DC (meets a lot of senators) and how (the man, not the alcoholic uncle who the family rarely speaks to because he's alcoholic) owns verses rents within the neighborhood and that it's seems to be working out "great" even though he's not one to be "tied down".

It was time to pull out my cell phone and text Luke. Luke + I dated over 4 yrs ago + on/off since (though this entry is not about that. If you've been reading my blog then you're familiar with my Luke/zombies story back in April) Luke is the person that is always there for me in such matters + has played hero more than once. His last heroic endeavor involved us going to see Zohan …in theater.

Me: SOS! Oo crap!

Luke: Is this about plants? Sorry, I like plants.

(I'm trying to get him to adopt two of my plants for the winter season)

Me: I'm seated near a creepy guy. He won't stop talking!

Luke: I am so far away. Tried picking your nose?

Me: It's ok, I figured you were far off. You're still my hero.

Me: "That's the name of the game: fun. Fun is a must. You look like you have fun." LUKE!

Luke: Blushing out loud.

Me: He looks like Bill Clinton's brother. I miss you.

Luke: This is like a transcript of a 911 call. I miss you too.

Me: "I've had the pleasure to be related to many interesting people. Very global. My Mother knows 7 languages."

Luke: Oh, the humanity.

The man seated next to me who I now knew (whether I liked it or not) as Mike seemed to overlook my very obvious texting + general disinterest. He pushed forward into a story about another uncle who died too young + was "way into" cubism.

By this time I continued my texting with Luke + had taken out my fresh copy of Time Out: Chicago. I think this finally tuckered Mike out as he spun tale upon tale laced with colorful adjectives about himself + not so covert attempts to find out more about me. He mumbled something about having to be somewhere, shook my hand + wished me a "joyful day!"

A hour or so more of reading, a second large Americano + after yet another (though much more enjoyable) unsolicited conversation with the effeminate guy who took Mike's former seat next to me. He also turned out to be an adopter from my work + I remembered medicating his cat.

(the conversation started like this:

Guy: "I just quit my freelance job + got an email from my boss wishing me 'good karma,' do you think she's being passive aggressive?"

Me: "Well, what is she usually like?"

Guy: "Oo! The Devil Wears Prada! She's Jewish too."

Me: "Well, tomorrow is Yom Kippur + she's been fasting.")

I decided to head home. As I walked up Clark, my friend Mat texted me.

Mat: "How was coffee? I had phys therapy at 11 so I couldn't make it."

Me: "Coffee was amusing. The stories I could tell you."

Let this be a lesson if you ever find yourself with the business day section. It's better to either go ahead and pretend to read it or toss it (Ok, ok recycle).

Archives: April 2008

2008-11-27T09:42:00.000-08:00

Org. Post: Saturday, April 12, 2008

A Touched Lemon: It Is What It Is Until It Isn’t + Then It Was What It Was Until …

The truth is, the medicinal smell of his bandages just added to my nausea.

That's what I kept thinking, this past Friday, a day after Primo went under for a toe amputation and mass removal on the side of his neck.

I woke up with either a 24 hr. stomach flu or food poisoning …I'll spare those who have never had the great misfortune of either one and their gruesome details. Basically, I lived on my sofa and couldn't even hold down a glass of water. However, I still had to tend to my wobbling patient and his new round of medications. We were quite the pair.

Like some feline Houdini equivalent., Primo managed to shake off his bandages (three times in a course of a few hours. I kept count). I managed to stagger into the kitchen and there we sat, Primo between my legs, my head back, trying not to vomit, rewrapping his "new" paw …Wishing I could explain to him that he must keep this bandage on. Unfortunately, "infection," means very little to him and we struggled the whole way through. (I've failed to mention that as of Thursday, Primo weighed in at 15 lbs. 13 oz.).

As I type this, Primo is quite happy with himself …Rolling about the floor on his back and licking the inside of his cone-shaped collar (Surprising, two days after surgery …That is until I tell you: He's on painkillers).

I woke up this morning as though I hadn't been hurling my insides, the day previous. I managed to run a few errands and held my breath as I put my key into the lock and opened my apartment door ("Please, please still have that bandage on! Please?") …Sigh of relief, he hadn't worked any of his magic.

_____________________________________________________

"But Mom, you told me that you almost drowned as a child …And we have a pool!"

That was my usual argument, growing up, whenever the topic of "pets," would come up. My Mother was unknowingly raising a monster …Which directly contradicted her "The only sort of pet you can have, Mandy, must fit within a small tank."

I named my first (of many) goldfish, Beethoven. I would like to say that I arrived on such a name due to being a member of an orchestra (which I was) or that my goldfish had a fondness for both alcohol and powdered wigs. The truth was, I had just come back from seeing "Beethoven," at the local cinema. Since a dog could never fit within the confines of a tank (though I'm sure the Japanese are onto that), I named my goldfish a proper dog name …He died a few days later (unceremoniously).

My goldfish death rate knew no bounds …Soon I added chameleons, toads, frogs, a turtle (that lived in the bathtub for a day) and a gerbil to the tank-sized death toll.

I did manage to (sort of …) own two cats throughout this period …Though, the first (Tiger) would be hit by a car before I was able to bring her home and the second (Blackie) managed to go to a "farm," a few months after bringing her home (I should note that my Mother both never wants to talk about this and is the only person aware of the whereabouts of any supposed "farm").

I'm not sure how my younger brother, Matthew and I managed to wear my Mother down but my Mother's decision to allow a dog into the household was made so flippantly, as though Matthew and I had never asked for one. That's how we adopted Lady. A "dog," that I could never bring myself to call a "dog," without air quotes (that said, those who know me, know that I'm quite fond of air quotes across the board so it's really no surprise). She was a Chihuahua/terrier …So the air quotes are understandable. Lady would pass away 14 yrs later, during my first visit back to Michigan. I'd like to think that she waited for me to come back but I'm sure science would have something to say about that.

By that time, I had Lola and she was already half way towards hating the world.

All of this brings up the question: Did your lack of proper pets make you the owner of count them, 4, cats today?

Probably. Probably not. To be honest, I've never really thought of it that way but thanks for your in-depth analysis as to why most of my furniture resembles mohair (that's an exaggeration). Perhaps it's because my Father didn't hug me enough (that was sarcasm …or a Freudism). ___________________________________________________________

I've been holding my writing breath, so to say, over the past couple of weeks for fear that something would go array with Primo (He gave me a great scare while coming out of his biopsy, a week ago).

If you had asked me nearly 2 and a half years ago if I'd ever be sharing an apartment with a diabetic, (now) 17-toed (opposed to 18) cat …I would have said "No". Actually, I probably would've remarked on what a strange question that was and say "Sorry," as I walked away …slowly. Perhaps I'd give you a quarter.

It's true, Primo has been a crash course in cat-care 101. I can't even remember the near 6 mths I had him before he first crashed diabetic.

Having Primo in my life has been a share of highs/lows, ups/downs. A couple of days after his biopsy, when the results came back and I heard for the first time "mast cell tumors," I was admittedly upset and quite visibly so. I simply just felt bad for him …And yes, I felt scared. I was surprised by my reaction. I always lean towards the practical sense and I've held it together numerous times, always turning towards humor, throughout the many passings throughout my two years at Tree House Animal Foundation.

I know that pending any accidents (I'm looking at you cabbies), I will outlive my cats …A realization that's a lot easier to swallow when they've lived a long life …Primo's 4 yrs old. I'm his best bet through all of this and such a feeling of responsibility can be quite overwhelming. I wasn't ready in all my selfishness to let him go without doing and trying my best. That said, I by no means overlook my good fortune working where I work and I'm thankful for those who have been there for both Primo and myself.

As I shaved the side of Primo's head/neck, pre-surgery, I noticed a perfect surgical Y scar, near his ear. I can't recall, to the best of knowledge, Primo ever having any sort of ear related surgeries. I feared if I kept shaving I'd come across a prison tattoo. ____________________________________________________________

All of this said, I will never ask you to clean my cats' litter boxes (that is unless you cat-sit). You will never receive an invite to their birthday parties (nothing personal, I assure you, I'm just not one to do such). I will never dress my cats up in Burberry, lederhosen or rain slickers. I will never have a curio cabinet, within my apartment, entertaining a display of cat figurines.

I can't defend or argue the fact that I have 4 cats. All I know is that as I sit on my sofa, typing this …I look over to Primo, rolling on the floor, his pupils fully dilated, licking the inside of his cone. Lola sprawled out on top of a copy of the New York Times' Book of House Plants. (Princess) Milo curled up on my bed's pillows, as though he fell …And Alton (Brown) sitting up in the bathroom, holding watch for I don't know what (he's the weirdo) …They make sense. There's nothing about them that says out of place. They're home as much as I am.

And yes, there will be no number 5, thanks but no thanks.

Org. Post: Sunday, April 27, 2008

What’s Up, Left, Right …A Sit Down With Myself

I imagine if I were to be interviewed, right now (or if I were to interview myself, that is …I imagine such, I suppose) …It'd go something like this:

Me: Hi, Amanda Jordyn …

Myself: Hi, you can call me Amanda +/or Jordyn …'Amanda Jordyn,' sounds a bit backwoods …or like I'm talking with my Mother.

Me: Ah ok, Amanda

Myself: That works …Hey, could we keep this sort of short. I had a guy, on the phone at work, today tell me to 'go fuck yourself,' …So I sort of have plans.

Me: Ah ok, Amanda …That's a bit TMI.

Myself: TMI? Please no acronyms.

Me: Fair enough …Hey, is that 70s rock I hear in the background?

Myself: Yes …In moments of extremes I often turn to 70s rock. I also sleep on the sofa but that's neither here nor there.

Me: Sleep on the sofa?

Myself: Yes …I often wonder if my Mother had a sofa, in her womb …Whenever I'm overly stressed or out of sorts, I take to sleeping on the sofa …It also may have something to do with the fact that my sofa is located in front of my television and I like to fall asleep to a DVD, on repeat …

Me: That's not very environmental of you …It being only a week after Earth Day.

Myself: [cold dead stare]

Me: Let's continue, shall we? I know time is of essence.

Myself: What is this for again?

Me: Well, you haven't written anything in nearly a month and you're bored.

Myself: Oo yes, that.

Me: How's Primo doing? I know that he recently had a finger amputated and last we knew he was wearing an e-collar +/or cone.

Myself: Primo's great …He's actually curled up on my lap, at the moment. His paw looks wonderful, the hair is growing back and he's almost as good as new. It's funny, before his surgery, he never would lay his paw on my face …I now wake up to him casually tossing his amputated-finger paw on my cheek …He's always been a bit passive aggressive, in nature.

Me: I know that during his recovery, you were dealing with a bit of the stomach flu, how are you feeling?

Myself: I feel fine …The stomach flu was sort of a blessing in disguise …Just what I needed to put my diet back in check. I have yet to really venture out palate-wise …I'm sort of sticking to LARA bars, mashed potatoes and the occasional meal out. The other night I had a cashew butter/fig sandwich, which was delicious.

Me: How's your love life?

Myself: I'd prefer not to get too personal, here …Though, I'm sure any Woody Allen quote would do in response to such a question.

Me: Ah ok, so Woody Allen does your PR?

Myself: He should …If only I were 10 yrs younger.

Me: I know you haven't been writing, lately …We'll touch on that later but have you been reading at all?

Myself: Sure, I'm surrounded by books. I have a list of books I should be reading …My concentration hasn't been all that great but I did manage to finish 'I Thought There'd Be Cake," by Sloane Crosley, which I found charming. I've been hoping around 'The New Kings of Non-Fiction,' which has an introduction by Ira Glass …Not too bad. Right now though, I'm enjoying 'Jokes, Riddles, Funny Stories," a children's book from 1959 that I picked up, last week, at the Brown Elephant.

Me: Jokes? Care to share any?

Myself: Sure! Why is it useless to send letters or telegrams to Washington?

Me: I have no idea …

Myself: Because he's dead …You gotta love children's books.

Me: From the mouths of babes …I hear Elton John, in the background …Aside from 70s rock, have you been listening to anything new?

Myself: I have a copy of Cat Power's latest covers album, on my coffee table right now …Like most, if not all, of her cover work, it's quite good. I particularly like her cover of James Brown's 'Lost Someone'.

Me: Any particular reason?

Myself: [cold dead stare] …I just like it. This morning, I was listening to that very track, making coffee and getting ready for work …I decided to switch to the radio and they were playing Harry Nilsson's 'Without You,' …I had to laugh.

Me: Don't get me wrong, Nilsson is great but that's not really funny …

Myself [cold dead stare] Like I said, I had to laugh.

Me: Ok, ok, I'll let it go.

[quick side note: it's moment like this that I fear my phone ringing + someone asking me "So what are you up to?"]

Myself: I've also recently been listening to a local act called Red Delicious …She sounds a lot like another favorite of mine, Mirah. I strongly recommend.

Me: Good to know …It's been ages since anyone has heard you offer a music review.

Myself: Then you'll remember it.

Me: O…K, so …You have new neighbors! Are they everything you had hoped for?

Myself: Why yes they are! I'd even go so far as to say that they are neighbors-slash-friends …Anna + Paul are great. Paul is a commercial photographer and Anna is getting her Masters in writing. They're both well traveled and we can often be found sitting on our shared back decklet, talking/laughing. I really lucked out …I had a list of worries.

Me: I also hear you have a few new additions to your decklet.

Myself: Who are you hearing this from? Name your source.

Me: You.

Myself: Ok …Yes, new additions indeed + I'm quite excited. I finally did away with my dead/rotting aloe plants …Who sadly didn't make it through winter …In turn, I have a few new plants. Greek oregano, chocolate mint, poppies that are rising by the day and a new aloe plant …I also repotted the Christmas cactus that my Mother had given me months ago. I'm about 60% sure that it's dying but ye have a little hope when it comes to a green thumb, am I right?

Me: That's a far cry for someone who was raised with plastic plants.

Myself: My favorite new plant, however, I bought last Wednesday and it's honestly one of the most beautiful flowers I've ever seen …It's called the Star of Bethlehem.

Me: Star of Bethlehem?

Myself: Yes …I carried it around the plant shop with me, for a little bit …During which a bumble bee opted to catch a ride on one of it's petals …Needless to say, I walked slowly. On my way home, plant in hand, I passed a couple …One woman was in a window and the other was on the sidewalk …As I passed, across the street …Window woman yelled out 'Like the plant she has!' and Sidewalk woman yelled over to me 'Hey what kind of plant is that?' …I yelled back, across my street 'Star of Bethlehem" …Something I never thought I'd yell and had to laugh.

Me: You're hilarious.

Myself: Thank you.

Me: We're nearly two pages into this interview …I want to touch on your lack of writing, if that's ok.

Myself: That's fine but I'm afraid there's little to say. Sometimes things happen, life gets in the way, I'm busy or I'm a bit saturated in numerous stories +/or to-dos that I'm really not sure where or how to begin …Usually it works itself out and …please excuse the term …I get a spark that leads to a topic I can weave a few happenings/observations together.

Me: You shouldn't be afraid of using "spark" to explain your process …It's kind of poetic.

Myself: Exactly …I hate poetry.

Me: Oo yeah, that's right. I'll edit out spark, if you'd like.

Myself: Thank you.

Myself: That's fine but I'm afraid there's little to say. Sometimes things happen, life gets in the way, I'm busy or I'm a bit saturated in numerous stories +/or to-dos that I'm really not sure where or how to begin …Usually it works itself out and …please excuse the term …I get a spark that leads to a topic I can weave a few happenings/observations together.

Me: Don't you find talking about your writing as some form of process a touch self important?

Myself: Yes, it's making me a bit uncomfortable with you …But you asked.

Me: Are you going to get that text message?

Myself: Yes, it's my friend Nick …He wants to know why I'm joining the nunnery.

Me: You're joining the nunnery?

Myself: [cold dead stare]

Me: We're almost done, I promise …

Myself: Good, I need to go fuck myself, you know …

Me: You rarely curse.

Myself: I was using air quotes.

Me: Are you laughing because the Shaft theme is playing?

Myself: Right on …

Me: You're such a bad mutha ..

Myself: Shut your mouth!

Me + Myself: SHAFT!

Me: Hey, the cat that you crawled under a house for, back in January, was adopted …That must feel great.

Myself: Yes! A definite silver lining to my day.

Me: Well, Amanda …Is there anything you'd like to add?

Myself: Always but I'm going to keep such on the back burner, for now. I'm kind of tired and have to be up early for work, tomorrow.

Me: I understand …Waiting for that spark?

Myself: I should go brush my teeth.

Me: I notice you have two toothbrushes.

Myself: [cold dead stare] …I'm big into dental hygiene.

Me: Fair enough. Thank you for your time.

Myself: To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer. Not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness.

Me: Are you quoting Woody Allen?

Myself: Yes …Didn't you see my air quotes?

Archives: Mar. 2008

2008-11-27T09:38:00.000-08:00

Org. Post: Thursday, March 13, 2008

Bonjour Jeune Fille: I Think I Just Stepped On ...

Note: I’ve started writing this …piece …while watching a movie (or film, since it’s subtitled and French …Isn’t that the definition of "film"?) …Yes, I’m writing while watching a subtitled film, which I’ve been meaning to watch for the past couple of days. I have no idea what is going on, as I glance from my computer’s screen to my television across the way. I think two of the characters are having a bit of a squabble (I mean, two characters are being French and passionate).

1993-1994.

I’m not connected to the internet at the moment so I can’t give you a list of events that happened throughout those two years.

[The French people are making out …I mean, the French people are being French and passionate]

Unfortunately, my copy of Random House’s Timetables of History ("revised edition," no less) doesn’t lend itself to 1993-1994. It stops at 1993 but only lists up to 1992.

The events during such a time are somewhat pointless, anyway. Basically, all you need to know for the sake of this …piece is:

-I was in 7th grade

-I was the youngest in my class (something about being the first born, the guinea pig …My brother would wait an extra year before starting school and in turn be amongst his age group).

-My parents were riding out the rest of their marriage. A legal separation that would last a full year before the actual divorce proceedings. A divorce that would take yet another full-year to become finalized.

[A French woman is dancing topless, in a pair of black stockings …I mean, ah you get it by now.]

I spent the summer of 1993 recuperating from what would be my last surgery (a bone graph, in case you were curious). I spent my hot summer days laid up on the sofa, eating mashed potatoes, drinking Ensure and reading about my latest obsession: The Beatles.

By Fall, the first day of junior high, I was beyond well-read on Liverpool’s best known export.

A couple of you knew me during this period (My brother Matthew, especially, since we still shared a bedroom at the time). A handful of you have probably heard me refer to my "Beatle years" or how "some people deal with their awkward pre-teens and a divorce with drugs and alcohol …I became obsessed with John, Paul, George + Ringo".

It’s funny, the way only hindsight can be funny, to think of how my adoration for the Beatles could separate me from my peers and give way to a year of ridicule. A year that was already marked for such given that I was on the cusp of puberty and my most exciting summer story began with "…And then they took bone marrow from my hip bone and implanted it in my gums …". I was definitely in the market for being ostracized.

Though, I’m sure the retainer I had to wear that had a false tooth attached until the marrow hardened and descended as a bonafide tooth or the growth of my hips or my skin’s need to erupt played a role in my peers looking at me sideways (or my fondness for wearing knitted vests ….) …What seemed to capture everyone’s attention the most was that I was indeed (and self-admittedly) obsessed with a popular band of yesteryear.

It’s true …I was a Beatle-maniac. I make no excuses for that. I collected and celebrated the entire catalog. Any books I could get my hands on, records, cassettes, cds, posters, tshirts, a bedspread, movies, ticket stubs, figurines (yes, figurines), pins, newspaper clippings, coins, trading cards …etc. etc. You name it, I had it.

After a day of school, being called "Beatle girl," ("Beatle freak" and eventually just "freak" would come as the school year unfolded into spring), kids stomping their foot and shouting "I think I just stepped on a BEATLE!" …I’d walk through my parents’ latest shouting match, straight to my bedroom (Matthew was quite popular. Four years my junior and friends with nearly everyone in the neighborhood so I had a few hours to myself) …I’d push "play," on my stereo, grab a book profiling the meaning of every Beatles song ever recorded and escape to a simpler time. A time when everyone loved the Beatles. A time I would have belonged.

[I’m so behind on watching the French film across from me …Two characters are walking about, blindfolded. This doesn’t speak to me at all.]

John was my favorite, followed by George. Paul sort of annoyed me and Ringo, well he was hit or miss (though, ultimately, that same year Ringo Starr and his All-Star band would prove to be my first concert).

When John said he wanted to "hold your hand," I was palms up. When he said to "imagine," I gave it my best. When I found out that "Norwegian Wood," was rumored to be about John’s infidelity, I hung my head in dismay. When John and his band mates delved into the teachings of Maharshi Yogi …Well, I had to draw the line somewhere.

Flea markets, museums, rummage sales, antique malls …These were my hip hang outs. I’d nod politely while flipping through a woman’s records labeled "for sale," while she explained to me that she quit eating ham sandwiches after Mama Cass died (true story).

To my Mother’s credit, she chauffeured me through all of this, literally. She was 7 yrs old, in 1964, when the Beatles made their US debut on the Ed Sullivan show. She wasn’t much in the way of being a fan …Perhaps if Michael MacDonald had been a member. Regardless, she was my backing and would readily listen to my constant Beatles-speak. My Mother even helped me with my 1965-era John Lennon Halloween costume, that year (which was a dark day, for me, throughout the classrooms of Central Intermediate).

During this time, the lead singer of some band named Nirvana, committed suicide. The halls of my junior high were filled with flannel clad kids, crying near their lockers, whispering about a "conspiracy ," sharing Walkmens and later on in the day, cigarettes across the street. I was confused …Why were they mourning someone who chose to take their life? …John Lennon didn’t have a choice!

[French film: off]

By 1994-1995, my love for the Beatles had waned. The first day of 8th grade, I walked into school …the usual smell of freshly sharpened No. 2s …and a handful of classmates wearing Beatles’ tshirts. The same kids that had ridiculed me for the better half of the previous school year. Yet, no one said anything about them, no one threw anything at them, no one stomped their foot or uttered a word about John and Paul "masturbating" with each other.

By the end of 8th grade, my Beatles shrine had all but disappeared. Packed safely away in the attic …where it remains today, back in Michigan. My listening to the Beatles had all but dwindled to the occasional song on the radio. My Father had moved out for good and divorce proceedings were taking hold. I moved into my own bedroom. The first poster I hung up on one of my new walls was R.E.M.’s "Monster" (I had a bit of a crush on Mike Mills, who listed John Lennon as an influence).

To this day, I still have all of the Beatles’ US and UK release dates dictated to memory. Four times a year, I’ll be going through my mental to-do list …"Ok, work at 11, I need to pay my cell bill during lunch break, should probably stop by the grocery after work, need more cereal …Oo and it’s George Harrison’s birthday, hmm …Oo, should probably return so and so’s phone call."

This past Wednesday, I found myself browsing at my nearby Brown Elephant resale store. I made my way through the books, the coffee mugs, the various 3rd grade handicrafts, the framed pictures, shoes, stereo equipment, pots/pans/cake molds, etc.

Before heading out, I glanced over the cds/cassettes section. It appeared that someone had donated their entire collection of Beatles’ albums on cassette. Nearby, a boy of 15 or 16 was rifling through copies of "Revolver" and "A Hard Days Night" …In his hands were 4 or 5 other Capitol/Apple released titles (3 or 4 if you count the "White Album"). I smirked to myself. After the boy had left, I reached over for "Rubber Soul," slipping it into my basket.

I’ve been trying to get "Michelle," out of my head for years ..But then again, you see how I am when it comes to French.

Org. Post: Tuesday, March 18, 2008

My Golden Girl: What’s My Line?

I received the following card, from my Mother, yesterday:

Inside: "There’s nothing a little lipstick can’t fix!"

My Mother wrote: "Oh my! If this isn’t going to be me in 20 yrs. (or so). Ha!"

Later on, in the evening, my Mother called:

Mom: "Hi honey, did you get my card?"

Me: "Yes and you obviously didn’t get my voicemail."

Mom: "Oo, I haven’t checked it."

[Note: And this is how it goes. If I call and leave a voicemail, she never checks it. However, if I call without leaving a voicemail ...I can expect a call a few minutes later, "Are you ok, honey!? You didn’t leave a voicemail!"]

Me: "That really is you, in 20 yrs. ’or so’."

Mom: "Well, almost! I’m going to look like Betty White ...Don’t you think so?"

Me: "Yes, Mom, you are going to look just like Betty White."

[I’ve debated this in the past and trust me when I say, much like going down to the river ...do not go up that mountain.]

My Mother will look like Betty White, in 20 yrs. (or so) and that’s that. I get a kick out of the fact that within 10 yrs. my Mother has gone from "I strongly resemble Sela Ward" to aging aspirations of Betty White.

Archives: Feb. 2008-Mar. 2008

2008-11-27T09:32:00.000-08:00

Org. Post: Monday, February 18, 2008

The Origin of the Specious: Too Many Ions in the Fire

[insert literary masterpiece here]

Org. Post: Thursday, February 21, 2008

A Little Mascara: Crab Apples + Dandelions

And just like that, any supposed (or self-imposed) writer's block, disappears …Though, not how I expected it to.

We were living in the house with the in-ground swimming pool. The basement was fully finished with black and white checkered floors. I had my play kitchen set up in the play room …The same play kitchen where I made plastic peas with a plastic stick of yellow butter. No play kitchen would be complete without a fake refrigerator. The same refrigerator that Katie, the Republican neighbor girl (who wet the bed), wrote "GEORGE BUSH!" on, in permanent marker …And I later crossed out and wrote "DUKAKIS!"

You were our next door neighbor. The bubbly blonde with an Italian husband and a red-tinted golden retriever, who we'd hear you affectionately call out "Breaker!" towards. In your backyard, over our shared fence you had a Japanese garden …I could see it while on top of the swimming pool's slide. I imagined the games of hide and seek I could play if I lived in your house …I then turned towards my swimming pool and down the slide I'd go.

It was really windy and rainy, that summer …The dandelions were shedding their wishes all over the place. Crab apples studded the sidewalks and the rain caused an increase in lawn mowing. You were sweeping your driveway and my Mother was leaning down, pulling weeds. You both started talking …The sun went down, you kept talking. I was on the front deck, skipping the last few minutes of daylight away, with my Skip-It! I casually eavesdropped on your conversation with my Mother …Your voices and laughter were near identical and I lost track of who was saying what. After a couple of beats, I recognized the voice, calling my name, being that of my Mother's …I ran over.

Mom: "Mandy, this is our neighbor Diana."

You: "Hi there …Oo Robin, she could be your twin! You have the same cheekbones!"

You reached for my hand and I thought you were the classiest Barbie I had ever seen.

Soon I was spending my afternoons, after school, at your house …You never had children so everything in your house was perfect (No offense to my Mother's curio cabinet of Precious Moments). You had a separate room just for the television and oversized pillows to sit on. We'd sit there for hours, eating Triscuits with cubed Colby Jack cheese. You would read to me. Sometimes I'd play in your basement …which was filled with worldly handicrafts and stretched canvases …I secretly wanted your Turkish coffee set. Breaker and I would fall asleep on your back lawn. I secretly wanted him too.

In the third grade you permed my hair …And even though the kids made fun of my newly spiraled do', I believed you and my Mother when you told me the kids were "just jealous." For years, any and every hairstyle that found it's way atop my head was from your hands. I'd sit for hours, reeking of various chemicals …My Mother nearby, her hair wrapped up in plastic wrap.

You see, my Mother and her sisters had stopped talking long before you came into our lives. You were the closest I ever had to an aunt. With you everything was full of laughter and understanding looks. Life had taught me early on that family was what you made it …And you quickly made your way into mine.

My family would join yours' for holidays …Easter egg hunting with my best pastels, in your Mother's backyard.

You and my Mother were my biggest fans, cheering me on at all of my orchestra recitals, dance recitals.

When you would come over for brunches, my Mother would make the fancy salads with mandarin oranges.

A few years later, my family moved a few streets over …You were a short bicycle or rollerskate ride away.

Remember [your husband] John's 40th birthday? We had the Luau themed party at my house …Complete with a roasting pig in our drive-way, tiki lanterns throughout the yard and everyone was dressed in Hawaiian attire …You and my Mother were the belles of the ball. I could sit and listen to the two of you laugh for hours. It was infectious.

With you, everything was big, bold and full of color. When you were first diagnosed with cancer, the fear was in your eyes and the tears welled up in my Mother's but you both greeted it with laughter. Your smiled remained throughout the years to follow, after the many hospital visits, the eventual remissions, the stubborn returns …I don't remember you not smiling …And your wig collection! Oo your many wigs. One for every mood, every occasion.

I remember when you wallpapered our kitchen …You were halfway through another bought of kemo, wearing a handkerchief over your few tuffs of sandy hair …Diligent and with your expert eye for design, you placed each and every strip of navy blue …And even when it started peeling and my Mother secretly had it re-done, we never told you and often marveled at what an expert job you had done.

You and John eventually built your dream house and moved, a few hours away. One of the grandest houses I've ever seen …Even to this day, surrounded by the old and new heights of Chicago. My parents were divorcing and I had an open invite to stay long weekends at your palace. To get away from the bickering and the broken hearts. We'd have long talks and you never once treated me as a child. When things got really bad, you'd take me to your side and reassure me that everything was going to be ok …Something that up until then I only trusted coming from my Mother.

You died today, Diana.

And I don't know if I'm doing this right.

Not having a close knit family means never losing someone so near and dear …We lost you today and I don't know how to do this right.

My Mother's voicemail came during my work day …The moment I heard her say "Hello," I knew something wasn't right.

There have been many people in and out of my life …Many of which have fallen into the ebb and flow that is the trick of time.

I wish you could see me now. I wish you could hold me with your understanding and see what my life has become. I always wanted you to be proud. You would have been proud of me today …With my eyes still brimmed with tears, I took to smiling …the same smile you wore to what I can only imagine your last day. I smiled, I laughed and I finished out my work day.

I'm really sorry. I'm sorry to have taken advantage of your battles and triumphs …I had grown accustomed to the cream rising to the top …I never really thought you'd go. Naïve, I know.

Thank you for your time …Thank you for so much more that escapes me as my mind fills with the sound of your laughter.

I hope I did this right, I secretly want that. I admire your strength, I secretly want that too.

Org. Post: Saturday, February 23, 2008

The Monarch Effect: Every Clout Has A Silver Lining

My Self-Imposed To-Do List:

-Coffee [x]

-Dust [x]

-Vacuum/Wax floors [x]

-Dishes [x]

-Take out the trash [x]

-Laundry [x]

-Read book, write about book + meet deadline [ ]

-Pay gas, electric + cell bill [ ]

-Listen to nothing but Thin Lizzy …all day [x]

-Falafel [ ]

-Send out card for Neil (Even though he lives a street over. He's on an electricity strike …Mail is fun) [ ]

-Pat self on back [ ]

__________________________________________________

2/20/08

This morning, my Mother called me. One of her "check-in" calls that usually happen as I rub sleep from my eyes and have yet to say anything out loud …Which usually results in her asking if I have a cold, if I'm sick …"No Mom, I just woke up."

Mom: "Well, let me be a Mother."

This morning, such was the same …

Mom: "A co-worker of mine is getting married, Mandy. The other day, at work I saw a woman who was about to get married wearing these cute sweatpants that said 'bride' on the butt. So yesterday, I went over to Marshall's …You know, Marshall's. It's like Kohl's."

Me: "Mom, I live in Chicago …The former home of Marshall Fields."

Mom: "Well, I didn't know that! …Anyways, honey, I went to Marshall's and found a pair of pajama pants with hearts all over them. So I bought those and picked up a pair of manly men pajama pants made out of satin, like silk …in red."

[She was on a roll …I had one eye open by now]

Mom: "…And then I stopped by Michael's, the craft store, and purchased these iron-on bubble letters."

[Oo my …For a second there I thought she was going to say puff paint]

Mom: "…So what I'm going to do is iron-on the word 'bride' on the pajama pants with hearts and 'groom' on the manly satin pajama pants. Isn't that too cute!?"

Me: "There are no words, Mom"

[Right eye open]

Mom: "They are just going to get the biggest kick out of it! I mean, they're my age …This is her third marriage and his second."

Me: [suddenly it all seemed ok] "That's great! I'm sure they'll get a kick out of them, Mom …That's a cute idea."

[I love her a lot]

Mom: "So how are your bowel movements, Mandy?"

[both eyes: closed]

Mom: "Oo c'mon, I only ask because I ask your brother the same thing …Let me be a Mother!"

I should also mention that my Mom now adds "don't get hit by a car," every time we speak.

Me: "It's not on my to-do, Mom."

_______________________________________________

REVISED: My Self-Imposed To-Do List:

-Coffee [x]

-Dust [x]

-Vacuum/Wax floors [x]

-Dishes [x]

-Take out the trash [x]

-Laundry [x]

-Read book, write about book + meet deadline [ ]

-Pay gas, electric + cell bill [ ]

-Listen to nothing but Thin Lizzy …all day [x]

-Falafel [ ]

-Send out card for Neil (Even though he lives a street over. He's on an electricity strike …Mail is fun) [ ]

-Pat self on back [ ]

-Get hit by car [ ]

_________________________________________________

I recently received a random myspace message commenting on the product placement throughout my photos and asking how much I get paid because "you must get paid lotz!".

Yes, "lotz" (oodles, perhaps) …But I assure you that no amount of money can meed what I've done for the Jewish people, the makers of ironic thrift coffee mugs, quarter-tagged books and the fine fine people at Revlon ColorSilk (black 10).

My product placement is purely selfless and rather a charitable act. My small initial condition within a nonlinear dynamical system towards a recurrent complex system of mammoth (mastadon, perhaps) proportions.

I believe the mathematical equation would look something like: d(ft (x), ft (y)) > d GET MONEY.

(I'm sure the checks are in the mail …)

_________________________________________________

I've been able to clock-in more internet time over the past couple of weeks since (finally) finding an unsecured wifi connection within my apartment. The fact that I came across such with my laptop on my nightstand …Well, that's just the icing on the cake. I have the comforts of my bed and oversized pillows to browse my various internet destinations (that reads near whimsy).

That said …I've encountered a new set of neighbors, in the condo building directly outside of my bedroom window (which I face while at my laptop). I've made mention of these neighbors in previous posts …They're the ones w/ the permanent tuxedo jacket installation on the back of their kitchen door …Yes, those neighbors.

Last night, I turned on my laptop …My neighbors were home, their light was on …I sat there, waiting for my computer to boot …Alton, in his never-ending quest to reunite with the outdoors, was perched on my bedroom windowsill. Primo had swaggered in and proudly conquered a small stack of books, nearby. I was reaching for my coffee mug, when I noticed movement across the way …Knee-jerk reaction, I glanced out of my window.

There my neighbor stood, in her kitchen …Holding up her own cat and making him wave at Alton.

Mental thought: "This is not happening."

I returned her cats wave with a smile that can only be likened to that of ripping off a Band-Aid and in a moment that may haunt me if I ever see her on the street …I clumsily reached for my blinds and pulled them down.

Mental thought: "Crap."

And that folks, is how your invite to the summer block party oddly gets lost in the mail.

Org. Post: Friday, February 29, 2008

Birds Of A Different Feather: Seven Degrees of Convenience

2/24/08

Scene: Yesterday, mini-break, work's back parking lot

[15 ft. away from the building, mind you …A few of you might have heard me question just who came up with 15 ft. Why 15? 14 ft.: You're going to die, 16ft.: You're safe from any carcinogens. Watch your foot.]

The far fence of the parking lot is shared with a flat of apartments (mainly their back stairwell/decklets). As I walked out towards the lone bench …Taking a moment to forget the terms "spay" and "neuter" …I heard:

"La la la ….laaa laaaa loooo la la la la …La! La! La! Laaaa!"

A few floors up, a young girl was belting it out for the world to hear.

"Laa! Laa! Laaaaa! Ahhhh! La-La-Laaa!"

As I sat down, I smirked to myself …Remembering my own youthful choruses.

Many of my early years were spent living in a Burhm-styled house. Off of one of the house's side slopes, my Mother had planted a bird feeder. At the time, "Sleeping Beauty," was one of my favorite movies. I was in awe of Beauty's gift of song …which invited blue, red and yellow birds to perch upon her shoulders.

Like most children, I had an endless imagination …But I was quite practical. I entertained such fanciful thoughts as birds sitting on my shoulder …But where do birds visit? The bird feeder, of course!

I'd stand there by the bird feeder, broad shouldered and singing who knows what (at the time, I only owned two 45s: Naked Eyes "Always Something There To Remind Me" and Denise Williams' "Let's Here It For the Boys") …I think it went something like "AhhhAHHHHahhh …Ahhhh! Doop, doop, chick, chick …Ahhhhh! Ahhhhhh!" I'd throw in an occasional air-drum sequence, a couple of soft handclaps …But no sudden movements, I'd hate to scare off the birds.

The young girl, up over my head continued.

"La! La! Lala-LA! Laaaaa!"

I would wait …my voice straining …C'mon birds! I started noticing that not only were the birds staying away from my shoulder …But they must be visiting another bird feeder (they had to eat, afterall). I wouldn't see or hear anything, aside from my own drone between my ears …"Ahhhhh! AhhAHHHHahhhhOOOOO! Chick, doop, zop zop …Ahhhh!"

After about 5 mins of sitting on the loneliest of benches, my toes starting to numb …The girl above continued. My smirk started to fade …My brow began to furrow and I felt a slight throb in both temples. What I originally found somewhat charming …I was now feeling a hint of annoyance towards.

"LaaaaaaaaaaaLAAAAAAAAAAAlaaaa la la laaaaaaLA LA LA laaaaaaaa!"

I stubbed out my cigarette and stood up, glancing upward. Under my breath, silently to myself, I said what I wish someone had told me years ago:

"The birds aren't coming."
___________________________________________________________

[pause]

Marshall: "Wait, did you just say 'a nib off of ol Grandma's cough syrup'?"

[pause]

Me: "Yes."

________________________________________________________

Reason No. 644: Why I'm Glad to Call Chicago Home

Last Monday, while on my lunch break, I walked over to my nearest neighborhood corner store.

[enter]

Woman: "Hello!"

Me: "Hi!"

[I recognized this woman, standing near the doorway, as my former neighborhood's corner store clerk …Granted, I lived in my old neighborhood for 5 yrs. …I was still surprised she recognized me]

Woman: "Did you move to this neighborhood? Is that why I don't see you no more?"

Me: "Yeah, last July. How are you doing?"

Woman: "Doing good, good! Your hair is so long!"

Clerk: [towards woman] "You know each other?"

Woman: "Yes, she used to come into my store. Blue pack, right?"

Clerk: [gesturing towards woman/looking at me] "This is my cousin! [towards woman/cousin] "This is one of my favorite customers."

Me: [polite laugh] "Thanks …" (she doesn't know that I've been cheating on her with the gas station. Crap).

Clerk: "Blue pack?"

Woman/Cousin: "Blue pack! I knew that!"

Me: "Yep!"

[a few more pleasantries exchanged and I somehow promised to visit the old store sometime soon]

Perhaps one of the cashiers at my nearby grocery is cousins with my all-time favorite grocery clerks, from my old neighborhood …"Thanks for my receipt …You wouldn't happen to know a 'Winnie,' would you?"

That would be reason no. 645.

___________________________________________________

This evening, the tag on my tea's bag says: "Keep Up"

Thanks a lot, Yogi.

Org. Post: Saturday, March 01, 2008

Knock, Knock: Keep Your Address To Yourself

Last Wednesday, I ran into my next door neighbor Derek. Given our schedules, the cold temps and regardless of the fact that our front doors are a mere foot apart, we haven't been running into one another as often.

[Ok, so I was leaving my apartment the other week and as I walked down the stairs, I heard his door open …And in turn took to running down the rest of the stairs. I wasn't in the mood to run into anyone …Nothing personal towards him.]

Truth is, in the [almost] year I've lived in this apartment, I've thanked my lucky stars for a neighbor like Derek. He's courteous, has a sense of humor, outgoing without being intrusive and the guy gave me a hammer …with a handle. Not to mention we have a handful of shared interests …In the summertime, when I spend my mornings off on our shared decklet, I can still listen to NPR on Derek's kitchen radio.

The day I moved in, I met my apartment's former tenant for a key exchange (the same keys I would lose later on that day) …She had nothing but nice things to say about Derek and expressed she was sort of sad to be leaving because he was the "best neighbor …ever".

I was curious, I'll readily admit …Derek does have a small sign on his front door that reads: "Stay on medication" …A few days after my move, I finally met Derek, who welcomed me to the building and peppered me with friendly questions/helpful tips …At the same time, I also met his girlfriend, Cecelia (aka "the girlfriend with the cold stare and secret hatred towards me"). Cecelia would only visit on the weekends …I was surprised to find that she lived in River North …But to each their own.

Throughout the many months, Derek and I have always had out "catch-up" run-ins …As we share our weekly/monthly updates on life …Derek cues me in at which point my life goes from "book-worthy" to "screenplay-worthy".

When I ran into Derek, last Wednesday (back to the beginning), we had our regular update …And this time around Derek had news: He and Cecelia are looking for a two bedroom come April and he needs to sublet his apartment through September.

I expressed my congrats and inquired on their search …I shared a few tips that saw me through my own apartment search, around this time last year. We left things at a "screenplay" level, wished one another a good evening and I continued on my way to run a few errands.

A few steps and puddle jumps later, it hit me: Crap!

This means a new neighbor(s). I immediately started to think of the endless possibilities of what could be literally put on my doorstep, come springtime …Or: "What I Do Not Want Living Next to Me".

First on my list of new neighboring fears:

-The Borrower: Sure, I have a can opener I could lend you …That's innocent enough. You need a corkscrew? Ok. Before you know it, it's "Can I borrow this?"/"Can I borrow that?" …Knock, knock (Have I ever mentioned my fear of door knocks?) …"Aww, I used to have a cat growing up ..His name was Smokey and he was grey! …I miss him so much! Hey, do you think I could borrow one of your cats?"

No, no …and no. I've debated accelerating my Arabic lessons just in case.

Borrower: "Hi there neighbor! Hey, I'm having issues with my stove and I need to bake six lasagnas for my upcoming Grey Gargoyles: Society of Creative Anachronism dinner party, do you mind?"

Me: "Ayna ajedu al merhaad?"

Borrower: "Oo, I'm sorry …I can't understand you."

Me: "Al Maghreb baladun jameel!"

Borrower: "Ah …Sorry to bother you!"

Me: "Ohibbu allughah al Arabia!"

[Note: I've found that "the borrowers" usually go hand in hand with the "never-returners"].

Next on my list:

-First Time Living Together Couple (and they hate each other): I don't want to play party to your "locked in a lease" squabbles. So he's not listening to you and yeah, you may have kissed that guy …I'm not going to spend my evenings huddled in a corner, listening to your stomping, your door slamming, your eerie silences that are only broken with what I can only assume was a dish or perhaps something of great personal importance to the other. My parents divorced nearly 12 yrs ago, I've already been through all of that. It also goes without saying (or as the saying goes with saying), I will not put you up for a night, I will not play Dr. Phil to your Britney Spears. I am simply not home.

[Note: This also includes any loud or obnoxious/earth-shattering make-up sex]

-Those Who Can't Cook or Cook Awful Smelling Food: Nourishment is a main factor in life. We all must eat. It's fortunate that I actually like curry …But if my nostrils are constantly assaulted with what I can only assume is your dinner …Check, please. I included those who can't cook for the fact that I'm not a big fan of that char smell …I should also point out that this isn't me being a vegan. Feel free to sizzle up your 5lbs of bacon …Just don't make it extra crisp so that I too have to share in your meal (and hold my breath for the sound of your smoke detector).

-The Elderly: That's right, I'm an ageist. Go ahead and point your finger …The Elderly can be charming and I'm not immune to their stories of long ago …As a matter of fact I might even enjoy such tales. However, I'm not going to live in fear of not seeing you for days and a strange odor coming from underneath your doorway (Again, this isn't me being vegan). I do not have any corn salve and I'm sorry that you think the mailman is conspiring against you …Yes, technology is out of control and carrier pigeons are sorely missed. You're embittered by life and know it all, I get it. This of course plays into my lifelong quest to make the elderly like me …Something I subconsciously do whenever I'm met with said elderly. I start talking like them and for some reason beyond me I try and make them realize that I'm no young rascal hooligan, eyeing their purse or running off to pierce some part of my anatomy.

-Karaoke King/Queen : You've worked hard all week at your desk job, which is silently chipping away at your true life's passion: the gift of song. We already have one of these hopefuls in the building. It usually starts Friday night and finds it's way through Sunday. I can't even decipher which song is which, until "Love Shack," comes up on the docket. I'm convinced that this karaoke king/queen lives in the condo next door …If I can hear it from that distance, I'm afraid of what it'd be like next door.

-Those Who Never Blink …Ever: This one is sort of self-explanatory. Non-blinkers are scary. Where's the emergency? Did you just see a ghost? Oo, you're just saying "hello".

And of course there are those that are a given: serial murderers/rapists, kleptomaniacs, pyromaniacs, crying babies, Peeping Toms," child pornographers, addicts of various notable forms, Al-Qaeda, poets.

It's a big city, I understand …It's hard to find a good place for a good price. Moving spares no one …But let me remind you, it's a lot easier to accept everyone/everything and to keep an open mind …A lot easier, unless it's right next door.

Org. Post: Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Unicycles + Untied Sneaks: You Only Live Once

Matthew: "Hey, did you see Darjeeling Limited?"

Me: "Uh, unfortunately …"

Matthew: "What!? C'mon, you hated Life Aquatic and that was a great movie!"

Me: "I watched it a few nights ago and it left me grumpy for the rest of my evening …It was bad. Granted I only had about 50% confidence in it being good BUT …still."

Matthew: "Aw, I still have to see it. Cody said it was sweet!"

Me: "Matthew …Cody's Mom is a clown …"

Matthew: "I know and he's been dealing with that his whole life, ok Amanda?"

It's true, Cody (one of my brother's longtime best friends), his Mother is a professional clown. Jewels the Clown to be more exact. Available for birthdays, work parties, bat/bar mitzvahs, weddings and she's also known to tour Bob Evan's fine dining establishments.

…And I thought it was difficult explaining to my peers that my Mother is a phlebotomist.

_________________________________________________________

Barely three months into 2008 and I've already managed to break my New Years' resolution.

New Year's Resolution: Unite my shoes before putting them on.

Ok, so I made this resolution when I was wearing shoes without laces …I thought I'd be home free but I recently bought a new pair of sneakers that involve laces.

It's all downhill from here.

__________________________________________________________

Pet peeves, I'm sure you have a few. Not to be left out, I do as well. I've mentioned them here or there (mayonnaise -yick, people who drive with their pets on their laps -and I'm attempting to cross the street, improper grammar that's not used in for the sake of irony …etc.)

Today two of my pet peeves collided and I've survived to type about it.

1. The elderly

2. People staring at me as I eat.

I decided to treat myself to a bowl of lentils and falafel, for lunch today.

There I sat, pretending to read a book that has been in my bag for the past few months. Less than a foot away from me, at eye level (keep in mind that I was sitting down and I'm 5'7 + ¾"), an elderly woman was starring at me. I questioned whether or not she and her fellow elderly friend were escapees from a nearby nursing home (or as I call it, while walking by, the "don't look, don't look, don't look," building.

[You can actually look into the lonely little rooms, decorated in various memorabilia and handy-crafts. I know this probably makes me an awful person. I do respect my elders but when you come face to face with their memories and the smell of bleach mixed with urine, it makes me uncomfortable. You're right, that's probably the guilt of my youth. Correction: I'm an awful guilty person with taught skin.]

Elderly Woman: [staring at me, a lick of her lips]

Me: [chewing, cursing my inability to hold a book and a falafel sandwich at the same time. I was seated next to a blank wall, which lent nothing to mindlessly look at]

Elderly Woman: [continued staring] 'That looks tasty. I bet that's really tasty."

Me: [mouth full, trying to project kindness from my eyes]

Elderly Woman: [lick of lips …I wish she'd stop] "Mmm, that's good."

Me: [slight nod, chewing at the speed of light]

Elderly Woman: [reaches into her coat pocket, pulls out a used tissue and wipes her nose …staring at me]

Me: [gulp …polite smile]

I fought the urge to break off a piece of falafel and throw it behind her.

One should never waste falafel like that.

I'm awful + guilty. I can't believe I've posted this either. Please address your letters to my Mother.

Mom: "Mandy, never out me in a home."

Me: "Mom, I've been telling you since I was a child that you don't have to worry about that. I'm going to sign you up for electric shock therapy."

Mom: "Oo Mandy, just put me in a boat and give me some oars."

Me: "Are we talking ocean, lake …boat expo?"

Mom: "Just make sure it's not too deep! You know I've always been a wader."

Me: "Perhaps Matthew will someday buy a house with an in ground pool."

Mom: "And a rocking chair!"

Me: "So you want a pontoon?"

Archives: Jan. 2008-Feb. 2008

2008-11-27T09:28:00.000-08:00

Org. Post: Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Variform/Diversiform: Contracts, Connections and Conning One’s Cat

I received the following text message, on the first day of 2008:

"After careful consideration I decided 2 renew our friendship contract for 2008 I kinda like u so dont fuck it up!"

Now, I didn't recognize the number and decided to respond with "And who are you?"

Shortly after my response, my phone vibrated back with this reply "Rob Hessel"

I responded: "Who? I'm sorry but you have the wrong number but thanks for the consideration."

And that was the end of that. I sure hope Rob found the right number and that friendship contract has been fully renewed.

___________________________________

The following missed connections ad, on craigslist, was posted about me, on 12/29/07:

"i saw you at the falafel place: a missed connection in doggerel - m4w - 30"

"I saw you at the falafel place,
cute girl in winter hat.
I thought you glanced at me,
then across from me you sat.

I wanted to say hello,
Or ask about your book.
Instead all I could manage
was a furtive look.

I wanted to say something
that would really charm ya,
Or, failing that, ask
"How's yr schwarma."

I wanted to approach.
I mustered wherewithal.
But I feared I smelled
Like a falafel ball.

Now I sit forlorn,
my timidity I rue;
After all, you probably smelled
like falafel too."

I'm not too keen on poetry, even when it involves falafel ...Sweet, nonetheless, though ...Right?

________________________________________

Cat-Parenting 101

And now a scene from my apartment.

[Primo whining at front door]

Food: Full

Water: Fresh

Litter: Clean

Toys: Present

Me: "Primo. Primo. Look the drawstring of my pajama pants! Ooo!"

[Note: Having cats, I can imagine is sort of like having children, you suddenly find solace in ordinary objects …"Look! A toilet paper roll! Look!" or "Ooo a sock! Here! Have a sock!"]

[Primo swats at string for a few minutes]

10 minutes later.

[Primo whining at front door]

Me: "Primo. Primo."

5 minutes later.

[Primo whining at front door. I decide to walk over and scoop him up, taking him back to the sofa with me]

Me: "Primo …There is no food out there. None. You would starve …to death. You love food."

[Silence for the rest of the evening]

Org. Post: Friday, January 18, 2008

Have A Day: Because You’re Verbase + I’m Verbase

In the course of one day I've managed to …

-Resent the title "writer".

-Crawl under someone's house to save a cat.

-Receive a slip of paper about myself from a fellow patron at a nearby coffee shop.

-Realize that I shouldn't leave my apartment on Fridays.

_________________________________________________________

First things first, I'll make this brief since I generally wane from anything that might hint towards a diary. I try to steer clear of calling myself a writer or allowing myself to be titled as such. I write how I talk. Since I'm not about to dial everyone up via conference call, this is the medium best suited for sharing any occurrence and/or observation throughout the course of my day to day life. I'd be just as happy to sit across a table from you and tell you such things. Granted I do hold an unapologetic love for books and language (and the usage there of), I'm a bit sour on being pigeon-holed into any pre- + mis-conceived notion of a "writer" (I should note that out of the past 24 hrs., I've been asleep for a mere 2 and that was nearly 16 hrs. ago).

In the same literate-breath, I'm sour towards anyone who would deem themselves a "failed" writer.

_________________________________________________________

(16 hrs. and counting. I'm a bit poor at being so sour. It's like wearing a wet washcloth as a hat …That takes a discipline I sorely lack)

I find crawling under a neighbor's front porch both a much needed distraction and a great way to meet said neighbors. The fact that I was on the clock at work, sleep-deprived, sans breakfast and only a few sips into my morning cup of coffee …Even the better. Add a bandaged hand and below temps …Ding! Ding!

"I'll take Amanda Jordyn's Friday, for $500, Alex!"

After a night curled up on my sofa, with the light on, I dozed briefly before the skillfully trained and equally cunning Primo landed smack-dab on my head before 6AM, the exact time my alarm was set to sound. I tip-toed my way across my cold hardwood floors, into my work uniform, managed to pull my hair back and put a brush across my teeth. I made it into work, fully aware that I had a possible situation on my hands in the form of a scheduled spay appointment.

Without going into grave detail, somewhere between the start of my work day to the hour of the appointment's arrival that I wasn't even sure would show, the woman I'm speaking of decided she'd rather give us her cat than keep her.

It wasn't until I was shocked by her actual arrival that I realized she had also decided to bring her cat without a carrier and quite literally let her soon-to-be-former cat out, in front of my work's building (which in turn happens to be my neighborhood and I'm not spending my off-time paranoid that I'll run across a lost tortie).

I grabbed my coat and ran outside …That's when I met my much talked about appointee. It went something like this:

Me: "Hey! Where are you going?"

(she was walking to the left, across the street)

Me: "Where's the cat?"

( she points up the street …to the right)

Me: "Well, c'mon!"

I then run up the street to a newly constructed condo building. There was a meow coming from underneath a grill, at the bottom of someone's bottom floor deck …which happened to be 8 ft. below ground level. I hop over the fence, lower myself down and no sooner hit the ground when the cat decides to run out from underneath the grill and scale the wall back up towards ground level. She then opts to run underneath the next door neighbor's front porch. At this point, I tell the former owner (who is numbly standing there) to go back to my work, get someone and grab a carrier. She neglects to get anyone and brings back a cardboard carrier. I prop myself up on a flower box and hoist myself back over the gate, towards the neighboring deck. I spot the cat and proceed to crawl behind a bush and underneath the front steps.

At this point, a neighbor from the condo building comes out.

Neighbor: "Are you from Tree House?"

Me: (underneath house) "Yes"

Neighbor: "Here, I have some cat treats."

Me: "Ah, thanks …Could you just throw them at me?"

[meanwhile former owner is standing on the sidewalk with the box, looking elsewhere]

Neighbor: "Here you go! You can keep them."

Me: "Ah, thank you!"

[neighbor leaves]

I'm calling towards the cat, who is understandably frightened. I finally get close enough to get a scruff on her and I call for the former owner to hurry and open the box …To which she replies: "I don't know how to get it open"

After a very brief explanation on a rather brief action, box opens. After a scratch or two, I put the cat in, close it up and head back to work, former owner trailing behind me (an airplane overhead had caught her attention).

For the sake of length, I wasn't all that fond of this woman …Which was odd since I generally lean towards giving the benefit of the doubt. Then again, this was not to be such a morning.

My riot act started something like this:

Woman: "Maybe I'll keep her."

Me: "NO. You are not keeping her. You are going to sign this piece of paper and she will become a Tree House cat and you won't be able to see her anymore." I then went on (or rather off …in a very contained manner, I must add) about responsibility and commitment. The woman signed her name and one of my bosses then stepped in to reiterate that this woman should not own any pets.

Length purposes, I was feeling rather good. Over the course of such an event, my mind had shifted away from more personal matters and I was riding high on actually getting the cat back. The cat was then tested and came up positive for feline leukemia.

I've never truly cried over a cat at work. Not because I don't care but out of how I cope with such.

This morning, with Lisa hugging me in the surgery room, I started sobbing. Which all sounds a bit too dramatic for my comfort levels but there you have it.

I unfortunately have yet to meet the neighbors' whose landscaping I later found in my hair.

_________________________________________________________

This evening, I found myself at a nearby coffee shop. I sat there for a couple of hours w/ a blank document in front of me and admiring snowflakes (as a side note, I spent some time studying the various planes of a snowflake. Fascinating but I'll save that for another time. Yes, sigh of relief). As I stood up to leave, zipping up my coat and tying my scarf, a guy who had been seated nearby throughout the duration of my coffee, came up to me and handed me a slip of paper. I absentmindedly took the slip of paper, feeling a touch sick to my stomach (nothing personal against him. He didn't seem out of sort but I've grown weary of those who are randomly attracted to me). He wished me a nice evening and I thanked him.

Basically, I am …

"delectable," "a heavenly being, possibly made up of two or three heavenly beings" "with hair that gleams w/ a sheen reserved for Satan's concubine," "classy," "elegant," "distinctly sexy," "cheekbones" and "poised with great grace."

It went on to explain that he was late for a birthday party but had been "so inspired" that he couldn't "get up the nerve to leave."

He then wrote "thank you" and again wished me a nice evening.

To quote my friend, Nick: "Concubine?"

_________________________________________________________

I shouldn't be allowed out of my apartment on Fridays.

Case in point:

-2.5 weeks ago, Friday, lunch break: Slipped on sidewalk, had bruise the size of Alaska on tailbone and a soreness throughout my left side for 2 weeks.

-Last Friday, while attempting to weigh a cat @ work, my healing bite wound from Lola on the palm of my right hand a handful (pun aside) days previous was scratched open …My hand started to swell and I was sent to the nearest emergency room. A first as I embark on my 6th year, in Chicago. After a tetanus shot , a bang up bandage job and a prescription for an antibiotic, I caught the bus back to work w/ a hour to spare.

-All of the above/this entry.

Org. Post: Sunday, January 27, 2008

Function! Function! / Humerus: Funny Bone, Humorous: Funny

There are a few things I've come to fear in my life, thus far, outside of the normal fears (normal fears being failure, the clap, incontinence, never-ending hiccups) …There's my lifelong fear of mayonnaise (I get that gag feeling in the back of my throat when I think of the word "emulsify") and the ominous feeling of not being able to see the silt of a large body of water (though I pride myself on being a top notched swimmer …I was also raised by a woman who lists "Jaws," as one of her all-time favorite films). Imagining a large body of bottomless emulsification and losing my keys in the process might be stretching it a bit and give way to convulsions.

I do however, due to friends past and present and leading a purely pedestrian lifestyle fear cars …To be more exact, cars that do not stop. I'm a self-professed, certifiable prudish pedestrian when it comes to crossing streets.

Dear Cab Driver,

Hi, it's me. Black hair? Bright red winter hat? I have friends that call me "Amanda," friends that call me "Jordyn" and on occasion "Ms. Phelps" but you might know me best as the girl you almost ran over, last night.

I'm assuming you failed to notice (and I can't forget) that I had the right of way, the light was clearly red and the crosswalk had a distinct glow of that little white walking guy.

Thank you for stopping once your front end hit my leg …I appreciated the slow realization, out of the corner of my eye, that you weren't stopping. I believe my exact thoughts were "He's not stopping. He's not stopping." Such thoughts that were interrupted by a woman walking her dog, on the other side of the street, screaming "STOP!"

That casual wave of your hand as your headlights lit up my wide-eyed stare …That was kind of you. Why not blow me a kiss?

I assure you that my heart has started beating again and I successfully crossed the same intersection, earlier this evening …Though a touch wary and entertaining thoughts of just never crossing the street …ever. I'd just stay there, in my winter coat, a cup of coffee and I'd become some sort of neighborhood icon, affectionately called "Paranoid Mary of the Corner," yelling as people cross safely to the other side.

Best,

-Amanda Jordyn Phelps

This all seems a bit too dramatic for my taste but I've decided to run with it.

When I realized that the car coming towards me was on a mission that didn't include any sort of stop sign or flashing red light (or the fact that I have a dimple or well-conditioned hair and a Mother's love) and that I most certainly could have been damaged in some shape or form (or both) …I'd like to say that I had some sort of epiphany.

That in that instant, my life's hopes and dreams came flooding to me …That I would never invent that vaccination (to save a small colony of pigmy goats). That I would never stand on the shoreline of the Gulf of Suez (dressed as Moses being optional). That I would never have that one great love (the one that would laugh at all my jokes and I could use the bathroom around without running the faucet). That the clothes in my closet would never find their proper hangers. Or that I'd never pen the next great American instructional pamphlet (Or as it'd be known "Words: Revolutionizing IKEA).

Truth be told, my first non-expletive thought was in fact: "INSULIN!" And that's where my anger stemmed from …I have Primo's insulin timed out to precision on any given day and I was actually en route home to do just that. How dare that absent-minded cabbie almost take that away from both Primo and I. We have a schedule, sir and unfortunately Primo's pancreas not only lacks in well functioning but in patience.

Sigh. Then again, as my dear friend Nick put it "That's city life for you."

_________________________________________________________________

And now for some bits from the backburner

1.23.08, 939PM

-Labyrinth game (with the ball hidden on my bookshelf aka cat-proof)

-Magazines (Time Out: Chicago, Make, Heeb, Nylon, Coffee Shop Crushes zine, Cat Fancy (a gift), UR Chicago, Chicago Reader, ReadyMade)

-Books (I Know You're Out There, Crossing California, British/American Language Dictionary, Webster's Synonyms, Antonyms and Homonyms, Scouts In Bondage & Other Violations of Literary Propriety)

-Cassettes (Steve Martin, Tears For Fears, Diana Ross, Jay & the Americans)

-Coasters ("I'm happy …yet I'm aware of the ironic ramifications of my happiness")

-Stereo remote

-DVD remote

-Statue of Liberty temporary tattoo (which came in the following)

-Half empty box of Botan rice candy

-¾ filled pocket notebook (filled with lists and self reminders)

-Medical papers from ER visit a couple of weeks ago (my hand has since healed)

-Rombix game

-Almost empty Americano from the Coffee Studio

On the side:

-Books (Johnny Got His Gun, Sneaky Uses For Every Day Things, An Anthropologist On Mars, A Long Way Down, The Girls' Guide To Hunting and Fishing, The Jewish Connection, The Technique of the Baton: A Handbook for Students of Conducting, The Yellow Wallpaper, A Glossary of Literary Terms, a 1976 appointment calendar from the MoMa, Fast and Thrifty Ways to Clean Everything, Globetrotter Travel Guide to Israel)

Basically, I need to sort my coffee table.

[Note: As I start to type, Nebraska-Girl is standing in front of her television set, vigorously brushing her teeth …This has been going on for nearly 5 minutes …A. Not that I'm looking, B. Not that I'm watching the clock].

____________________________________________________________________

Amanda Jordyn's Imagined Thought Process of Roy Orbison As He Penned "Running Scared"

[Working Title: "What I Do When I Should Be Re-Dying My Hair"]

"Ok, I'm in love with a woman who has a jealous ex …I need to write a song about the paranoia of running into him while with her. I'm scared."

Lyrics: "Just running scared/each place we go/so afraid, that he might show" [0:24]

"All right, I'm running scared afraid to run into him and now I'm afraid that she might love him back."

Lyrics: "Yeah running scared …"[0:27]

"Repeat. Repeat"

Lyrics: "What would I do/if he came back and wanted you" [0:48]

"Repeat. Repeat. I'm sad"

Lyrics: "Feeling low" [0:59]

"Which one would she choose? Him or me?"

Lyrics: "If he came back/which one would you choose" [1:32]

"The time has come! Repeat. Repeat."

Lyrics: "Then all at once/he was standing there" [1:40]

"Bastard. Build up. Build up."

Lyrics: "My heart was breaking/which one would it be" [1:55]

"…..Umm. Ok, running scared. I'm running scared. He loves her, she's with me, she might love him …Ah, hmm …He's there! He's standing there. My heart is racing. I'm breaking out in sweats …Ah. Umm. Build up! Built up! I'm ah running scared. Ok, ah. Big decision. Really like this woman. Crap …. …. …."

Two days later:

"….."

Lyrics: "Which one would it be [1:55] …You turned around and walked away with meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" [2:08]

Fade, end [2:13]

[Coming Soon: Amanda Jordyn's Imagined Thought Process of Bruce Springsteen's "I'm Going Down"]

__________________________________________________________________

I enjoy sunrises. I admire the colors of any given sunset. I'd gladly hear your long-winded political grand stand about "the man". I even like when snowflakes collect on my eyelashes …However, I cannot stomach any of such being conveyed through poetry. Sadly, I will not be attending your poetry slam or joining your Bronte book club.

That said, I've concocted my own tour of "found" poetry. While still in the conceptual stage, I've decided that if I ever find myself at any sort of spoken word and/or open mic poetry night, I'll gladly take the stage and share with the finger snapping crowd the joy of homonyms.

Examples:

"Ewe, female sheep.

You, pronoun .

Thank you."

"I didn't write this piece …but I often reflect upon it in my times of need.

Eye, organ of sight.

Aye, yes.

I, myself."

"Coward, one without courage.

Cowherd, one who tends cows.

Cowered …frightened."

"Peace, quiet.

Piece …a part.

Peas …vegetable."

Finger snaps all-around! Coming to an art school campus or reggae night near you!

(I think I'll sit on this one for a while. One! One, single unit. Won, gained.)

Org. Post: Monday, February 11, 2008

Icy Roads: Squared-Ahead!

In grade school, one of my close friends lost her Father in a car accident and I in turn watched a lot of Arsenio Hall, that winter.

At the time my Mother was both working the Midnight (11PM-7AM) shift at the hospital and pulling full-time as the center of my world. Given the icy conditions of wintertime, I felt compelled to guilt my Mother, beg my Mother to stay home. As she dried her hair and dressed before heading out, I'd slip notes underneath the bathroom door …Notes that years later can be found pressed between the pages of her Bible. (My Mother's Bible acts more as a scrapbook of various photos, notes, notices and newspapers clippings near and dear to her throughout her life ...Much like the front of my fridge, which gives off a devine glow and hum). One such note featured a drawing of myself, tears falling down my face and underneath "Mom, when you leave, I cry".

The thought of losing my Mother, much in the way of my friend's Father, frightened me to no end …What on Earth would I do without her? (Though, losing my Mother in the grocery or in a department store was far less frightening. It was my brother that usually cried in such situations).

Regretfully and at times arguably my Mother would leave, car warmed up, promising to call me as soon as she arrived at work, safe and sound. I'd stand in the doorway, wearing my most pitiful look as some half-ditched effort to have her turn around, realize how foolish she was being and come back home, safe and sound.

Arsenio Hall's show came on at 11 o clock, eastern time. Curled up on the living room's sofa, I'd try and put my fears to rest, drowned in all the "whoof-whoofing,"(or as Arsenio would say "Let's get busy!") and await the phone to ring. I never would get the chance to see Hall's show in it's entirety …The phone would sound shortly after his intro or as the first guest arrived.

[Scene: Grade school lunch table, sitting amongst my brown bagging friends

Me: "So, hey, did you guys know that Arsenio Hall is dating Paula Abdul? Mrs. Curtis has shoulder pads like Arsenio. Have you guys heard of 'black power'?"

Lunch Friends: "………."]

…Without fail, my Mother's voice would be on the other end, instructing me to brush my teeth, get some good rest and reassuring me that the roads weren't bad at all, "My tires have extra treads, Mandy."

Years later, I'd find out the truth about my friend's Father: suicide. Supposedly, car crashes are the number one excuse you tell impressionable, developing minds. Had I known this, I would have paid an extra amount of attention to just how many Tylenols my Mother was taking.

Whoof, whoof, whoof.

_______________________________________________________

Voicemail from my Mother, 2/7/08:

"Hi honey, just checking on you and making sure you're safe and no one ran my baby girl down today. I know, it was terrible outside. Oo my God, this is like wet ...slushy, snow ...rain, crusty, Oo my god, it's like everywhere you go people were stuck or people were sliding …Some people didn't even go out …it was terrible. I ended up going into work tonight at the Holiday Inn, on top of working all day, and no one made it in, it was just me and I was ornery and mad at the cooks for putting out bad food. I'm home, can't believe my little car made it through the crusty, icy snow ...No one even plowed! Even snow plows chose to stay in tonight. I hope you had a pleasant day. I love you baby girl and I'm awfully proud of my 'employee of the month,' you're such a hard worker …And so beautiful and just a good girl and kind, you're a kind person, Amanda Jordyn. Someone is going to be awfully lucky to have you in their life, I mean that …I'm lucky to have you. I love you honey, have a goodnight, keep safe, warm and dry, bye!"

Archives: Dec. 2007

2008-11-27T09:23:00.000-08:00

Org. Post: Sunday, December 02, 2007

Mind Your Own Groceries!: In The Name Of Free Coffee + Proper Brewing Methods

The following is an excerpt from a phone conversation with my Mother, last night, (who will be visiting Dec. 11th-13th).

My brother was home and I could hear him in the background. For some reason, that I can only explain as "that's my brother," Matthew was spelling curse words. Example "G-O-D-D-A-M-M-I-T!" I forget exactly what he was spelling but I asked my Mother if this had something to do with his newfound Buddhism. Fact: I made that up, on the spot. My brother, though spelling curse words and generally an amusing guy, is not in the throws of becoming Buddhist. My Mother, however, thought this was just one of the many things she's convinced my brother confides in me about ("No Mom, I don't think he has a girlfriend …Why not ask him?" or "No Mom, Matthew is not doing drugs. C'mon, he locked me out of the house when he first saw me smoking a cigarette …I was 18!" You get the picture).

Me: "Is this [c-u-r-s-i-n-g] part of his journey towards Buddhism?"

Mother: "Matt, are you becoming a Buddhist?"

Matthew: "Yes." [I love when he plays along. King of the poker face]

Mother: "Matt! You need to be careful when you move. There's a lot of Buddhism on college campuses and they'll try to recruit you!"

[My brother, as I've mentioned in earlier entries is moving, in January, to Grand Rapids, MI]

Me: "Mom, I think you have the Buddhist confused with Mastercard."

Mother: "No, Mandy, the Hara Krishnas hang out on college campuses and try to get you to join."

Me: "That's airports, Mom …Circa 1960-70."

Mother: "Oo. Matthew, your sister says it's airports you should be worried about!"

Another excerpt:

Mother: "I'm going to miss your brother so much, Mandy. My boy is leaving me. He's actually doing the dishes right now! Can you believe it? Sure, I asked him to wash them at 2PM, this afternoon and it's almost 11. Oo, I'm going to miss my boy doing the dishes."

Me: "He washes them so rarely, Mom, I'm surprised you don't miss it already."

Mother: "Matt! [laughter] Guess what your sister just said!?"

And another:

Mother: "Did you know that Super Mario can now flip over and jump spears?"

Matthew: "It's the way of the future Mom."

Me: [no comment]

Matthew: "Hey Manda, you'll be dealing with this soon!"

Mother: "Hey Matthew! Mandy, you and your brother treat me as though I'm some virus."

Matthew: "What?"

Mother: "You both treat me like I'm syphilis or something!"

Me: [no comment]

Note: I forget exactly why this came up in conversation but I assure you, it had purpose and wasn't as completely random as it may seem].

I've been racking my brain, all day, trying to remember more of this conversation. My sides hurt from laughing, I do remember that but soon my Nyquil kicked in.

__________________________________________

I wrote this, on Friday night:

It's hard to be boastful while choking down a delicious and "fizzy" piping hot beverage (sludge). I'm speaking of course about Airbourne or to be honest, Air Protector (the Equaline off-brand equivalent. Much like it's label, I challenge you to compare the ingredients). I should note, for the sake of nitpickingly irrelevant observations everywhere (or just in my head), that orange flavored Air Protector, while bright orange in cold water, appears a swamp-like green when heated. The smell is akin to unsolidified Jell-O (hit the nail on the head, with that one). What I'm saying is that A. I'm drinking hot Air Protector, at the moment to ward off the awful tickle in my throat and ache in my cheekbones, B. It's hard to be boastful while doing so …That's my introduction to the introduction of my day, which was as follows:

645AM, blurry eyed, cold

Dunkin Donuts Manager: "Good morning! It's so nice to see you again, what can I get for you?"

Me: "Extra large, just black coffee, please"

Dunkin Donuts Manager: "You got it!"

[pours coffee]

Me: "Thank you"

Dunkin Donuts Manager: "I see you often. This one is on the house!"

Me: [I was still somewhat half asleep and later second guessed on whether or not I sounded stunned/surprised/grateful enough …I hope so) "Thank you, have a nice day."

Dunkin Donuts Manager: "You too!"

That's right. You know what they say, "Every good deed …" (I forget the rest. Or is it "every stone left unturned …"). Well, I'm saying (and I'll quote myself) "Every incompetent Dunkin Donuts employee who you compliment on a job well done for you own personal gain and side strategy …There's an extra large black coffee, free of charge in your gloved hand, on a far from balmy Friday morning."

I planted that seed and beamed the entire way towards work.

___________________________________________

My collection of "coffee brewing methods other than a drip coffeemaker" or "how I discovered superior coffee brewing methods and learned to hate the drip coffeemaker," is complete, as of last Weds. I found the last piece of my self-imposed puzzle at (of course) my beloved/pay-day ritual, local Brown Elephant thrift store …My very own, good as new espresso pot or "moka" pot. I assure you that this thrills me to no end. I now have: the cold press method (aka "toddy" method), the French press, a Turkish coffee pot, the Chem-X method and now espresso/moka pot.

It's the simple things in life, I suppose. Some people collect Precious Moments, some collect parking tickets …I collect coffee brewing methods, books and lint.

_________________________________________

I'm always amused by what others buy at the grocery. Admit, you scan over the groceries of the person in front of you, as they rid the conveyor belt. There was that time I noticed a girl buying an abundance of ice cream, followed by a "jumbo" pack of vaginal yeast cream. I really had to bit my tongue on that one and try to distract myself with the latest news headlines (I'm of course speaking of Star, National Enquirer, US Weekly, etc.) …I wanted to kindly tap her on the shoulder and suggest that she cut back on the dairy and maybe she wouldn't need enough vaginal yeast anti-itch cream to justify the label "jumbo".

There's of the course the grocery/convenience store game of "purchase two items that might cause the clerk to raise their eyebrows" (Example: a banana and a tube of Vaseline).

Last Thursday, before work, I stopped by the grocery to pick up a few things. As I stood in the 15 items or less lane, I scanned over my purchases and had to stifle a giggle.

-1 pack faux-turkey slices

-soy cheese

-14 cans of Fancy Feast

-1 box Chanukah candles (they were on sale for 39 cents)

I know I was in the 15 items or less aisle and I was buying 14 cans of Fancy Feast. I had my defense ready, just in case one of the ladies in behind me commented. My defense: "How many apples are in that bag?"

Needless to say, I really need to work on my groceries giving a skewed perception of myself.

Sigh.

Org. Post: Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Black Umbrella On White: Snow Like Sugar, All Is Clean

Weds., 1246PM

I'm finally beginning to feel the season. The snow started coming down, a few flakes here and there, mid-afternoon yesterday and has held somewhat steady ever since. As I begin this type, flurries mingle downward at my windowsill. It was all I could to withhold the urge, last night, to make snow angels in my pajamas. I called Neil, knowing that out of everyone he'd share in my feelings of giddiness over this sudden douse of snow. If there are two things that bring a sparkle to Neil's eyes, it would be snow and sugar …And, well, recycling.

I have to admit, I sort of miss the view from my old apartment. It was a nice view, come snowfall …If anything, I'd characterize it as expansive …The lake on one end and a perfect shot up my old street, to the trains, on the other. Though, the windowsills weren't as sit-friendly (I've just coined that phrase) as the ones I now have. I'd wedge myself on them, regardless and people watch, from 7 stories above. Don't get me wrong, my apartment now is far superior and what little I can see of the snow buried courtyard, with my forehead to the glass, is quite breath taking …Directly across the courtyard, I get a view of a neighbor's living room. I call her "Nebraska-girl," due to what I'm assuming are photos of her nieces and nephews decorating her walls and an elaborate crucifix hanging above one of her doors. It seems very Nebraska, to me, very corn-fed, Midwestern. Then again, such view is obscured now, giving way to the overstuffed Christmas tree, in her living room. It's lights catch my eye whenever I enter my own living room. My Nebraska-girl observations make for another entry, entirely, at a later date.

I was sitting on my sofa, this morning, having read today's Red Eye, front to back (I like my news watered down and in caption-sized form, as of late …Plus, it's free). I woke up this morning to my friend Luke messaging me to tell me about his inclement sinuses. I then pulled on my somewhat dry jeans, hanging from the shower's curtain rod and opted to go to Dunkin Donuts for a cup of coffee (I'll get back to the moment I was sitting on my sofa, in a moment). This of course after feeding the cats, Primo was at a near level 8 anxiety level, sounding his alarm. I bundled up, stuffing my bed-head into my coat's hood and tip-toed my way amongst the icy footpaths, to Dunkin.

Immediately there was the manager, "Good morning," "Nice to see you," "How are you?", "Can you believe this snow?," etc. I went to the counter and was about to give my order, when said manager yelled to the cashier "EXTRA LARGE BLACK COFFEE, TIA! EXTRA LARGE BLACK!" …The girl and I both looked at each other, a bit startled. Thank you manager guy for your forceful customer service. I should note that I was the only one @ the counter. I saw no need to rush. Ah well. Coffee in hand, I jumped a snow hill to get to the nearby Red Eye box and made my way home.

And there I was, sitting on my sofa, casually listening to a segment on Fresh Air about dragonfly migration (which mentioned eyelash glue) and skimming an article about "20 Ways To Get Into The Holiday Spirit," which I now wonder was more of a pun on words since most of their suggestions included $10-$12 spirits (Then again, I'm probably giving them more credit than needed). I looked across the living room, into my bedroom and through my bedroom window, at my other view. There's a condo building, next door, almost the length of myself from window to deck (I'm 5'7" and ¾ respectively, mind you). There's a door, out to my condo neighbor's deck. I've never seen this door opened and for as long as I've lived here, there's a tuxedo jacket hanging, on a hanger, on the outside of the door. This confuses me. Have they forgotten that it's there? Maybe it's a relic of some forgotten hide and seek game of men's apparel. I then thought that maybe the wearer of said tuxedo jacket was once attacked by a skunk and it needs to air out for 6 mths. I'm not sure but it did strike me funny, with snow flurries threatening to rest upon it's lapel. Maybe the jacket is of some cotton blend that is best left amongst the elements. Or it could very well be some form of yuppie-art that is so above me that I don't get it's artistic statement and see it as a mere tuxedo jacket, when it truth it speaks of commercialism or the inner male ego, something along those lines. Maybe I should hang one of my cardigans in my windowsill. You think condo, you think closet space. Ah well.

845PM

I'm tired. I should make some tea, flip my Daryl Hall & John Oates cassette to side B, light the second candle on my menorah, give Primo his insulin and take a shower, in an effort to defrost my toes (my socks are still a bit damp, from running my errands throughout the day).

Org. Post: Thursday, December 27, 2007

Camus Smells A Rat: Nebraska-Girl + the Spread Of Nazi Germany, in III Parts

[Working title" Rear Window"]

I. Draw them in with familiarity. Use humor. Be humble. Argue that you're normal and in the following example, you lose things too, just like the average joe. Also known as the "I put my pants on one leg at a time, too" defense.

I wear Crocs to work (actually, they're not Crocs, they're the Airwalk equivalent. $14.99 at Payless. I'm not spending $30+ on a pair of shoes with the sole purpose of dipping into bleach between isolation wards and slipping on cat urine). You know, the paper light, clog-like shoes with perforated holes (Yeah, those masterpieces of craftsmanship). I only wear them to and from work. Given the winter season, I've started doubling up my socks. I prefer a thin, knee-high pair with my beloved fuzzy socks overtop.

Last week, after a morning's worth of work, I decided to finally answer that question that plagues most: "Am I a boot person?" It's been years since I've owned a pair of boots. I decided to browse at a nearby shoe store (Yep, Payless. I'm not spending $30+ on a pair of boots I'll be wearing 2 months out of the year). I ended up trying on a few pairs and found my answer: No. After the shoe store, I stopped by the grocery to pick up a few things. Walking home, my feet felt colder than usual. The thought of the temp dropping drastically within a half hour was somewhat doubtful (though not completely, this is Chicago). I continued home …Yes, my feet really did feel cooler. I stopped, looked down at my shoes and realized that my fuzzy socks weren't poking through the holes, per usual. Then it hit me: While trying on boots, my fuzzy socks, both of them, came off inside the boots. Whoops. I was too embarrassed to walk back to Payless and ask if I can look inside their fine fine selection of boots.

"Hi, it's me …again. Yeah, I didn't buy anything last time, either. No, no I haven't changed my mind. Actually, I'm looking for a pair of socks. No, no not from your selection. More specifically, I'm looking for my beloved, 2 yrs old, haven't been washed in a couple of days, covered in cat hair fuzzy socks …I think I left them in a pair of your boots."

I really loved those socks too. I remember thinking, as I stood at the corner of Broadway and Foster, awaiting the crossing signal …"Loved? Not eonugh, I guess."

II. Continue with the familiarity. Win their trust. Draw them in slowly.

It's dark across the courtyard. I miss the glow of Nebraska-girl's obnoxious Christmas tree, as I sit on my sofa, eating a cup of applesauce.

I like to over generalize BUT before doing so I always make a point to say "not to over generalize." That said, not to over generalize but I think Nebraska-girl went back to Nebraska for the holidays. "But that's not over generalizing," you say.

Not yet.

My neighbor across the courtyard, the one where I can directly peer into her living room given the shades being up, I affectionately (of course I do so affectionately, I'm not an ass and I should note that I've met plenty of fine people from the great state of Nebraska) call her "Nebraska Girl," though not to her face because that would mean we've actually met. Which we have not.

I lived in a studio apartment for nearly 2+ years. A place best described as a breadbox with a kitchenette in a shallow closet. During my years of residence, before my following one bedroom a few floors above my old studio and my current residence (one bedroom) a neighborhood's width away from the old, I never once used the stove. Having a gas stove/oven crammed next to a bit-sized fridge and literally an inch away from my sink (which reminded me of the bathroom sinks at my elementary school), scared me and with such a small place gave me very little space to run. A makeshift rope of socks and unused linens would undoubtedly be pointless since I'd have to tie it to an anchor directly next to or the actual source of the fire.

Before I continue, I'll readily admit that there are nice studio apartments out there and for those friends who are studio dwellers, they've managed to work wonders. I'm not anti-studio, I'm anti-my old studio …And I lived there, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Did I muse about the institutional white walls? Perhaps another time.

Back to the bread basket of the Midwest …I've never met Nebraska-girl and I honestly wouldn't consider myself a voyeur (then again, what voyeurs readily admit to such a title, internet chat rooms aside) …I don't mean to stare into her apartment. The fact that my eyes occasionally dart toward any sort of movement behind her windows or to scoop out her décor is merely a coincidence. A coincidence that I try to play off as though one of my cats is actually by the window and my gaze is in fact set on them. Bare with me, I think of such things and I've allowed such thoughts to drive to fake petting of imaginary-not-by-the-window cats.

"Oo why there hello, Primo" [petting air below windowsill]

[Primo across the room] "What the hell is she doing now?"

At first, I reasoned with myself (I live alone with four cats …I reason a lot …to myself) that I was studying her apartment to see what she did with her walls and if she found any neat way to better equip one's kitchen. It's like checking out someone who has the exact same car as you do, parked next to your own …You're just peering inside to see how they utilized their cup/coin holder or found a stealth spot for a fuzz detector. Harmless curiosity (I've never done the car bit, I don't drive).

What I was trying to get at with the studio apartment bit is that since living in such cramped quarters, I have the habit of keeping my shades pulled up at all times. It gave me a feel of space. Plus, I have very little to hide personally …If seeing me dash across my living room in a towel or my robe gives you the idea that you know me, you haven't a clue.

I started referring to her as Nebraska-girl after noticing a wall purely devoted to framed Sears portraits of what I'm assuming are her nieces and nephews. There's also a rather large, ornate crucifix hanging over one of her doorways. Then again, this is just purely circumstantial but strikes me very corn-fed, down home, family loving, God fearing …very Nebraskan. Granted, the handful of Nebraskans I know are agnostic, more family-tolerant than family-oriented and they prefer broccoli to corn (I asked around and seriously who could blame them? At least broccoli digests).

I bet she works with children or the disabled or perhaps disabled children. Wait, the elderly, she must work with the elderly. She could be a nurse. I once walked passed her en route to my own job and come to think of it her off-white shoes leaned more towards the supportive opposed to sporty or fashionable …Then again, I wasn't really looking.

Let me take a moment to remind everyone that I haven't any cable.

Once, when my friend Luke was over, we both found ourselves distracted by the movement across the courtyard.

[Luke, sitting on my sofa, staring at me] "What is Nebraska-girl doing now?"

[Me, facing Luke, looking over his shoulder, pretending to study the far corner of my living room] "I think she's …dancing. Wait, wait, she's wearing her red apron. She must be cooking …The kitchen light is on. No, no she's dancing …in her red apron. I bet she's listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir."

One week later:

[text message from Luke] "What are you up to?"

[reply text message] "Nebraska-girl has a date. I'm not sure. Doesn't look good. Crap. Blinds down."

III: WAR!

If this seems a bit …odd, whoa-ho, let me continue (whoa-ho?). The part that amuses me is that I wonder what she must think of me. When you live this close, no one is innocent of spying or sizing up the neighbors (no matter what you say). I think about this from time to time and then it hits me: What does she care? That's when I laugh, shake my head and pretend to pet a cat.

I feel comfortable admitting this to all of you (my kind-hearted, non-judgmental readers) because a month or so ago, I ran it across my friend and neighbor Marshall, and he seemed to (completely) understand my angle on this.

"The funny part, Marshall is that as soon as I think of her looking in on me and sizing up my life, I realize what an awful, narcissistic notion that is. What does she care? I then realize that I'm thinking way too much and the fact that she could be keeping tabs on just how many cats I do have, is ridiculous."

To his credit, Marshall is an upstanding, respectful gentlemen who I'm sure is both a registered voter and regularly calls his Mother. I can say this with my own Mother's approval, after running into Marshall in our courtyard, during her recent visit.

[Me] "Mom, this is Marshall"

[pleasantries/handshakes exchanged]

[Marshall] "Nice meeting you" [walks away]

[Mom to me] "He has dimples."

I think this all stems from being an avid Nancy Drew fan as a child …Plus, being raised by a woman who conmsidered the National Enquirer to be a reputable newspaper…And my hidden fascination with the make-up of peoples' individualistic normalcy.

Oo, you work at such and such a place?

You're from such and such, USA?

Neat.

What's on your coffee table?

Can I look in your fridge?

I care very little what brand you wear, your thoughts on Kaftka, how much those Stickley bookends cost you, who you are or are not sleeping beside. It's not a matter of who but how. What cards are in your wallet? How many shampoo bottles and bars of soap do you have in your shower? Can I look at your bookshelf?

The things that you rarely explain unless someone arrives too early or too late …The things that you organize, stash away or restock when someone visits or when you're in the beginning stages of a new relationship, you suddenly become aware of the order of things, your things and with one glance is so normal to you or abnormal to another.

This may be a bit lowbrow but it's sort of like the argument, which my friend Neil is rather adamant about, that everything you eat is a vote (Ah, food politics, I consider that a lowbrow parable, a stretch to explain my point …Please bare with me) …Everything we purchase, everything we throw away (or in Neil's case, recycle), everything we put in order or casually toss aside speaks volumes of how we are. I argue saying "who" we are because I don't want to go down the road of "we are not what we own/don't objective objects/things are just things" blah blah blah hooey. It's the how verses the who.

Then again, I'll readily admit and take your argument that I think entirely way too much.

I'm just saying that tea leaf reading is a multi-million dollar industry (I have no concrete data to prove this) but the contents of one's purse, the contents of one's coffee table can tell us plenty.

Then again, this could also lean towards assumption.

"I just assumed that you LIKED institutional-white walls and tattered powder blue carpet."

RETREAT!

Dear Ms. Self,

You just wrote 4 pages on some hair-brained schemed defense for shamelessly spying on your neighbor. Not only did you write 4 pages on such but you likened it to Nazi Germany and the spread of the Third Reich way of thought.

Please do not waste anymore time trying to explain that it's 1AM and that you should be in bed. Do not mention the amount of coffee you drank today or that one glass of wine. Do not backtrack and try to explain that you haven't written anything in days.

Being tired and a touch slap-happy is no excuse for such ramblings. Millions of people died, Self. A whole culture was nearly wiped clean off the face of the Earth.

You're clearly stalking your neighbor and have never been to Nebraska.

You are creepy. You are writing a letter to yourself.

Apologize and go brush your teeth. Don't forget to floss. Go put on your pajama pants …one leg at a time.

Yours,

You

TREATY

I am sorry. I'm sorry Nebraska-girl …I'm sorry Germany …And Poland.

[Cut to scene from childhood]

Mom: "Mandy, honey, not everyone is going to understand your sense of humor. When the kids pick on you it's because they are intimidated and jealous. You're ahead of the game and very mature for your age. A lot of great minds were made fun of. Einstein. The Wright Brothers. Martin Luther King. Richard Simmons. Not that Woody Allen, though, he's a pervert."

[Cut to foreseeable future]

Mom: "Hey honey, have you been writing anything new?"

Me: "Actually, yes …Want to hear it?

Mom: "Of course, baby. I love your writing."

10 minutes later …

Mom: "Hmm …That's nice, Mandy. Why are you apologizing to Poland? And Woody Allen IS a pervert! Oo! Have you watched that copy of 'Sharky's Machine,' that I gave you, yet? Didn't Rachael Ward play a great hooker?"

Org. Post: Sunday, December 30, 2007

It’s All The Same Price: 70% Acrylic, 15% Wool, 15% Mohair

First things first, a big thank you to the driver who honked his/her horn as I completely wiped out on the sidewalk, last Friday. Thank you …Your honking both served as a way to censor the expletives in my mind and to truly capture the moment for all to see.

In case you were concerned, Mr./Ms./Mrs./Sir driver, I'm ok. The stiffness has made it's way from my tailbone to my neck and throughout my left arm/wrist. I have a bruise the size of Alaska and I've been reliving memories of when I was 12 yrs old, when I dreamt of becoming an Olympic figure skater.

I'd also like to thank the woman who, on Saturday, took it upon herself to make an impromptu left turn and almost hit me with her car. I'm very diligent about crossing signals, ma'am and I take my stance as a pedestrian very seriously. I appreciate the foot distance you gave me to get out of the way and I assure you the look of shock on my face wasn't to embarrass you. It was a moment of realization that I was almost killed by an elderly woman, in an Astro van with a handicapped parking tag on her mirror. That is not how I'd choose to go out but thanks anyway for bringing that realization home (and the offer).

And now to our scheduled program.

Today had me thinking of New Years' past (actually today, per usual, had me thinking about a lot of things but for the sake of a theme, I'm going with New Years').

The first New Years, after my parents' (drawn out and overdue) divorce …I spent it with my Mom and Matthew. I made pasta and Pillsbury croissants (the height of fine-dining when you are 14). We ate our dinner on the sofa, with glasses of sparkling grape juice (though my Mother's smelled different) and watch "The Blob" (the original with Steve McQueen). Matthew fell asleep on the floor by the time the ball dropped and I followed suit, curled up on the sofa with my Mother, the faint smell of weird sparlking grape juice on her breath.

It's the one New Years that seems both normal and somewhat profound at the same time. Either way, it's the only one that really sticks out in my memory (I was so proud of my oven skills) and knowing what I know about the years to follow…I wouldn't change a thing. Though, that said, I'm happy to never have to be 15 or 16 again.

Throughout the past couple of weeks, I've found myself following a pattern.

Insert one of the following:

-Reading

-Watching a movie

-Brushing my teeth

-Laying in bed, wondering if my neighbor below me can hear the hollow echo of Alton + and his mighty

feet.

That's generally the beginning of my recent habit. Perhaps I'm walking to the store. Either way, I ultimately

find myself in front of my laptop's glow, a blank Word document before me. The blinking line.

I sit there, much as I am now, though in this case I'm making that blinking line work for it's due pay.

I was reading, music playing, Alton and his mighty feet thumping away (I should take up jumping rope, what does it matter? I'm sure it's all the same to my neighbor, downstairs) …I'm wearing quite possibly the most comfortable cardigan I've ever owned and while I feel compelled to return to my reading, I'd hate to break the pattern.

The New Year, that's what I'm getting at (sigh of relief). With Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanza and the arrival of winter behind us, I've been puzzled as to why people are still wishing one another a "happy holiday" (First though: Little late, hmm?) …Ah yes, the New Year, must have slipped my mind. Which is a complete and total lie as in the my brief moments of quiet time, I find myself debating on just how to go about summarizing 2007 ("brief" being yet another complete and total lie …I'm sure I'd have more quite time if I allowed for such and didn't cram every non-working moment with some errand, project or need for distraction).

Time's running out and if within a month's time I'm still following pattern, debating 2007, help me …please.

So here it is: Switzerland. I'm going to take the Switzerland stance, that which is neutral. I'm neither leaning towards pessimism (more of a refusal for such old hat) nor am I going for the sort of (be it) forced optimism, popular amongst this time of the year. Pessimism, optimism, regardless of how genuine, oddly seems phony or a put on, come New Years. Like any year or day, I'm hopeful. It's hard to deny such when with each passing year (and hindsight) reveals a progression of learned lessons and continued mistake be it upward or downward.

Looking back at this passing year, I remain firm on my Swiss ground. There were triumphs, big (my apartment, full-time, friendships and if I can be so candid shedding the remnants of a faltered relationship that went on for far too long) and small (this cardigan I'm wearing right now, a great meal, clean radiators and my latest and greatest thrift finds). There were disappointments of equal scale (small: "Maybe I'd like you better if you had bangs" and big "Maybe I'd like you better if you had bangs"). Surprises, realizations, new additions (Alton), rainy days, humid days, obstacles (Oo that move), renewed strengths/weaknesses/gratitude, comings/goings …You get the picture. And just as the year before it, the scale widens.

So while I want to write something that might inspire or cause some in-depth reflection …Or perhaps reveal something unknown about me. I'm sticking with neutral and continuing on whatever (excuse me for the term) path I'm on. I haven't a clue what the new year will bring but I know there will be 366 days (it is a leap year, afterall) to reveal it all and maybe this time next year I will change my stance …Russia, perhaps?

[Freeze frame, slow dissolve, cue inspiring yet ominous music, the passing out of "Do you like me, circle: yes or no" cards]

….And so you have it. Happy New Year.

Archives: Oct. 2007-Nov. 2007

2008-11-27T09:14:00.000-08:00

Org. Post: Saturday, October 13, 2007

Reverse Writers’ Block: A Work In Progress

NOTE: POSTED IN HASTE. I WILL EDIT THIS, I ASSURE YOU, WHEN TIME PERMITS ITSELF.

More Mornings Than Most:

Alarm sounds …Primo sounds. I rub my eyes, sit up in bed and reach for the ceiling. Some mornings I pull the covers over my head (As any child will tell you: monsters can't harm you when you're shielded with 100% poly-cotton). I beg Primo for "just 10 more minutes …Please?" (which doesn't work). I crawl out of my bed, walk into the kitchen …still rubbing my eyes and blinking. By this time, Primo's going around in circles and the rest of my brood has followed suit.

A couple of weeks ago, I happened upon a 1968-era percolator (Yes, I research such things) …That's been my choice coffee brewing method, as of late (which makes number 5 in my different ways and contraptions to brew my morning cup 'o joe. None of which a drip). I plug in my percolator and breathe a sigh of relief that there has yet to be any sparks (it's an older model, after all and well I was raised on slapstick comic hijinks). As that starts to perk ("Perk! Perk! Perk!), I dole out the morning's fanciest of feasts to the four dizzy felines @ my feet. I wash down my morning vitamins with a tall glass of water and reach into my cupboard for my oatmeal. Each morning, I'm greeted with a new fact thanks to my oatmeal packets. I feel this saves me time learning something new so early in my day.

What I'm getting at is that I figured since I've been rather laxed (no direct correlation to the oatmeal) in my "blogging" …And my daily run ins have been piling up, causing a bit of mental congestion …I'm going to present them in a sort of medley …in the form of my oatmeal packets. My run in will serve as the content and @ the end of each, I'll let you in on some of my own oatmeal packet IQ boosters.

All of which could have gone without any of the above explanation but then again, I wanted to make mention of my percolator …Wasn't that fun?

Grab a spoon.

____________________________

Boogie-Jive!

My Mother called while I was in the midst of taming my hair before heading out towards a nearby coffee shop.

She started to explain (without a hint of irony) how her boyfriend, Brian (former LAPD turned doctor …They've been dating for a month or so) were dancing, the other evening …while listening to Bobby Brown. Somehow Michael Jackson came up …Something about beats and how white people only dance to the treble hence why they are all over the place on the dance floor …My Mother gave emphasis to the beats of "old" Michael Jackson …

Mom: " ….You know, we used to like him [her + Brian] …until he became a pedophile."

And without skipping a beat she continued on with her story …She did the same when she stopped using the term "dance" altogether and started using "jive-boogie" (I should also mention that hours after this conversation I would have both "My Prerogative" and "Billie Jean" running simultaneously in my head …on a loop …at the same time).

Wait, I forgot to mention that one of Brian's undercover jobs during his LAPD career was taking down the seedy crime mavericks known as the Chippendales. Yes, those Chippendales. According to my Mother's story, Brian had to go undercover as a Chippendale for 30 days. Allegedly, the Chippendales were soliciting sexual favors from audience members post-show or as my Mother put it "It's very unprofessional to get blow jobs while on the job!". In comes Brian to save the day! So now you know why the Chippendales will not be appearing in city near you.

Mother: "Well, you know back when we lived in the Burm house, I actually had tickets to see the Chippendales …I'm glad now that I didn't end up going."

Yes, me too.

Note: Burm house: I was for 4 years old. A style of housing half underground.

Fact: The Israeli government has lifted it's ban on adult films. The first domestically released adult film Israeli adult film is entitled "Assraelis".

To Be Continued ...

See how that works?

Org. Post: Friday, October 19, 2007

Flying For The British: It’s Physical, Not Mental

"THUNDER"

"TONITZ"

"BratCat"

"Jerry's Network"

"CoCoNet"

"ScoutysMac"

"jdawg"

…All security-enabled networks from my apartment …Each one stronger given my location within my apartment. Needless to say, I look @ my neighbors in a whole new light.

"Could that be TONITZ?"

"THUNDER, is that you?"

"Hey Jerry, can I place a pledge for your password?"

____________________________

[Taken from the November Issue of Chicago Magazine, "Corrections" section]

"In 'Bootie Up' the description of boots 3 to 5 were reversed."

____________________________

This past Weds., I was returning from a Brown Elephant thrifting excursion (4 new books that I didn't need in tow), when I ran into my neighbor Derek (sans girlfriend that hates me) Unbeknowist to me, Derek has been working on a book for the past year. We started talking and he gave me the details ...He's a bit of a World War I buff (something else I didn't know) and his book is centered around a 12 yr. old Indian boy that flew for the British during WWI (true story). He's making it into a childrens' book and shooting for a 10-14 yr. old demographic ...He's also copyrighted a patent on an action figure.

Somehow, someway Derek got in contact with a man, residing in Inida, who wrote a book about the Indian pilots of WWI. Derek's awaiting a copy of this man's book via mail. Which led me to tell him that I have a bit of an "in" w/ UPS ...Hilarioty insued during our conversation and he's now in the know about my tendency to hug men dressed in brown.

Derek intends on slipping 10 pages or so (he's also doingthe illistrations) of his impending book, underneath my front door so that I may read/edit and give him my honest opinion.

This could be interesting ...

________________________

On the radio today:

[An ad for Swheat Scoops Cat Litter]

"Swheat Scoops litter works like magic! I have 11 cats and you could never tell!"

11 cats? Litter mustn't be the only issue here ...

On Thursday, shortly after clocking in @ work, my phone started to vibrate. "Mom" and a few minutes later "New Voicemail". I was sort of alarmed as to why my Mom would be calling so early ...Especially since we had had our phone pow-wow the previous morning. When a free moment presented itself, I opted to check my voicemail. The reception was bad so what I did hear of the message my Mother sounded as though she was crying. When I finally had another free moment and clear reception, I gave my voicemail another listen:

"Hi honey, Mrsa. Dugger just stopped by, she saw me outside. Her daughter Abby just had her first child and she was born with a bilateral cleft lip and palate. And of course, Mrs. Dugger knowing that I had you, wanted to tell me about it. I think I might stop by the hospital and give Abby some words of comfort that they still turn out to be BEAUUUUTIFUL, lovely young ladies, like my girl ...My wonderful, lovely, gorgeous daughter. I love you and just wanted to share! Bye honey!"

This is really new for my Mom ...Seeing as she often takes the stance of poster-Mom for cleft lip + palate children, thanks to well, me.

Throughout my childhood, I remember attending a handful of baby showers for people I'd never met ...I was a "special" guest ...Someone my Mother had met @ work or through a friend of a friend. The baby shower would be for a child born with ...you guest it ...a cleft lip + palate ...And I'd walk around, allowing people to look @ my upper lip and up my nose ...Complimenting my surgery ("See Barb, it's not all that disfiguring") and realizing that it's not the end of the world ("Amanda is my little artist ...She paints and plays both the violin and cello! See Barb, it's purely physical! She's not retarded!")

Weird, indeed ...But I usually got free cake out of the deal.

________________________

Last Saturday, stopped off @ a train stop store for a pack of smokes.

Me: "American Spirits …Blue pack, please."

Clerk: "Is that your real hair?"

Me: "Ah, yes [nervous short laughter complete with a tug @ my mane]

Clerk: "Can I touch it?"

Me: "Ah …"

Clerk: [before I could say anything reaches across the counter and starts petting my crown] "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOW …."

Me: "Blue pack? ….Please?"

________________________

My Mother is aware that I "blog" ...While it's still a bit fuzzy to her ...She often asks how my "writing" is going and though such terms are foreign to her ..."blog" and "posting" she often uses them within context whenever she's telling me a story.

I think "off-the-record" will soon become "off-the-blog". Here's an example mixed in with a recent tale my Mother told me.

(This story gives me goose bumps)

My Mother's boyfriend, Brian (Formerly "the black doctor," still black, still a doctor but she now refers to him simply as Brian ...former LAPD/undercover Chippendale) ...was one of five children, raised in Pittsburgh by his single, hopsital secretary Mother. Food stamps, government cheese, last winter's snow boots 2 yrs. reigning ...You get the picture.

Mom: "And Mandy, I know you might write about this and you can, my dear but please don't ...blog ...this part, ok?" [in a hushed tone] "Brian was so poor as a child that he and his brother + sisters at one point ...shared a bed. They slept like sardines!"

When Brian was in grade school, his Mother surprised all of her children with tickets to see ...The Jackson 5! She had been saving up and knew what this would mean for her children.

Mom: "Mandy, I mean, the JACKSON 5! Oo my! Could you imagine!? I LOVED the Jackson 5! They were like my Beatles!"

Brian hoisted his little sister onto his shoulders during the show so that she could get a better view ...He told my Mother that he couldn't sleep for days, he was so excited. He and his siblings didn't care about being poor, they had tickets for the Jackson 5's one show in Pittsburgh. They were the coolest kids on the block.

Mom: "You know, this is before Michael Jackson became a pedaphile. I miss the old Michael Jackson ...He had such a voice and his dance moves!"

____________________________

[leaving a message on a woman's voicemail, for work]

Me: "Hi, this is Amanda @ Treehouse Animal Foundation. I got your message and I'm just returning your call about having your cat noodled …Ah! Noodled!? Ha! Er, I mean neutered. Please give me a call back …Thanks!"

Org. Post: Friday, November 02, 2007

If You Expect The Unexpected, Is The Unexpected Then Expected?

Mashed potatoes and I have a (pun intended) mish-mash history.

Maybe it's the smell of a fresh box of crayons that will forever remind you of your first day of school (be that 1st grade and/or your "Super Senior" year of high school …I pass no judgment. However, I've sworn off Crayola since they elaborated the names of colors, which includes 8 different hues of purple. "Purple Mountains' Majesty" looks just like "Grape Ape") …Or maybe the dankness of late November with it's leafless trees and graying grass, reminds you of those longwinded fall family drives. You know, the ones where your parents squabble in the front seat and you sit tight in the back, testing your aim with gingersnap cookies out the window (You have that memory, right? What? I used to get car sick, a lot). Where was I? Ah yes, association (well, that's what I was attempting to get at) …Namely that of those famine avenging spuds.

The first 13 yrs of my life taught me that hospitals and surgeries include the following: Highlights Magazine, paper nightgowns, steel toilets, carnations/baby's breath, pastels (in general), nausea, the smell of disinfectant and chocolate Ensure, more nausea, waking up every other hour to a routine blood draw, soap operas and …mashed potatoes.

After my last surgery (a bonegraph @ age 13), I lived on mashed potatoes for an entire summer. Since the operation involved both my left hip and the left side of my mouth, I fell prisoner to my Mother's mashed potatoes (to her credit, they were a childhood favorite …briefly [insert "Jaws" theme]). Breakfast, lunch, dinner (maybe with a side of corn. Which I boycotted after finding out that corn doesn't digest and I thought that was just well, wrong).

So imagine my joy, a week ago, when one of my pearly whites decided to rebel and invite it's friend Sinus Cold, to the mouth mixer "I'm concerned seeing that you still have both your tonsils and your wisdom teeth," my dentist told me during a 7AM emergency phone call, when the pain had reached white hot, "I'm going to prescribe both Amoxicillin and Vicodin …And a liquid, palatable diet., until the swelling goes away."

Two hours later, I found myself walking home with my prescriptions (which read: "Amando Phelps") and a giant sack of red potatoes (which read "on sale").

So started my liquid diet …Nightly/daily choking down that starchy and "palatable" mash.

A few notes:

-I realized that I make a mean mash, not going to lie.

-When Sinus Cold moved in a few days later, I added a lot of fresh garlic …a lot. Thankfully, I wasn't seeing and/or talking with a lot of people. I'd probably would have been a hit in "Little Italy".

-As a nice lil Amoxicillin side effect, I couldn't really keep down my mash so I had to relive it twice, sometimes three times. Hey, I'm just being honest.

Throughout the entire week, that followed, I was sent home from work …Upset because I enjoyed the company of having people around …Opposed to the silence of my apartment. Let's just say, I read a lot (not to complain. I had forgotten just how enjoyable "Choose Your Own Adventure" books truly are) …And I'm almost positive that my cats enjoyed having quality time with their somewhat coherent owner (You thought I was going to say "Mommy," didn't you? Ha!).

This week, I found the pain/swelling subsiding, my strength slowly restoring, my prescription bottles empty and working straight through my shifts. Tuesday, I treated myself to a Thai dinner (complete with a crunchy cucumber salad) and by Weds. I was near 100% and ended up going out. Sinus Cold packed it's congested bags and that ultra sultry Bea Arthur tone of voice was (sadly) no more ("Press 1 …"). Go team Amando!

So imagine my joy, as I walked home earlier this evening to a familiar pain, in my mouth …And a slight swelling. I made a pit stop @ the grocery and now have a 5lb bag of red potatoes, in my kitchen.

Think positive, must think positive.

__________________________________________

I spent three hours on the phone with my Mom, this morning. At one point, we started listening to Van Morrison together.

__________________________________________

Some things to think about:

-If you attempt to fail and succeed, what have you really done?

-If Barbie is so popular, why do you have to buy her friends?

-How can you tell if a Smurf is choking on something?

If it's +-0 degrees Celsius in the evening and it will be twice as cold in the morning, how cold will it be then?

-Would a fly without wings be called a walk?

-When pet food has a "new and improved taste," who tasted it?

-Another word for synonym?

- …If you plant bird seed ….??

_________________________________________

From my non-existent vaults aka I'm behind on my "blogging," aka you've probably heard this one already aka remember my incoherent oatmeal packet analogy? Look for the fact @ the end.

You Are Atoned: Save Me A Saturday Night

Scene: Waiting for northbound bus. Since it was Yom Kippur, a nearby Temple had just let out and I found myself smack-dab in a sea of newly atoned, fashionable INSERT. (A quick side note: At first, I stood there, leafing through one of my newly acquired books when a maintenance man and/or mechanic walked by, did a double take and asked "Iranian?" …He then continued walking, looking over his shoulder. I should have known that the course of my day was about to turn.)

Older Jewish Gentleman (OJG): "Hello there"

Me (Me): "Hello …"

OJG: "And why weren't you in Temple today?"

Me: [polite short laugh]

OJG: "You're very pretty. You have …a wild look about you."

Me: [pressed grin] "Thanks" [More like "Thanks?"]

OJG: "You have gorgeous hair …I don't mean to be rude but is it real? It's very gorgeous"

Me: "Yes, it's all mine and thanks, again"

OJG: "So what do you do? [glances @ my bag, which bares the WLUW logo …Somehow he thought that made me a dancer …???] …Are you a dancer?"

Me: "No" [pressed + polite grin/laugh combo]

OJG: "You have a very nice paleness"

[Mental thought1: "How dare you remark on my summer tan!" 2: "Hello, bus? It's me. Where are you? …!"]

And then like a scene from some movie about angelic buses (You know, something like that)…The bus arrived.

OJG: "Where are you off to?"

Me: [points to bus] "There …Have a nice day, sir"

OJG: [stammers] "Could I see you sometime?"

Me: [walking to board bus] "Maybe you'll see me around."

I board the crowded 36, a sigh of relief …Enter weirdness factor two. There was one seat left and the aisle was packed. I sat down as though I were playing musical chairs …I turn to my right and then it hits me. Fred …And then it hit me: He's still alive.

Five years ago, I used to frequent a diner located on my old street. I was sans any form of coffee making …Their coffee was good and cheap. That's where I met Fred …An elderly man (emphasis on elderly …very elderly), who resided at a nearby "home". Fred had seen better days (World War II and Vietnam not amongst them) but he still smiled his gummy smile. He'd mumble to himself, his eyes would leak perpetual tears and he occasionally made reference to his colospy bag. I hadn't seen him in years and as mentioned, I wasn't sure if he was "still with us," if you will. Sure enough, though, there he was, that gummy smile, sitting next to me on a packed mid-afternoon bus. He started to talk with me (or to me) and somehow he started asking if he could come home with me.

[Mental thought: "Drive bus driver …Drive like the wind!"]

On my left, a nicely dressed and (obviously) nervous woman sat next to me …As Fred, who didn't recognize me spat laughter and saliva. At one point, he rested his hand on my own for a split second. People were starting to stare …I pressed a smile and counted the streets. Fred eventually spat a drawn out farewell, of sorts …I wished him a nice day and to take care of himself. After he stepped off of the bus, the woman seated next to me admitted to me that this was her first time on the bus and (I quote) "It's scary on this thing" …To which a jolly man (honestly, that's the best way to describe him) piped up "You haven't seen nothin', sweetheart!"

FACT: Turtles can breathe through their butts.

(You're welcome …And yes, that was an actual factoid found on my morning oatmeal packet …Mmm)

____________________________________________

October 22, my brother turned 21. I received the following text that evening:

Matthew: "Dude! I just had an appletini! You have to try one! My friends dared me to try one and it was awesome."

Sigh. My brother …The same person who when my Mom was pregnant with him she asked me if I wanted a brother or a sister? I replied that I wanted a unicorn. That said, I adore my brother but c'mon …a unicorn would have been rather neat.

Mom: "That's when I knew my Mandy thought out of the box."

Org. Post: Saturday, November 10, 2007

Like The Corners Of My Mind: Crocheting Cobwebs

Saturday: The fact that I have done all of the following, within the past 24 hrs. since starting my original "blog" entry, shall serve as a bit of amusement, after the fact:

-10AM found me, still wrapped in my powdered cheese colored robe, on my hands + knees, in front of my bathroom's radiator. In a move that would add a sparkle to my dear friend Neil's eye (or eyes, he does have two …Well, w/ glasses, four), I was making use of my old toothbrush (recycling!) …Dusting years of dust from said radiator. I had been holding off turning it on for the season until a proper cleaning, to fend off any "worst-case scenario" worry of fire or a horrid smell.

-I decided to finally refurbish my beloved but somewhat tattered armless, Eames-inspired (but Kroehler-made …The Midwest's mid-century guru) green chair. Pounding away with my hammer head …Literally, my trusty hammer throughout the handful of years has been without a handle …Anywho, pounding away with finishing nails between my lips, there was a knock on my front door. I knew my neighbor, Derek, was home since he had overheard my radio and was sang along as he jangled his keys into his lock …I opened my front door and Derek handed me a hammer with …a handle! I laughed, hammer head in hand and thanked him. A hour or so later, I finished my handy-dandy project and knocked on Derek's door to return the hammer …"Happy Holidays! It's yours, I have two" …I then held said handled hammer as an award, thanked him and went downstairs (still clutching my newfound hammer) and checked my mail. Fortunately, I didn't run into any of my other neighbors. I have to admit, I was rather giddy over my new gift. I now have a genuine hammer. Life's surprises can be funny.

Derek: "You can hammer in the morning …"

Me: "I can hammer in the evening!"

-I finished cleaning my apartment …Which I have to brag is generally rather clean but as of right now, I'd invite you to eat off any portion of my apartment (as in lasagna on floor, not actually gnawing on my apartment). I even dusted my ceiling fan, after watching it circle above for a bit and unable to shake the urge to do so.

-My evening's plans have been postponed for tomorrow evening. That said, I found the rest of my day open so I pulled my hair back, grabbed my gloves, my laptop and headed off to the coffee shop. I then spent a couple of hours, coffee cooling to that last cold sip, checking my email and maybe even chatting with a few of you, my faithful readers (Then again, I don't think my brother ever reads this).

-Basking in that deliciously free wifi, I ordered a few of my digital photos to be printed and ready for pick up @ a nearby Walgreens. I opted to hang around and wait for the "Your photos are ready!" email, which came a hour after I placed my order.

-Picked up photos and started a bit of a collage on my fridge. It's nice to see some of your smiling faces staring back @ me as I pour myself a glass of water or inject Primo w/ insulin.

-That brings us up to now. I just got out of the bathtub …And yes, there was water involved. That omission fits in with my attempted blogging, last night …My treasured radio blaring the local oldies station, perched on top of my newly clean as a whistle radiator, a new/crisp copy of TimeOut: Chicago. I went a bit overboard with the bubbles to no major mishap, thankfully.

I'm sitting @ my not a speck of debris coffee table …determined to post a new entry before my head hits my pillow (and yes, my pillows are freshly laundered…Can you feel my glow?)

Before I copy/paste/edit/second-guess my last saved document, a few extras from my day.

I received the following two myspace messages within the course of a day :

Title: KICK ASS!!!!!!

I just moved to the NW side of the city from the burbs and upon visiting you site and checking out some of your pictures I have come to the conclusion (without knowing you) that you kick ass!!! ha ...you're an odd one and i like it!

Brad

Title: weirdo

not sure what I think about you yet...weirdo or dork..maybe a combination of both...and just to mention, I am not trying to be mean, I found your pictures great, just sunny great, some of them put a big smile on my face...so here I am, emailing you hoping that we could get to know each other better, I am not trying to push my luck, or be a perv, just being honest, and no, not every girl on my space get email like this from me...anyway, I'm Victor, 29 and just looking to meet some cool new people, so maybe we could share some thoughts sometimes, or share some new experiences and have a lot of fun with it...no bs, no drama, no strings attached, so if you email me back I't won't meat that I will be all over you - that's harassing and I don't do that... so talk to me..... :)

One could easily accuse me of being a bit wordy but I can't seem to find any words for the above messages. Thank you for not being pervy? It's a great reassurance (that I will certainly past along to my Mother) that you won't jump my bones? ….Sunny?

__________________________________

On my early evening walk home from Walgreens, I walked by a Streetwise peddler.

SW Guy: "Beautiful girl …Love your hair."

Me: "Thanks …"

SW Guy [yelling up the street towards my back]: "Is it yours!?"

Me [over-shoulder]: "Yes, IT IS!"

And I thought he was going to offer me his Streetwise schtick. Silly me.

__________________________________

Many of you might recall my accidental hug w/ my neighborhood UPS man, a couple of months back. My cheeks still turn a pinkish hue whenever I recall that moment. Well, UPS man is now looking for me and asking about me @ work. Wonderful.

So let's add this up: 2 myspace guys that I've never met, who won't jump my bones, "sunny" smile at my photos and who I won't add as friends (which would break my myspace Golden Rule: I only add those I know), a Streetwise entrepreneur and my UPS man …And I live alone w/ 4 cats, because?

__________________________________

Ok, the following was written, last night:

Friday: A funny thing happened while I was out blogging ..

A couple of days ago, we'll say Wednesday, I sat here, we'll say my sofa, and started to write.

A couple of months ago, we'll say September, I took my very first "vacation," from work. Meaning I took 3 days off using my stored vacation days, which correlated with my normal 2 days off. Woo-laa, 5 days off in a row. A first. I thrifted to my heart's content, spent sun-soaked afternoons in a coffee shop, caught up on my list of apartment to-dos, went out with friends, etc. (Had that chance encounter with the older Jewish gentleman, on Yom Kippur …You know, the usual). My biggest plight , my mission: relaxation …And just how to go about doing so. In hindsight, my "vacation," taught me that I indeed need to focus on such Relaxing …Not the quest of finding a Jewish sugar daddy, thanks). I racked my brain, as I usually do (not so relaxing, mind you) on just how to go about actually relaxing. I contemplated aroma therapy (my sinuses said: no), I debated taking up painting again (again, not all that relaxing …If you knew me during such days, so long ago) …A-ha! My solution? That sudsy, childhood pastime …The one thing that many neglect after crossing the threshold of adulthood (student loan officers, aside). Bubble baths! How I used to spend hours, pruning away, in the bath tub, as a child. I went to the local grocery, purchased a large bottle of bubble bath (vanilla bean …aroma therapy meets hydra therapy) and felt somewhat optimistic on this whole relaxing bit.

Quick side story that I'm not sure I've mentioned as of yet (Lord knows my brain has quite the backed catalog of stories that I have yet to commit to type …Though, I'm sure I've audibly done so to many of you already. Thank you for baring with me).

Around Labor Day, someone within my building acquired a karaoke machine. My faithful neighbor/coworker/friend/band-mate Marshall knows exactly what I'm talking about. At first it was the usual karaoke circuit material …"Love Shack" (By the way, it's "tin roof …rusted"), "My Sharona," anything by Billy Idol, etc. Soon it progressed (or rather digressed and hey, I live here so take my word for it) to what could only be best described as a dying animal in the middle of the courtyard. My dear Alton, ears bent backwards, started to yowl. I have no idea, be it man or woman, just what on Earth they were indeed singing.

So there I was, on "vacation," lying back in my sea of vanilla scented suds, repeating my newfound mantra "just relax, just relax …r e l a x …" when I heard "Onnnnnne liifffffeeeee ….onnnnneeeeee loooovvvvvvveee …." …Not since Bono himself have I heard such a mind numbing rendition of "One". At one point he/she gave up on the teleprompter all together and just started to repeat "One ….one ….one ….onnnnnnnnneeee." I had no choice but to laugh and think "What would Larry David do?"

So that brings us up to speed on my newfound weekly ritual: bubble baths.

Earlier this week, we'll say Tuesday evening, the eve of my day off …I was taking a bath (and to you wise acres, I took it in my bathroom, thank you very much), reading the latest copy of the Onion. Bathing with the Onion on two literal planes: the actual reading and then dropping said paper into my bath water, the ink bleeding onto my knees. Before such a bathing mishap, I scanned over a regular Onion feature (it's tagline escapes me). Basically they have a hot to trot, current (aka "promoting something") celeb set their iTunes (which is becoming the new toaster, everyone has one) and briefly explaining said track/artist. The celeb in my ill-fated soggy copy was Jason Schwartzman. I figured, why not give it a try, maybe even a whirl. It's a bit odd (though not unintentional, mind you) that I rarely write on the subject of music, which is where I got my start almost 8 or 9 yrs ago. Taking a cue from Schwartzman, "I'm just trying not to sound like a cocksucker."

This brings us up to Wednesday and sitting on my sofa, laptop in front of me, see how that works? I really should take up knitting.

I hit random and sat ready to jot down whatever appeared. "Baby Said," by Hot Chip started to play. A song, an album and a group that I'll readily admit I had never given much of a listen to. I fell in love with the song and a hour or so later, it was still playing. I then hit random again, Braid hit the cue, which resulted in a trip down memory lane, complete with digging out my Braid DVD, watching it and texting Jason about how much Hey Mercedes sucks (Jason: "minus the first EP").

I then abandoned the project all together.

And here it is, Friday night. I've been awake since 5AM, had quite the jam packed day, went to the coffee shop and sat for a couple of hours, came home, made dinner and I'm freshly showered. Let me try this again.

[I should note that @ the end of that last sentence …I hit random a handful of times on my iTunes, typed up what songs appeared, walked away and went to dry my hair, thinking I'll go back and give each song a listen. Seriously, if this is ever posted, I will consider it a personal victory.]

Update: I then went to bed.

__________________________________

Saturday: Before I post this maze of an entry, I'm going to give the mentioned "Onion project" another go.

[shuffle]

-"Self Ignition," by the Silver Jews: "And the pumpkin on the porch is trying to heal itself/I don't like magic and I don't like tricks/Having a helluva time thinking we exist/The mailman dreams he's Paul Revere/He wants the whole town to buy him a beer/And I have to remember that your not wanting me, doesn't make me any less here" …That about sums it up. It's unfortunate that this gem of a Silver Jews' (aka David Berman) track remains rather unknown amidst the rest of the Silver Jews' catalog. One of my favorites.

-"Time Lost," by Piebald: The double-disc "Barely Legal/All Ages," release from Piebald is the only one worth having. Shortly after this release, I bid a farewell to this Boston-based group. I giggle now, remembering what once was and thankful that I never found out what became. Good guys but what once made sense, that time (now lost, get it? Ouch, I should have left that in my head) isn't able to hold up now. Listening to this track makes me feel like the guy @ shows, you've seen him, standing in the back, maybe off to the side and wearing a faded/torn Harvest t-shirt (Jason: "They all wear plaid now.")That guy knows things that you don't.

-"Not About A Birthday," Geoff Farina: An old friend of mine, who I lost touch with throughout the years, had moved to San Francisco. He sent me a package filled with a few of his favorite things (How else would I own a copy of "The Martian Chronicles"?). Included in that package was a copy of "Usonian Dream Sequence," by Geoff Farina. Not the best of albums to listen to late, when you're feeling lonesome …Unless you like salt in your wounds. A great album, don't get me wrong. Haven't given it a full listen in years.

-"Little Wet Head," Minus Story: If these guys come for a visit in your city …go. That is all. Actually, one little tidbit, Ladyhawk was headlining a Minus Story show that I went to, earlier this year. Ladyhawk being my profile's latest song …I ignored Ladyhawk's set . I regret that now. Whoops. Minus Story though, just go. The same goes for any of Jordan's solo performances.

-"Sweet Avenue," Jets to Brazil: This song makes me blush. Blake's writing style (if you could call it that) can be brutally (I'd call it that) honest to the point of cheesy and/or a level of vulnerability that seems embarrassing to the listener but only because you know that feeling. "This day could someday be, an anniversary, everything is light and sound". Both Jawbreaker (Blake's former band, which I realize in typing that I probably don't have to even mention) and Jets to Brazil have the feel of your favorite sneakers. And though I've been close to Blake @ a few Jawbreaker shows, I don't know and only refer to him by first name because I hate trying to spell (let alone pronounce) his last name. "Now all these tastes improve, through the view that comes with you, like they handed me my life, for the first time it felt right". Blush.

-"Ache," Jawbreaker: The above still stands …I think I listen to this song after every break-up or moment of uncertainty. What is going on? Geeze, what a bummer. "So right, so wrong, another winter's coming on/you win, you lose, it's the same old news," "Lean your head on mine, like you used to/I don't mind if you're faking it/make it seem real". Ouch.

-"Opportunity," the Jewels: Hooray! A torrid tale of a friend who let success get to his head but with that hi-fi production and handclaps, need I say more? I celebrate the whole "Girl Groups Sounds: Lost + Found," box set.

-"Jump Into The Fire," Harry Nilsson: Dear Mr. Nilsson, I know you are no longer with us but I just wanted to let you know that I've always wanted to adopt you. I'm sorry most people (all those midnight cowboys) solely remember you as the guy who "put the lime into the coconut". Sigh. Harry Nilsson.

-"Free Radio Gainesville," Hot Water Music: What is this? (my iTunes' shuffle selection, that is) …C'mon aboard, memory lane. Though, I still listen to HWM to this day and will continue to do so because well, they are HWM. To be song specific: I really hate Florida. "No Division," is a great album, don't get me wrong but I've always leaned more towards "Never Ender". Call me nuts.

[Do you notice the length of my "thoughts" shortening, much like your attention span. I stopped reviewing for a reason.]

One more

[shuffle]

"Hey, I'm Over Here," Lemuria: Ha! Figures, I forgot that I'm listening to my iJason. I've said it before and I'll say it again, this is the only band Jason has been in that I like and would actually consider myself a fan (no offense to the Failures' Union, ok?). Look, I just promoted …twice! (And for those who are reading this and work with me …Yes, that's where I got Lemuria's name).

And with that, personal victory is mine!

Org. Post: Wednesday, November 21, 2007

We’ll Make It I Swear: Thank You, Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin

I was never a Girl Scout. I was never a member of Campfire. I briefly remember a day-camp that involved sailor hats and badges but I can't recall more than that (Well, I do remember a camp counselor w/ a jerry curl and singing some song about cheese and bologna. Like I said, I can't recall more than that).

I've watched some MyGyver, in my time (who hasn't?) but the nights when my Mother allowed me to stay up past 8PM to watch Love Connection trump all such memories ("Be back, 2 in 2").

My Father went through a phase while remodeling my family's home (Now my Mother's home. My brother will be moving to Grand Rapids, come January.), where he subscribed to every home/how-to magazine. "This Old House," was usually on throughout the weekends and I came to look at Bob Vila as a kindly uncle that could turn a water logged, abandoned shanty into a palace, within 30 minutes (22 minutes, not counting commercial time).

Summers were filled with trips to the lumber yards. Come Fall, Id help my Father with 2x4, 4x4 and bent nails. To this day, on the rarest of occasions, I find myself in a Home Depot, I

feel an odd comfort. Weird, I know. That whole year was quite the time within my household. My arents would fight on a regular basis (opposed to just the weekends and family trips) and a few months before the house completion, we moved in. The bathroom wasn't complete yet, at least the shower part, so my Mother would take Matthew and I to the local community center to bath. When the house was complete, it quickly became quite the show upon Avon St. Neighbors marveled @ my Father's craftiness and just how he turned the once condemned house (on a block filled with both old and new money, cookie cutter lawns and summertime block parties w/ egg salad, lemonade and Cheez-Its) into quite the looker. My parents stopped @ nothing, this was their dream home and my Father had done everything by himself (minus the carpeting and drywall).

I've digressed from why I originally started writing. My original point was my morning pumpkin pie massacre, which is funny now considering what I've digressed onto. I supposed with Thanksgiving tomorrow, my thoughts are with that house, that family and with recent mornings, I do miss the built in heating lamp, that my parents had installed in their bathroom, assuring a warm and toasty exit from the shower.

I'm not one to divulge in-depth family stories, aside from the ironic and humorous ones. I'm not going to start now, don't worry. I've grown to know that such tales are hardly individual and they generally creep up around this time of year. I'm happily working tomorrow and the memories of my Father moving out one Thanksgiving day and returning to slice the turkey really do not hold much gravy as the years go by. I keep trying to remember just what year that was or how long my parents have been divorced. It seems silly to rack my brain for a minuet detail.

I think of my family now, how the time has changed all of us. My Father travels the world, my Mother is going back to college and my brother, as I mentioned earlier, will be moving to Grand Rapids, at the beginning of next year.

I barely recall that confused, somewhat frustrated girl that passed the mashed potatoes at a silent Thanksgiving table, one November so long ago, to a Father that was no longer sharing our address.

If anything, it's such that built my foundation, my adoration between the domestic, the want to celebrate holidays, who wanted to bake a pumpkin pie in some attempt to capitalize on the season …And the practicality of reality, the joy of holiday pay and the need to stay busy.

And that is where I will begin my initial reason for writing: pumpkin pie.

Last night found me at my local grocery, basket in hand. I had just spent a hour or so at a coffee shop, the glow of my laptop, trying to find the perfect vegan pumpkin pie recipe. Perfect in that it has the least ingredients, cost-effective and still might have some taste. I browsed the grocery aisle after scrawling the "perfect" recipe on a napkin.

I opted for a pie with a tofu base, canned pumpkin, a pre-made crust (the most vegan and healthy one I could find that didn't resemble cardboard) and pumpkin pie spice. I think the spice blend was the most costly but I'm sure to make use out of it. I already added it to my morning bowl of oatmeal.

Lately, I've taken to falling asleep both with my trusty Updike book and my alarm clock's radio set to Oldies 94.7. I woke up this morning to the Monkees' "Daydream Believer," and in the moment between awake and sleep, I was remembering watching the Monkee's television show reruns, as a child and that Mickey was my favorite at the time, before I matured and leaned more towards Mike Nesmith.

Coffee, oatmeal, radio, feeding my cats, washing the few dishes left in my sink and summing up the rainy day outside …I decided to get a head start and make my pumpkin pie. I blended the firm tofu and pumpkin puree until smooth, in my food processor. I added the proper amount of spice, a pinch of salt and the dark brown sugar (I never have such in my cupboards …It's kind of odd. As a child I would sneak a few clumps from the bag as my Mother baked …I'm a bit grossed out by that now). Things were going ok, the filling had a glossy orange sheen and I cranked my oven to 375. A few minutes of preheating and into the oven (of doom) it went.

My oven/stove has been referred to as "cute" and I'd have to agree (beaming w/ a pride as though I had created the oven/stove myself. In my defense, I do clean it and that shine is all my doing). A couple of months ago I realized a slight problem …When baking, ribbons of smoke start to pour out of the top, through the burners …Which in turn triggers my smoke detector, which really gets the heart pumping. I corral the cats into my bedroom and open my kitchen door, fanning out the smoke …This generally has happened after 7PM, when I get home from work, still in my scrub top, hungry and tired. This happened on two separate occasions before I spent a morning scrubbing out the insides.

My scribbled directions said to bake 30-40 minutes …I barely made it to 3 minutes before my smoke detector started to scream, smoke started to pour out and I went through the drill: cats into bedroom, standing in the doorway of my kitchen door, opening/closing, oven off, pumpkin pie w/ it's custard consistency back on the counter. This went on for 25 minutes, the smoke detector went off again and I was sliding all about with my fuzzy socks, making haste.

I decided to put my unbaked pumpkin pie in the fridge in some last minute hope it'd magically set. I then sulked to my sofa.

After a few minutes of silently cursing at my oven, my fingertips cold with the air from outside, still coming in …My mind kicked into high gear. How can I save this pie? Actually, baking was more for consistency …Since it's without egg or dairy, I needn't worry much about salmonella but still, I wanted to bake a pumpkin pie! I wanted to ring in Thanksgiving or feel that I had @ least given a try.

It then occurred to me: Why not try to steam bake it, in a pot on the stovetop? Eureka! Maybe it was the ghost of infomercials past, a time in my life when I first moved to Chicago, chronic insomnia …You know, the all-in-one cookers that can either steam vegetables or bake cornbread in the lid compartment when you're tender leg of lamb, with injected herbs and bulbs of garlic simmers away.

I grabbed a stock pot, covered the bottom w/ water, clicked on the burner and awaited a boil. As the bubbles started to hasten, I slowly lowered my hangin' on a prayer pumpkin pie and set the lid down w/ a slight opening. 15 minutes later, I snuck a peek at my waterlogged pie (too much water and the condensation from the lid dripping down) …I had tried, I turned off the stove, grabbed a potholder and lifted my pie out of the stock pot. Though, just as I was about to set it on the counter, there was a pumpkin slide and a quarter of the unbaked orange gooiness landed on my pristine stove top. I grabbed a container, scrapped the remainder of the pie w/ crust into it and set it in the fridge. A pumpkin pie custard, it would seem. I'm sure it'll be delicious.

Later on this evening, I'm going to attempt vegan stuffing. I need time to recover.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Org. Post: Saturday, November 24, 2007

You Can Never Call Home Again or You Nev all Ho ain

Dearest Jeff,

Back in July, after my move, I made mention that your print you gave me so long along had made it into my new apartment. However, I neglected to tell you where, exactly.

We've known each other for years. While our relationship didn't last, I wanted to make sure that your print was seen on a daily basis …By anyone who came over for a visit …And in turn received the attention it so justly deserves.

Lovingly,

-Amanda Jordyn

Before moving to Chicago, I had had the same phone number for most of my life. Since my move, I've had 3 different phone numbers, my most recent after going mobile. There are times that I still must double-check to make sure I'm not confusing it with others past.

However, my childhood phone number, much like one's social security, has been ingrained in me for years. I'm sure @ my moments of most peril, I could readily recite it, I could dial it in my sleep.

That said, imagine my shock @ my most recent voicemail, from my Mother, yesterday.

"Hi Mandy, it's Mommy (I'm always amused when she tells me who she is). I'm just calling to let you know that I've got rid of Charter and I now have a cell phone! It's Verizon. So honey, this will be my sole number. Make sure you save it, jot it down!"

She then went on about how her Thanksgiving went w/ Brian (formerly known as the "black doctor," still black, still a doctor but she refers to him by first name now). The turkey turned out perfect and tender, her mashed potatoes were quite a hit and the gravy was smooth. All of this went in one ear and out the other, to be honest, I was too busy thinking: "Wait, you got rid of your phone number? But, but …but!"

I can tell you right off the bat, I have mixed feelings about this new number. It reads funny, it doesn't have that rolling off of the tongue ease.

Now before you rush to judgment, I don't fear change. Sure, it can take a little time but I can accept it as a natural part of life. The ebb and flow. For instance, a few years back, while on the phone with my Mother (which I now think of as "the golden phone number days"), she asked me if it'd be ok if Matthew (my brother) could move into my old bedroom. When I stammered, she finally broke it to me that Matthew had indeed already moved in …3 mths previous …And she had sworn him to secrecy to not tell me until the time was right. I assure you that my tears were of …joy. My confusion as to where my things left in said old bedroom, was purely natural. The anger that rose when she told me that they had been stored in the basement, which had been through a recent, unexpected flood, a month before, was purely accidental and she felt really bad. To her credit, I had left such things when I moved. Who really needs their entire artistic portfolio from age 8 to age 20? What was I to do, moving into a small/breadbox of a studio, that first year, with mementos of any and all happiness I had back in Michigan? Why stand in the way via Chicago from my brother's need for more space, to remodel my safe haven from so long ago …I'm sure my stereo (vintage Pioneer, from my Father) looks quite handsome next to his xbox and his anime posters. That light green carpet (that I picked out), the life-sized built-in corkboard with every ticket stub, photograph, flyer and snippet of my teenage life, I'm sure fits snuggly with Matthew's Mars Volta memorabilia and photos of Naomi Watts.

I've somewhat digressed …What I'm saying, without any hint of bitterness or tongue in cheek, is that I'm fine with change and the fact that I'll never dial those 10 numerals again, is just part of the whole "ok with change" bit. Granted, had I known the last time I called home that it would be the last time, I would have dialed slower, I would have punched each number with a farewell finality.

So my Mother now has a cell phone …That's fantastic, I'm proud of her for joining the ranks, the same ranks I myself joined a mere 5 mths ago (Yeah, I finally got a cell, this year …I assure you, that has nothing to with my fear of change …My trusty landline served me well, throughout the years).

I do have some reservations. I imagine my Mother forgetting to recharge her phone or turning off the ringer without knowing. I'm not giving my Mother enough credit, you say? She's made it 50 yrs., she has had 2 children, been through school, held down her phlebotomy position @ the hospital for well over 20 yrs., taught aerobics for 21+ yrs., traveled the continent, served as local president of MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving) …I understand but allow me to share one moment that sticks out in my recent memory and could held shed some light on my concern.

My Mother once called me, frustrated and confused, she was trying to send an email. She explained every step she had taken. She even read the email to me. I offered a few suggestions, my brow starting to askew as I myself grew confused and frustrated. Finally, my Mother went step by step and read out loud what exactly the screen looked like (I really hate this sort of thing). I grew silent. "Mandy, are you there, honey? I really need your help. I don't know what it won't send!"

"Mom …It won't send …because you've typed the email in the To: section …where the email address goes …"

As luck would have it, my phone rang during that last sentence. It was my newly mobile-Mother.

A sign of things to come:

Mom: "Hi Mandy!"

Me: "Hi Mom …I was just thinking about you."

Mom: "What Mandy? [silence] …here what …said. I'm driv [silence] home."

Me: "I was just thinking about you. You're driving home?"

[silence]

Mom: "…cold. How are [silence]"

Me: "Mom, you're breaking up"

Mom: "Is this better?"

Me: "It was a complete sentence, yes. How are you feeling? Any better?"

Mom: "…ache. I'm going home and taking [silence]"

[silence …line goes dead]

I had to laugh.

A few minutes later, my phone rang.

Mom: "Sorry, Mandy. I'm still trying to [silence] to this cell [silence]"

Me: "You're still breaking up."

Mom: "[silence] are you?"

Me: "I'm good. Did Matthew explain your phone to you? You said it was Verizon."

Mom: "Is it? What do you have?"

Me: "Um, that's what you said …I have Sprint."

Mom: "[silence] 400 minutes"

Me: "Free weekends?"

Mom: "[silence] ..don't know. Hey baby, let me call you [silence] later."

Me: "Ok …"

Mom: [silence]

Me: "Bye?"

Mom: [silence]

Me: "Mom?"

Mom: "Bye!"

Yep, change. Ebb and flow. My Mother now speaks like a billboard missing a few letters.

[silence]

Org. Post: Monday, November 26, 2007

Dunkin’ For the Team: Nice Curses + Nice Creepiness

You've seen my mariachi radio …My stations? NPR/Chicago Public (no brainer), Steve Dahl's morning show on Jack 104.5FM and 100.3 Love FM (Go right ahead, scorn, scoff. Two words: Motown Mondays. Enough said). I can't forget 94.7 Oldies, which remains the only station my alarm clock is tuned to.

Usually, come weekdays, I'm busy getting ready for work when Steve Dahl's show ends @ 10AM, hence why my radio stays on Jack for the rest of the day.

I'm basically trying to explain as to why I was just listening to Bon Jovi's "Livin' On A Prayer," and reminiscing on how I thought, as a child, that Jon was singing "Take my hand/We'll make a nice swear," (as in a nice curse) opposed to "Take my hand/We'll make it, I swear" …Which is why Jon Bon Jovi always seemed like a solid guy to me. A nice swear, how sweet.

____________________________________

It's seems silly to say (er, type): My neighborhood just got a Dunkin' Donuts/Baskin' Robbins …This is Chicago not rural Haverstraw, Nebraska. That said, my coworkers are ecstatic about the new introduction and I, myself have finally found an answer to those mornings when I'm really not in the mood to make coffee (A self-crowned "coffee snob," such mornings may seem quite the shock. But trust me).

Today marked the new Dunkin' Donuts' third day, since their grand opening. Though, they still have someone dressed as a large cup of DD coffee, waving outside and greeting those passing by.

Since their grand opening (again, a whole whopping three days ago), I've heard a few complaints here and there from my coworkers on service. It's true that they almost put milk in my "just black" coffee and overcharged me a dollar but consider the situation.

Today, as I ordered my "just black, extra large" coffee (must keep it simple), I decided to try a little positive reinforcement in a half-ditch effort that such would improve service (I obviously think very highly of myself). As though channeling my Mother, this is how it went:

Cashier: "Welcome to Dunkin' Donuts."

Me: "Good morning, how are you?"

Cashier: [a bit taken back] "I'm good! Thank you for asking!"

Me: "No problem, how's business?"

Cashier: "Busy but good!"

Me: "Well, this Dunkin' means a lot to the neighborhood." [sometimes I creep myself out]

Cashier: "Oo yeah! It's really busy in the mornings!"

Me: "That's great. I'd like one BLACK, JUST BLACK …EXT-RA LAR-GE, coffee, please."

Cashier: "Cream and sugar?"

Me: "Oo no thank you …JUST …BLACK."

Cashier: "Just black?"

Me: "Yep!"

[hands me my coffee, no cream/sugar and my change]

Cashier: Here you go, have a great day! It was nice seeing you again."

Me: "Thanks, I hope you have a great day too ..And I just wanted to say that you're doing a great job."

Cashier: [gasp] "Thank you! No one has told me that!"

Me: "Take care! See you tomorrow morning."

Cashier: "You too! Thank you, again!"

So I went a bit over the top, I know ..But hey, we've all been there …The cashier, that is. Maybe you're obnoxiously nice too. We've all had the new job jitters …I can say this though, with a little hope, I'm sure she'll never forget that I'm the one that orders the "just black" coffee. Then again, she might put cream in my coffee come tomorrow morning. I'm being optimistic.

Archives: Sept. 2007

2008-11-27T09:08:00.000-08:00

Org. Post: Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Einstein On Parade: Q. Chicken or Egg? A. Who cares!? What’s Zach Braff up to?

If you've read over my "blog" throughout the past year or so ...Then you know that my inspirations vary from time to time, subject to subject. Your general ebb and flow of day to day occurrences, characters and random (yet dare I say vital and/or relevant) ...Oo so relevant) observations.

What is one to do without internet?

My two month "blackout" of sorts by no means trumped the year of 2003. Also known as the "Great Hard-Drive Meltdown of '03" ...But regardless drove me to the point of insanity. Ok, so that's a bit melodramatic. Nuts? Bananas? Pluots? Pen to paper is fine. Typewriters still have their place. Let's be honest, though ...Doogie was onto something years ago.

What I'm trying to get to is this: When you're without the internet and have writer's block, feeling a bit low and at a loss ...You should read Parade Magazine. You know Parade, it can usually be found in the "meat" of your local Sunday newspaper. It's a hair shy of a tabloid (which to some is the news ...I'm not pointing (my Mother) fingers @ anyone). It's a real mood lifter (if not a bit of a brow furrower) and serves as a prime example that there's always a soul or two a bit worse-off than your own.

I've been known to treat myself here and there to a Sunday Chicago Tribune or perhaps the New York Times ...The Sunday Tribune is usually available on Saturdays ...Since I work on Sundays, I'll nab a Sunday copy on Saturday and live out my Norm Rockwell-inspired Sunday newspaper/coffee moment. Which ultimately throws me off and come Sunday I'm thinking it's Monday. Anyway, I'm being wordy.

So there I was, rifling through the meat of the Sunday Tribune, on a Saturday ...Coffee at hand, cigarette in tow ..."Ah, Parade ...Why not?" ...One page into this slim read ...Let the good feels and back-pats commence!

There I was hmming + hawing about my ebb + flow being disrupted and the inevitable "grand update" looming before I felt just in writing anything and somewhere someone is going about their day and then they're struck with some of life's greatest crossroads: "Do you think Tiger Woods named his daughter Sam because he was hoping for a boy?"

[The following is a fictional dramatization aside from the end, brought to you by an actual Parade reader]

Charles: "Hi Bob, how are things today? Can you believe the story about that guy who just passed away from inhaling the fumes from his bag of microwaved popcorn?"

Bob: [silence/staring off into space]

Charles: "Ah, Bob? Hey ho, Earth to Bobby!"

Bob: "Ooo sorry, Charles ...I was just thinking ...What explains Mandy Moore's failed relationships with so many guys—actors Zach Braff and Wilmer Valderrama, tennis ace Andy Roddick and disc jockey DJ AM?"

Here are just a few more examples:

"Q. As a fan of The Closer, I was distracted by Kyra Sedgwick's clownish red lipstick. I wrote to the show to complain—and, sure enough, she changed shades. Did viewers have a hand in that?
—Phyllis, New Jersey"

"Q. One of our favorite actors is Ernest Borgnine. What's he up to these days?
—Jerry and Linda, New Mexico"

"Q. Now that he has a hit sitcom, According to Jim, does Jim Belushi finally feel free of his late brother John's shadow?
—Kristin, New Jersey

"Q. I recently looked up Sylvester Stallone on the Internet and noticed that two of his daughters have the middle name Rose. Why?
—Stephanie, California"

"Q. A night at the movies rides on this bet: I say that Tony Blair is the longest-serving prime minister in British history. My brother-in-law says, "No way." Who wins?
—Dee, Rhode Island"

"Q. What has happened to the Rev. Robert Schuller Sr.? Why doesn't he deliver sermons on Sunday's Hour of Power TV program anymore?
—Susan, North Carolina"

"Q. Whatever happened to the cast of the 1970s series Welcome Back, Kotter?
—Sharon, New Jersey"

Thank you Parade, thank you.

____________________________

I'm at a coffee shop ...While typing the above, it started to rain ...hard. I have one last errand on my day-off agenda: grocery shopping. I thought it best to wait out the rain ...While doing so, a Mother and her two young daughters came into the coffee shop.

Mom: "We're just going to wait out the rain, girls"

Daughter: "Are we eating here?"

Mom: "Oo no! We'll just get a beverage"

Daughter: "What's a bev..beverage?"

[a few moments later]

Mom: "Now don't drink too much apple juice!"

Daughter: "But I wanna!"

Mom: "You normally don't drink juice this late."

...It was 5PM.

I bet she reads Parade ...Actually, I bet she reads the Chicago Tribunes' "Ask Amy" ...As for that, don't get me started.

Org. Post: Saturday, September 08, 2007

Thank You For Letting Me Bend Your Ear

My name is Amanda Jordyn ...Some of you (Yes, you) know me as Amanda, some of you (Yep, still you) know me as Jordyn ...A select few have come up with their own hybrids (AJ, AJ Phelpsy, A to the J, Manders, Manda, Jordy, J-[insert animal +/or currrency] ...Mandy).

Where was I? Ah yes, my name is Amanda Jordyn and I have addiction ...An addiction? Yes and it's spilling throughout my life (well, ok my coffee table, bookshelf, nightstand, bag, etc.) ...I like books. I like books ...a lot. I like books of various genres, various sizes, color, languages and lengths.

A funny thing happened to me on my way to the library, this morning ...Library books in tow, I no sooner made it out of the gate of my apartment building when I found myself smack-dab in the midst of a neighbor's yard sale ...En route to the library, I end up purchasing two books and a double-disc Nina Simone album (For the curious: Raymond Carver's "Where I'm Calling From," a tattered copy of John Updike's "Rabbit, Run" ...The Nina discs? The Tomato Collection, a very tough find). And all for under $5. Plus, while I was @ it I figured I make a new friend because hey, why not?

Treavor lives in the condo building next door and it was his yard sale that I browsed ...Sedaris, Burroughs, an abundance of Bette Midler CDs (And I noticed a few Her Space Holiday CDs ...Sure, why not?). He noticed the Nina Simone discs in my hand:

Treavor: "Oo my God, don't you love her?"

Me: "Yes! I can't believe you're parting with this."

Treavor: "I know, I know ...I had to special order it. Have you seen her live concert film? I saw it at the Gene Siskel Film Centre, last year ...I had to go out and buy it the next day!"

Me: "Oo! Unfortunately, I missed it ...To be honest, I really shouldn't be buying more books ...I'm actually on my way to the library to return a few."

Treavor: "Do you live around here?"

Me: "Yes, actually I live right next door."

Treavor: "Well, you have to borrow my copy of Nina's live concert ...I'll brb right back!"

...And that is how a copy of Nina Simone's "Live at Montreux" found it's way inside of my bag ...Along w/ two more books to stack on my coffee table and 2.5 hours of Nina Simone audio. Sigh. (I then renewed a couple of books at the library and checked out a new one: Lonely Planet's "Farsi Phrasebook" ...Hey, why not?).

I was actually going to write about the eclectic nature of my apartment ...My growing book addiction a large part of such ...But I'll cut to the chase and just show you "the creepy pillow," an amazing find, if I do say so myself (And I do).

And now for some b-sides, if you will ...Some of you have heard these stories, to some they will be new ...Left on the backburner in the midst of my ongoing get-my-barrings-back updating.

Title: "What Have I Done For Brown Today?"

A couple of weeks ago (or maybe it was a week ago ...They all bleed into one another) ...On a Monday (I know that for sure ...Actually, it was two weeks ago, yes), I was awaiting the arrival of a "very important package" (this handy dandy laptop) via UPS. It was supposed to arrive on either Monday +/or Tuesday. Both days I had to work 11AM-7PM. Aside from the flash-in-the-pan chance of catching the UPS man on my half hour lunch break, I feared I'd be playing a game of tag with UPS. (Oo, I live close to work ...I generally go home for lunch). I told my coworkers, that Monday "If the UPS man stops here, come find me. I need to talk w/ him" (My reason being that I wanted to see if I could have my "very important package" delivered at work).

Jump mid-afternoon, my coworker Joan comes downstairs and tells me "The UPS man is here but I had to haggle him to stay ...You better go catch him! He's out by his truck." (Montage: Pull off labcoat, wash hands, dip shoes, run upstairs).

I ran out to meet the UPS man, next to his truck ...There we stood, next to the truck (it's important that you know such a redundant detail) ...I explained to him the situation and he pleasantly (he really was pleasant ...I'm not being sarcastic) explained to me that I just need to write a note w/ my signature and pin it up on my building's door and they will deliver it -Hooray!

UPS Man: "Well, have a nice day" [extends hand]

Me: "You too. Thanks again" [shakes hand]

UPS Man: [Starts to walk by, leans in, sort of ..I swear]

Me: [HUGS UPS man]

I thought he was leaning in for a hug -In hindsight he was leaning to get past the truck ...I ran back into work, went back downstairs to resume feline medicating ...Which I had to stop abruptly for a few minutes of laughter ...Inner thoughts: "Amanda Jordyn, what did you do!? You HUGGED him!? What on Earth made you think he wanted to hug you in the first place!?

Next day: I left a note on my building's buzzer. I came home on my lunch break to not only find that my "very important package" had indeed arrived but that it was actually awaiting me at my apartment's front door. Later that day, at work the UPS man stopped by to make sure I had recieved my package safe + sound.

Let this be a lesson to you ...Hugging can help.

Title: Alton Brown Is Not Spider-Man

My Alton Brown (not to be confused with the Food Network personality but just as profficent when it comes to the genus of oncorhynchus gorbuscha ...er, salmon) ...Well, my Alton is a curious cat (as in odd) and under the assumption that he has Spider-Man like capabilities. A flat wall, void of any ledge or perch? Alton will attempt to jump straight up. What he sees? I haven't a clue.

He's a gangly sort ...Big bunny feet, long limps and ears that hopefully someday he'll grow into. He's also a silent cat ...Strange, I know but I rarely hear him utter even a meow.

Earlier this past week, Alton joined in w/ his siblings, whining for food. "He speaks!" I thought ...Great, so Primo has taught him a thing or two.

Thursday morning, I woke up to Primo, on top of me and Alton whining in the background ...I couldn't see Alton, as I wiped my eyes of sleep and assured both Alton + Primo that I was waking up, that I'd be feeding them soon.

Alton just kept whining + whining ...I sat up in bed, looked out into my living room and there I saw my Alton Brown ...Teetering on the outside window ledge, one foot dangling ...Unable to turn himself around or else he'd fall. Nightgown + all, heart in stomach ...I flew out of bed, across my living room ..."Don't move!" ...I threw open the window, grabbed him and pulled him back inside.

I then inspected my window's screen, which unbeknownist to me had had a tiny slit on the far upper right-hand side ...A slit that I assume Alton elborated upon and found his way out on the ledge. I generally keep the window, in the living, opened a couple of inches before I go bed ...I'm assuming Alton worked his magic with that as well.

After the intial adrenaline wore off ...I took it as a compliment that Alton didn't jump ...Silent, half-bunny and unable to scale walls ...He likes me, he really likes me.

_______________________________________

One last note:

In this week's Chicago Reader, I found a course catalog from Loyola University's Continuing Education program. On a whim, I leafed through it ...Head shaking, my sighs supressed ...I came across this:

[Writing + Communication Section]

"The Blogosphere + You:

Websites, blogs, podcasts and many other innovations have changed traditional media and opened up new channels for creativity and participation. Learn how to read the trends and make sense of the techno-jargon and buzzwords as you prepare to build your own blog!"

...Toss in their "Interpreting St. Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians" and you'll be on your way! If that doesn't work, they also offer a course entitled "So You Want To Be An Actor".

...And on that (last) note, I added a few new pictures to my "blogosphere".

Org. Post: Saturday, September 15, 2007

Turn It On: 1-800-FRENCH BREAD

Last night, I made a stop @ my local grocery (a sale on oatmeal -Oo my!) ...I stood in line behind a couple that might have been crazier about oatmeal than myself. Finally, I made it to the cashier. I paid for my goods and the cashier handed me my receipt:

Cashier: "Here's your receipt, Ms. Phelps ...[points to a 1-800 number printed on the receipt] ...And here is a 1-800 number you can call to take a short survey. If you complete the survey you win a free loaf of Jewel french bread!"

Amazing. I placed the receipt in my pocketbook and took my oatmeal home. I had a date with a steaming bowl of apples + cinnamon, in front of "Fire Walk With Me" (It's been an odd week ...So odd in fact that Lynch is making sense).

I woke up this morning, found my way into the kitchen ...4 pairs of eyes eagerly watching my every move ...Soon those eyes were nose deep in oceanfish + tuna (Mmm ...What exactly is oceanfish?]. Before long, I, myself was nose deep in a hot cup of coffee and the latest copy of the Chicago Reader (skimming an article about a "diverse" group of people who had their way with the closets of up and coming designers throughout Chicago ...I found it interesting that this "diverse" group all had a toe-hold within the fashion industry themselves and one man's wallet cost $180 ...The wallet wasn't pictured so I figured it was in his pocket]. "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" was on the radio. My bag was nearby and I need a pen for the Reader's crossword puzzle. Last night's Jewel receipt was sticking out of my pocketbook and I remembered the 1-800 ...I figured "Why not?," so I grabbed my cellphone and dialed up the number. I answered three questions by pressing 5 for "very" and 1 "not very" ...I was then given a code for my free loaf of Jewel french bread and instructions on how to give the code to the cashier during my next shopping trip. Great. That was ...anti-climatic.

________________________________________

This morning's "Sound Opinions" featured the Flaming Lips ...It was the first time in years that my stereo speakers played the Flaming Lips and I was reminded of those many trips out to Denny's with Lexi, so long ago. "Transmissions From The Satellite Heart," was a staple that summer ...Much like the Trivial Pursuit board that we brought along for our hours spent at Denny's.

"She don't use butter/she don't use cheese ...."

Remembering such times reminded me of the city I moved from. The city which I very rarely wax reminiscent about and usually make the distinction that I "moved from" and that I'm not "from" Midland, Michigan.

The nearest Denny's was in Saginaw, Michigan ...About 40 minutes away. Which lent itself to plenty of time for the 43:04 minutes of "Satellite Heart".

Explaining why we would drive the 40 minutes almost nightly for the iridescent glow of a bottomless cup of coffee and the disinterity-inducing Moons Over MyHammy ...Means explaining Midland itself. Something I'm not really apt to do but led me to do a quick Wikipedia search.

"Man, everyone's chewing the apple you've got in your eye ..."

The last census on Midland, Michigan was in 2000 ...Then the population was at 41,685. Lexi and I both moved two years later so that makes the census of 2002, 41, 683 ...at least.

I often refer to Midland as the "home of Dow Chemical," which is true ...Dow Chemical was founded in 1867. Fantastic. Remember that the next time you use Saran wrap ...Much like those that will never forget their limbs lost to napalm, in Vietnam (Oo yeah, Dow was the maker of both napalm + agent orange).

[Note: There was much debate about including that last bit ...I feel so crass. I just thought you should know].

Midland is the sister city of Handa, Aichi Japan ...Who knew?

Midland is 93.38% white, 1.82% African-American and 0.06% Pacific-Islander. 8.8% of which fall below the poverty line (It should be noted that Midland predominantly builds their lower-income housing outside of the city limits).

"You can be my head/because I can't afford a new one ..."

There are 80 parks ...Nestled amongst the numerous attractions in Midland city proper. These attractions include: The Alden B. Dow House, Dow Gardens, Dow Chemical Company (itself), Dow Corning, the Herbert Henry Dow House, the Grace A. Dow Library ...See a theme? How could I not remember the Tridge ...A three-way footbridge, constructed in 1981. Three-way bridge ...Tridge, get it? Fun for the whole family ...And beautiful views of both the Tibbawassee and the Chippawa Rivers ...Both of which cross paths with the Dow Chemical Dam ...Which doesn't need further explanation (three-headed fish ...I'm not saying anything).

I was amused by the list of Midland's "famous," which include: Robert Jarvik (inventor of the Jarvik-7 artificial heart and can now be seen peddling Pfzer's Liptor on TV), Cathy Guisewite (best known for her Cathy comic strip and embittered, 40-some year old women with relationship/work crisis-es everywhere), Earl Warwick (inventor of Silly Putty ...which, upon further research was originally called both "nutty putty" and "potty putty" and served as an attempt to replace rubber in World War II) and Steve Shelley (drummer for Sonic Youth ...Whose parents actually live a couple of blocks from my Mother. I can still recall a super-fan who kept camp on the sidewalk, in front of the Shelley's ...A weathered copy of "Daydream Nation, in hand ...Rain or shine).

All of which brings us back (in no way whatsoever) to Denny's, which brings us back (in no way whatsoever)to the Flaming Lips, which brings us back (in no way whatsoever)to this morning's "Sound Opinions.

"I don't care if it rains or freezes ..."

_____________________________________________

My coffee is cold.

Archives: June 2007-August 2007

2008-11-27T08:53:00.000-08:00

Org. Post: Tuesday, June 05 2007

Stuart Kills Bugs: A Love Story

[10AM, outside of my apartment's door, hallway ...I was running across the street for coffee before getting ready for work]

Me: [locking door]
Billy Preston Exterminator: [down the hallway, spray tank in hand] "I'm in love!"
Me: "Good morning!"
BPE: "I'm in love, I'm in love! I ...am ...in ....LOVE!"
Me: " ...Congrats! ...??"
BPE: "Yeah, but you haven't asked me with who?"
Me: " ...Who?"
BPE: [points @ me] "You!"
Me: "Aww"
BPE: "I'm in love, I'm in loooove! Mmm mmm mmm, damn!"
Me: [walking towards elevator] "I can't handle all this love before my coffee! Have a great day!"
BPE: "Ooo, I will now. My great day started the moment I saw you!"
Me: [elevator!]

[10 mins. later, returning w/ coffee in hand ...Meredith (front desk) and BPE, let me in)

BPE: "Look at her! I love that girl! But break my heart, she only got one cup of coffee!"
Meredith: [laughing/eye rolling]
_______________

By the way, my Billy Preston Exterminator's real name is [drumroll]: STUART!

Org. Post: Thursday, June 21, 2007

The World Is Full Of Quacks: I'm Moving

For those of you who don't know ...I'm moving. No, no not from Chicago ...A new apartment.

I fear the time has come for me to part ways with the address I've had for the past 5 yrs. That's right, the reigning (bum-appointed) "Princess of Granville," is stepping down.

For the past week or so I've been meaning to write a lovely, heartfelt and dare I say awe-inspiring (cue "Chariots of Fire") farewell piece ...Something to signify the end of this chapter in my life and the beginning of the next. I thought of when I first moved here ...My first shoebox studio ("You mean to tell me that the kitchen is in the wall!?") or when I moved up a few floors to my first 1 bedroom ("Wait, I have a kitchen!?"). The additions along the way (Lola had to move over for Primo who had to move over for Princess Milo ...And how unbeknownst to them they will all be moving over again for Alton Brown) ...The people, the sounds, the days when I could tell the time according to the streetlights, the smell of coffee wafting in from the coffee shop across the street. My corner store (Buying something for $7? "That will be seven hundred") , my Winnie (checkout lady @ the grocery), my CTA Don Juan, my Conchita @ the Currency Exchange, my Meredith @ the front desk (who turned pale and welled up with tears when I finally broke it to her I was leaving), my Billy Preston Exterminator aka Stuart (who broke up with me when he found out I was moving ...I think he was just hiding his pain), my Regina @ CVS ...All of the characters that played a role in my life for the past 5 yrs.

I wanted to write something to signify that this era is closing ...But then a duck came into my life and such cepia-washed memories were sent to the scrappings.

A duck?! What!?

Let me tell you a little something about "departure" letters ...I've never seen one but from what I gather they are generally (or rather allegedly) given to tenants who are moving out. I hear that they are three pages long and chock-full of useful information like: We're going to show your apartment to prospective renters, your apartment will be replastered before you move, you must vacate the premises by Noon on June 30th.

Since I never recieved such a letter, I was completely unaware of the above ...So please take a moment to imagine my shock when I found out that:
A. My apartment had been showed (or as it was put "Your cats showed very well")
B. My apartment has already been rented
C. That the "plaster guys" are coming to replaster tomorrow (I believe it went something like this: "You mean all of my stuff will be covered with plaster?" Reply? "Yes")
D. That I indeed must be moved out by Noon -next Saturday.

Needless to say I wasn't all that happy.

Earlier today, shortly before leaving for work, I opted to meet with the operations manager of my building and ask if we could possibly reschedule this replastering business closer to my actual move-out day. Surprisingly that was ok ...I then pressed about this supposed "departure" letter and somehow/someway the person who was in charge of sending me such notification was completely clueless that I was even moving out. Which I take as a safe assumption that I'm not going crazy (I rifled through every scrap of paper I have in an attempt to find such a letter ...I found nothing) and that I indeed never received such.

That's when my operations manager reached behind his desk and handed me a duck ...I'm serious. A yellow plush duck.

Operations Manager: "Here you can have the duck as an apology for the whole letter mix up"
Me: "Thanks?"

I then took said duck in the palm of my hand and exited the office with a puzzled look and my mouth slightly agape ...I stepped into the elevator towards my floor, the whole walking up the hallway is a bit of a blur but somehow I found myself sitting @ my desk, starring @ this duck ...And thinking: A duck, I live here for 5 yrs. and I get a duck. You come into my apartment without notifying me of your comings or goings with my cats, with my stuff ...You bring strangers into my apartment who probably were petting my cats and looking at my stuff ...You nonchalantly tell me that the "plasters guys" will be coming over regardless if I am home or not ...You tell me that I must be moved out of my apartment by Noon on the 30th -the very day that the woman who lives in my new apartment is moving out and that the only freight elevator time slot open is 8AM ...You go against a handful of renters' rights and then ...THEN ...You hand me a duck.

I honestly couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

So goodbye Granville, goodbye building ...I'm taking Mr. Quack and I'm leaving ...And if by chance the name of said building every comes up in conversation or I overhear someone wondering "Oo I was thinking of calling up [insert my building's name] for a showing," I will casually say: "Let me tell you about my duck ... "

Org. Post: Monday, July 30, 2007

Release Your Frown: Have You Seen Me Lately?

Greetings!

Gee, it's been awhile ...You look great! Did you lose some weight? Is that a new fedora?

Me? Oo, I'm good ...Doing a-ok. I'm a bit pressed for time but I thought I'd type a quick update. I'm such a lapsed-blogger. I fully intend on updating more often and more along the lines of my former entries ...But time, Oo time, I'm pressed.

Apartment? Love it!

My move? Please place finger to lips (sideways), move up and down.

Alton? (new cat) He's great ...Big webbed bunny feet and I think he's part platypus (I'm awaiting test results).

I hope to post photos soon. Ooo the stories I've collected over the past month.

Until then ...

Org. Post: Friday, August 31, 2007

A Soft Semi-Return

[Open with present-day]

I wrote the following, last night (Thursday) …In hopes of posting today @ a nearby coffee shop (Oo wireless, you had me @ free). So here I am @ that nearby coffee shop. There's a somewhat medieval sign next to my head that reads "Stone Soup," hmm …I'm not really sure what to think of that but then again such things are probably best without much thought. Which brings me to what I originally wrote, last night -Ha! Take that self! …I started out explaining my move, 2 mths ago …But now in the light of day, coffee coursing throughout my veins …I've decided to switch things up a bit and end with the torrid tale that has become known as my move. I figured this would work best for those who might find themselves thinking "I thought she was done telling this story …". So instead, I'll flip things around and start w/ the end and end with the beginning. Ready?

[Thursday night]

Well, lookie me -I'm on your screen! Hi. It's me, again. What's it been …2 mths? I came back as soon as I could. I apologize for such blatant tardiness.

I'm actually typing this late Thursday night -A few minutes shy of Friday. After I caught myself contemplating such things as just how many threads make up my kitchen rug and/or the process of water purification through osmosis (the diffusion of a solvent through a semipermeable membrane from a dilute to a more concentrated solution. Thanks Webster). Plus, I thought it best that I save my Dictionary of Mathematic Terms for a later (rainier) day …I thought I'd check out if MS Word still holds that certain kind of charm that used to amuse me so.

Ah, the begrudgingly tedious chore that is updating …Take no offense, it's not you …I've been living with such an update looming about my brain for 2 mths now …Where to begin. Those of you who have been in contact with me over the past couple of months (which I affectionately refer to as "shit storm" or the appended "It was the worst of times …It was the best of times …For optimism's sake, the latter) feel free to take a trip down memory lane with me …For those who I've lost contact with along the way, you look taller, you look thinner -Oo who am I kidding, you're fabulous and I hope you enjoy. (Did I mention it's almost Midnight?)

[Cut to the original end]

Things have been good. Busy, hectic, a downplay of stress but good nonetheless. I'm in love with my apartment and if it wasn't for all the black + blue, I'd still be pinching myself every morning since my move @ the thought that this is actually my apartment. I get to wake up here everyday …It's the apartment I wished I had moved into 5 yrs ago but that I can in turn can now appreciate to the fullest having lived elsewhere.

Aside from the various new sights, sounds and surroundings in my life …There's also been a new addition to my feline population. A week after my move, Alton Brown (the cat) came home …With his alien-good looks, bunny-sized feet and complete lack of coordination …Alton has become one of the brood and has aided in my ongoing fear of becoming a cat lady …You know the type. Trust me, I'm fighting it tooth and nail …Alton's the limit, my cut off point. I like him, he's sort of in love with me -It works. In my defense, with Lola's anti-social personality, I really only have three cats. Then again, with Primo's incessant need for attention and validation, he's like having 2 cats …So maybe I really have 5 cats -Crap.

I made full-time @ work, finally and now with my commute literally 1 minute away and the added bonus of having lunch @ home …It's working out alright. Though what job is without an amount of stress? No really, I'm asking …A mime, perhaps? That person who turns the crank @ a bingo parlor? Vanna White? (Yes, I'm reaching).

I'll be copy/pasting this later on this morning/afternoon from a nearby coffee shop that offers free wireless …Much like the local library but with coffee. You see my point? (Coffee).

My birthday is this Saturday ..In turn, my Father surprised me with a laptop. It really was a surprise given that my Father and I speak 3x a year and we haven't seen each other in 2. I'm beyond thankful and this document has been keeping me company as I upload my complete iTunes library off of my back-up cds …Tedious, yes.

This will be my first actual saved document on my yet unnamed laptop (Actually, I think I inadvertently named it Amanda Jordyn's Computer …Ah, the vanity).

In a few months time I'm hoping to have internet within my apartment …So until then, I'll be hopping on the caffeinated free wireless bandwagon …A craze that has fortunately hit my neighborhood full fledged.

I'm on back-up disc 28 out 30 and I only backed up to the T section …Which means the rest I'll have to pull off of my old computer (which is another story within itself) with my gig stick …Yes, gig stick. Try saying that casually.

Maybe I'll stop after 28, tonight …And reread this with coffee @ hand, come morning …And completely throw it to scrap and rewrite something more up-tempo and full of pep.

[Cut to the original beginning]

My move …The best way to describe my move on July 1st would be if you placed your finger to your lips (go ahead) and in a fast-paced motion moved said finger up + down. Nuts. Then again, does moving spare anyone? A quick rundown (because Lord knows I've had to tell this story countless of times) …My dear friends Lisa + Paul enlisted themselves to help me move (In my defense, I had helped them with their own move back in April) …I spent the eve of my move sorting through nearly 5 yrs of life, pulling a one nighter as I slowly debated the perks of stealing a shopping cart and wandering aimlessly throughout the downtown area, asking strangers if they know the alternative name for a one humped camel? (Answer: dromedary …you're welcome). Morning soon arrived, Lisa + I met up @ the train stop and later a bus towards the UHAUL garage …Patting one another on the back as we sipped our coffee, so on top of things …Sun streaming across our beaming faces, time on our side (this is the good part of the story, let me enjoy it). We picked up our UHAUL, which we affectionately christened "Peppy" and we were on our way. We stoped by my new apartment, met up with the former tenant as she bid her own farewell, picked up my new set of keys and then stopped off to pick up Lisa's husband Paul …Soon we were @ my old apartment ("Ground Zero," if you will) …I ran upstairs (by way of elevator) and started sorting just how to go about all of this. A handful of minutes later, Lisa came walking up the hallway …Face reddening, eyes slightly glassy:

Me: "What's wrong, sweet pea?"

Lisa: "The ..truck won't start"

Me: "Oh! Well that's ok!"

(Later on, Lisa would admit to me that she wasn't sure I heard her correctly seeing as I took such news a bit too well. The truth is, it was within that moment that I "went away" and pure adrenaline is to blame for the rest of the day …I just kept thinking "Hey, it's not rainy! Do you know the alternative name for a one humped camel?").

My former building ("The building of which we will not speak of …ever …again) works on an elevator-time rental and my minutes were ticking away. I continued to pack, while Lisa haggled with the UHAUL customer service. They couldn't rent us a new truck so instead they got the brainiac scheme to pack the broken down "Peppy" and then they'd had a tow truck to tow it to my new apartment. Tick-tock, we were growing desperate. Even more so by the group of maintence men that were lined up outside of my (opened) apartment door, awaiting my vacation to start revamping the place. There was the carpet guy, who had himself a seat across the hall …Watching me furiously running about, throwing things into boxes, into bags ..sipping his coffee and offering priceless advice, such as:

Carpet Guy: "You should have moved the cats first …"

Me: "I'm a vet assistant, sir"

Carpet Guy: "Is that so?

Me: "That is so …sir"

A slew of hijinks ensued:

-Did I mention that my building manager wanted me out by Noon? I had the elevator from 10AM-Noon. Though by law I until Midnight to move out. The law meant very little to these people and I was determined to get out. The UHAUL breakdown threw a wrench into our plans and well, that meant very little to these people too. (Again, I'm refering to the guy who gave me that stuffed duck …Remember that? Yeah, that kooky guy. A real chuckle.

-Duck-Man found his way in the midst of my nightmare and said:

Duck-Man: "Amanda, your elevator time is almost up and well …those stairs are going to be hard."

Me: "Ah yea, I'm getting out."

-At one point the building stopped the elevator with Paul still in it …To which Lisa had to rundown to the front desk and demand they turn it back on.

-Every time I left my place to move things down to the truck, I was convinced that the maintence vultures outside of my door were going to go in. My three cats were still in the apartment -horrified.

-Danger Mike finally showed up and proved to be not only a bonus vehicle and some much needed comic relief but an overall kick in the rear that we all needed.

Hours later, we finally cleared out my apartment …I stopped by Duck-Man's office to drop off my old set of keys and sign out my lease. I stepped into his office and immediately noticed something quite familiar. I sat down across from his desk in a chair that my ex and I had thrown out well over a year ago. Lovely. I gave him the keys and signed my name on the dotted line.

Duck-Man: "Amanda, see that jar of candy over there …on the bookshelf? That's for you! (complete with pointing @ me).

I was a bit numb @ this point so I grabbed the candy and walked out of a building I had lived in for nearly 5 yrs., my first in Chicago. Needless to say, I wasn't in much of a sentimental mood.

Paul + Danger Mike awaited the tow truck to show up. Lisa + I packed up my cats a few odds n ends that would fit in her hatchback and headed off to my new place. We park out front and start getting things around. Lola was near comatose. She really had me worried …She was actually handable which immediately gave cause for alarm. Pupils dilated, drooling on herself and refusing to unfold from a somewhat fetal position. Primo was ok, panting but ok. Princess Milo didn't really realized we moved until @ least the beginning of August.

I reached into my bag and felt for my keys. I'll save any suspense and just tell you that my new keys weren't there. In fact, they weren't anywhere and to this day have yet to show themselves. Panic: Phase II soon followed. Bags were rifled through, calls were made, steps were retraced. Nothing. I've never truly lost my keys, we were always close and on decent terms …so image my shock. I called my building manager (who does not live on-site ) and he promised keys the following Monday (I moved on a Saturday) and that he could have someone let me into the main doors but I'd have to keep everything unlocked until Monday …And Oo yes, each key (3 in total, including the mail key) would cost me almost $100. Great.

We started moving things in …A couple of sweaty hours later (and not in any sexy and/or refreshed way), I was in my new apartment. Oo, almost forgot, my new place is without AC and mid-move I busted a couple of blades off of my ceiling fan, rendering it useless (a Home Depot trip the next day would fix this problem) …But I was in. I thanked Danger Mike + he was off. Starving, Paul, Lisa + I were debating where to eat. We thought about Thai but then Lisa pointed out:

Lisa: "Wait, let's go to the Chinese place …They have wine."

Good point. Chinese it was …and due to the day's events one of the best meals I've ever had.

Within a few days time (and due to my nature) I was unpacked …And that's where the story should start. But …I should mention Panic: Phase III. The next night, intent on washing everything I own, I was running downstairs to the basement laundry room @ 2AM to switch a load of wash into the dryer …I heard the click of my apartment door behind me. Locked. No keys. I had had enough sense and forethought to slip my cellphone into my pocket …With trembling hands I dialed Dave and unfortunately woke him up. A trip from Dave and a locksmith later, I was back in my apartment by 330AM.

And to think there are screenwriters galore throughout L.A. and Tim Allen's wavering career, both of which could benefit from such a tale.

So that's that. Now you know and we're on the same page. Excuse me for a moment, I've forgotten my mantra.

Ah ok. And I'm back.

[Cut to present-day]

So there you have it. Sure, I'm a bit rusty …Not to mention I miss the days where I could smoke inside of a café. I actually forgot my gig stick and therefore my newest photos will have to wait. I've been snapping photos here + there …I have a whole new slew of photos to add to my "Amanda Jordyn Reading/Look @ her big hair over the cover" series. ("You buy too many books") …Plus, photos of my apartment + Alton.

Being sans internet I read alot or rather make half-ditch efforts to do so ...I'm in the midst of 10 books @ the moment (and growing), a lot of NPR listening, a lot of cassettes (yes, cassettes), seeing more friends on a more timely basis ...Not to mention attempts @ writing in an actual notebook and my continued jotting of notes throughout my day. I cook more often and every pay-day I treat myself to a trip to my favorite thrift store (hence my growing book collection).

I've missed writing ...I promise it'll get better.

A Penny Earned, Is A Penny Overcharged: When I Say "Fun," You Say "Math!"

2007-05-27T23:05:00.000-07:00

This evening, post-work, I had to go to the grocery store for litter and cat food (It's in my cats' contracts, hence "had").
_____

Sidenote: Whenever you use your "value" card, your name prints on your receipt. Now my local Dominicks, in an effort to raise the bar in customer service, addresses you by your name as they hand you your change. Example:

Cashier: "Thank you very much ...Ms. Phillips ...er, Phelps ...You just saved $1.63! Have a great day, Ms. Phillips!"
_____

As I pushed my wheely-cart out of the check-out lane ($1.63 saved in tow), I overheard a woman at a nearby lane.

Woman: (to cashier) "Um, yeah -Excuse me? Ah, yeah ...You overcharged me 4 cents on an item!"

Let's stop and think about this for a moment ..."overcharged" ... "4 cents" ...Hmm. Memorial Day-eve, grocery store that is closing (early) within 5 minutes and this woman has been "overcharged" and took the time to compute "4 cents".

This moment has stuck with me throughout my evening (in my defense, I've been doing laundry which lends itself to such thoughts) ...I haven't been able to shake it for two reasons:

1. The fact that the guy in front of me, attempting to purchase what could be argued as the bare necessities (orange juice, milk, Safeway-brand cereal, bread, sliced cheese and I think I saw some bananas thrown in the mix) was turned away because his Link card wouldn't go through, after multiple tries. While the man behind me huffed and puffed at the delay, I took a nonchalant stance, polite smile and caught up on my tabloid headlines (Kelly Ripa is going to make her marriage work and apparently Tammy Fay has a lot to say on her deathbed). I would have faked a charlie horse if it would have eased any of the embarrassment the man in front of me was obviously feeling, as he apologetically left the lane.

2. Four pennies, 4 cents. Just what were this woman's intentions with what could arguably be four tarnished pieces of obsolete currency? And maybe more importantly, what on Earth can you buy nowadays for 4 cents?

After leafing through Dominicks' latest Sunday supplement, calculator at hand, I came up with a semi-accurate/quasi-mathematical list of items this woman could have purchased with her 4 cents:

-1/2 of 1 California sweet cherry
-1/16 of a pork spare rib
-The crumbs at the bottom of 1 bag of Lay's Classic potato chips (Lay's latest slogan is "100% joy," 4 cents barely teeters on 1% of joy)
-1 thimble's worth of Corona beer
-What I could only compute as a pinhead of Lucerne colby jack cheese (which is only a step above government cheese)
-The misplaced ugly stem of 1 Claussen pickle
-2 kidney beans (minus icky canning goo ...But only through Sunday, when the sale ends and then it's only icky canning goo)
-The butt end or a thumb nail's equivalent of 1 Ballpark frank
-The skin of 1 Vidalia onion
-Less than 1/64 of 1lb. of rainbow trout (maybe a fin or if the fish monger was in a charitable mood, 1/2 a tail fin)
-1/2 of 1 peanut, unsalted
-According to my calculator: "She's not getting any swordfish"

I took it a step further and computed:

-15 seconds worth of 1 minute of long distance, which equals the "Hel" of "Hello"
-1/2 minute as a Dominicks employee (according to hourly wage)

Overall, she could never afford my personal fee for the amount of think-space this mere moment has cost me over the course of this evening ...And I'm sure you have your own fee ...I mean, you read this, didn't you?
_____

Sidenote/Self-Indulgent Promotion: My first piece/review for Literago (Chicago's own literary news/info go-to spot) has been posted ...Please feel free to give it a look (or two) and while you're at it, browse the rest of Literago's offerings. A special thanks to Gretchen and Eugenia.

Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before [Working Title: There's Shit In My Eggs]

2007-05-20T21:20:00.001-07:00

Redline, southbound, 1030AM, en route to work:

[A couple seated facing the train's doorway, a few black bags amongst them. Guy dressed in jeans, faded black leather jacket, a haphazardly placed ball cap. Woman hair completely tucked up a hankerchief, tied @ the front. Both talking @ a volume that won out over the sound of the train. I take a nearby seat].

Guy: "Gimme some fuckin' pancakes, some motherfuckin' syrup ..."
Woman: "Powdered sugar! Some fuckin' powder sugar!"
Guy: "Some motherfuckin' pancakes with syrup and some motherfuckin' powdered sugar!"
Woman: "I'd do that for you! I put some powdered sugar on that shit!"
Guy: "Yeah, put some damn syrup, some fuckin' whipped motherfuckin' cream, powdered sugar! Gimme some fuckin' pancakes, bitch!"
Woman: "Strawberries!"
Guy: "Shit yeah ...Strawberries. I love anything red. I love anything red so pile on some fuckin' strawberries!"
Woman: "Fuckin' bum o'clock!"
[Mental note: ??]
Woman: "Shit eggs! I put some fuckin' syrup on your shit eggs!"
Guy: "Shit eggs! Damn right you put syrup all over that shit!"
Womam: "Shit eggs for breakfast!"
[laughter w/ the woman repeating "shit eggs" 4+ times]
Guy: "What the fuck you talkin' bout bitch!?"
Woman: "I got your bitch right here! I be a bitchy bitch ...Not Richie Rich but a bitchy bitch!"
[laughter]
Guy: "Jay-Z is a fuckin' prick"
Woman: "You a man after my own heart! This car be rockin' n' rollin'!"
Guy: [mock Jamacian accent] "Come to my island!"
Woman: "We be in Hawaii"
[woman starts to do some for of hula. I stand up, my stop is next]
Guy: "Look @ that girl ...What she wearin'? Look @ her STYLE!"
Woman: "Oo leave her alone"
Guy: "For real ...What color that coat? I want to go shoppin' with her! Get me some platform shoes!"
[laughter]
Guy: "I take her to Target!"
[I arrive @ my stop + I step off. I could hear their laughter as the train pulled away]

For the record, the coat I was wearing is orange, though recently a coworker referred to it as mango. If only it were red ...
____________

Lately, I've been thinking of all the conversations that I routinely have ...Chances are you have a few yourself. Banausos conversation at it's finest. Like those stories that fit a certain topic, though those around you change ...Moments where a story that you've told a handful of times, fits perfectly within context ...Or explanations to the usual questions "Where are you from?" or "What do you do?" ...You know the same pre-rehearsed answers, that will never change and you tell them the exact same way, each time.

I've been able to concoct a list of my most popular repeat-offender explanations that make their way into my conversations almost weekly. Such a answers are near auto-pilot by now and chances are I've probably said these exact same things to you or around you.

1. "So what do you do?," "Do you work retail?," "So are you a student?," "Do you work in such and such an industry?" [insert: art, design, anthropologic, music, literary, coffee, modeling, health, land surveying, extreme ironing, etc.].

Auto-pilot Answer: "I work for a non-for-profit, no-kill cat shelter ..." blah, blah, blah ...Then I mention that I got into it because I have a diabetic cat, which turns into: "He's insulin dependent, 2x daily," "Yes, injections, twice daily," "No, cats can develop diabetes ...It was a big shock when he crashed," "It keeps me busy, I like that ...If I had to work in a cubicle, I'd sceam. This job keeps me on my toes." I then add a few comments about how it's a satisfying job, I feel as though I'm doing something worthwhile, noble, that "No, I don't plan on being a vet," "Sure, I like animals," which goes into my "I'm not a crazed cat lady" disclaimer and I sum it all up with "Kittens are overrated," "I can't believe I have 3 cats, I wonder where they come from most of the time" or "I was a dog person when I first moved here." Then I try to backtrack and mention art, design, writing, certified nutritionist "but I won't tell you to get rid of your microwave!".

2. "Where'd you come from?" or "Where are you from?"

Auto-pilot Answer: "Oo well, I moved here from Michigan BUT I was born on the east coast," which is followed with a brief and longer than need be explanation: "Well, I was born in New Hampshire, spent time in Boston starting @ 3 mths. [insert surgery/birth defect story which stars the Boston's Children Hospital and hand motions to my upper lip. Person: "I would never have noticed," Me: "Thank you, I usually tell those who do notice I was attacked by a dog" (cue the awkward laughter)]. I mention living for 2 yrs. in Houston, then Michigan and that I moved to Chicago 5 yrs. ago "on my birthday, with a kitten I had adopted a week before. I had never seen my apartment until the day I moved in".

3. "Is that all your real hair?"

Auto-pilot Answer: "Ah yes, it's my real hair," "Yes, it's all mine," "Yeah, I have a lot of hair," and/or "I used to have short hair but I've been growing it out for about 3 yrs. now. That's what you do when you've had your hair short for quite some time. You cut it for a change and then you grow it out for a change. Those the brokes." And the omnipresent: Person: "Did you do something different with your hair?," Me: "I washed it! [har har]".

4. "Do you need room for cream/sugar?" or "You drink your coffee black?"

Auto-pilot answer: "No thank you, just black ...I'm one of THOSE people" [I'm not even really sure what I mean by that when I say it ...It could be a pre-caffeinated attempt @ chit-chattin' charm]. "I'm a coffee purist," or I break into some long-winded mini-rant about how real coffee drinkers just drink black, making mention of a repeated "just black" run-in @ Dunkin Donuts (Yeah, that story ...You all know it) and I probably sprinkle in a "I'm a coffee snob," here or there.

5. "So you're a vegan?" or "You don't eat any meat?"

Auto-pilot Answer: "Yes but don't worry, I don't have any videos for you to watch or pamphlets for you to read," which is followed by "It's really just for myself, you can eat meat in front of me I won't utter the word 'murder," I just really don't have the taste for meat," and in some half-ditch effort to seem relatable "I was raised in a steak eating family," as though to reassure you that I'm not really from the planet Crouton. Sometimes people will inquire what I do eat and then I spout (not sprout) off about my love for falafel and how I love fiber. Actually, my love for fiber could be a sub-auto-pilot answer to this question -Which ends with "Orange Metamucil tastes like flat orange soda -I love it!" [Though, I think my new response will be "I love anything red!]

6. "So what kind of music do you like?," "What do you listen to?" or "What kind of music are you into?"

Auto-pilot Answer: [blank stare]

The Dawning of the Ridiculous: Last Night I Didn't Get To Sleep Enough

2007-05-13T18:24:00.000-07:00

This could be completely ridiculous or completely spot on ...Truth is, I'm tired. I have a day job and in turn my feet hurt (and I'm left with the feeling of accomplishment of a job well done ...Which I add only as an attempt to not seem like some ungrateful day-jobber). I've spent my day sounding like a Lorca poem:

"At 6:30, in the morning ...I awoke.
I woke up and it was 6:30, in the morning.
It was morning, 6:30, I woke up.
I've been awake since the time I woke up ...6:30 ...in the morning"

And that is why I'm writing ...Not about work, mind you but something of equal importance (gracious bonus points: though it's hard to top the feeling of accomplishment I feel when it comes to a job well done) ...No, no.

The 5th Dimension. You know, "Age of Aquarius," "Good Morning Starshine" and of course the uplifting little ditty "One Less Bell To Answer". Still with me? Good (gracious bonus points: thanks).

I live in a strict NPR-zone ...I wake up (You know, at 6:30 ...in the morning) and flip on the radio ...I boil water for coffee during Eight-Forty Eight and then sit down to my usual newsy-tidbit websites while the BBC Hour takes the air, shower before Fresh Air comes on and then it's out the door by World View or Talk of the Nation.

However, in between it's another story ...Especially at work, for whatever reason regardles of reception I just can't concentrate on NPR while working ...So, in turn, 94.7 Oldies it is!

Anyone who knows me (beyond my defused pale mirrored complexion or my love for the color orange) knows that when I'm feeling a bit low, a touch mellow or could use an artial flutter (sans heart disease), just turn on the local oldies station. Give me Diana Ross and the Supremes, for pete'ssake let me have some Motown (preferably of the Hittsville USA-era, before Mr. Gordy let it all go Universal).

[I'll get back to the 5th Dimesion quintet that originally sparked this semi-coherent "post new blog," in a moment]

Quick sidenote: Today, on Oldies 94.7 the theme was songs w/ female names, honoring women or including the words "Mom," "Mother" and/or "Mama/Momma" ...Which sure, made sense being Mothers' Day and all ...So imagine my surprise at the near on the hour play of "Devil Woman," throughout the day.

Ok, the 5th Dimension ...Have you ever really paid any attention to their lyrics? Namely the lyrics for "(Last Night) I Didn't Get Any Sleep At All"? Ok, I've lost you but I'm determined to see this through (and I've been awake since ...6:3 -Oo nevermind). A quick run through:

"Last night I didn't get to sleep at all, no no/ I laid awake and watched as the morning light washed away the darkness of the lonely night"

So he/she can't sleep, nifty little riff on "watched" and "washed" ...But then:

"Oh, last night, I didn't get to sleep at all, no no/ The sleepin' pills I took were just a waste of time"

C'mon now. Sleepin' pills? What?

And that folks is just the sort of anti-climatic result to a lukewarm spark of amusement, left to simmer throughout the day when you wake up ...at 6:30 ...in the morning. That's all I have and now I must post this out of sheer stubborness for spending the past 30 or so minutes in the glare of my computer, rambling about some quasi-one hit wonder super group that did an awful cover of the Beatles' "Ticket To Ride" before slipping into the post-"dawn of the Aquarius" abyss.

In a grab-a-bucket-attempt to save this sinking post, I'll make a quick mention of my Mothers' Day:

I've tried to call my Mother 6+ times today to wish her a "Happy Mothers' Day" and let her know that I did indeed get her a card and it will undoubtfully be addressed, complete w/ stamp and en route to her mailbox within the next couple of days.

Ring, ring, ring ...Supposedly her answering machine is broken so I couldn't leave a heartfelt, thoughtful message ...But I will say this, I have quite the Mother. She's been my biggest fan from day one and has faught many a battles for me when I myself couldn't and I'm sure both her and her caller ID are well aware of just how grateful I am for all that she has been, all that she is and all that she continues to be.

Earlier today:

Front Desk Guy: "Today is Mothers' Day!"
Me: "Yes it is ...I'm about to call my Mother right now."
Front Desk Guy: "Your hair is long."
Me: "Yes it is."

Sidenote: Before posting, I did an album search on the Diana Ross + the Supremes collection that I am in fact listening to @ the moment of this post. I came across this:

"Diana Ross + The Supremes: #1s (Eco-Friendly Packaging)"

...Ain't no mountain high enough, Mother Earth.

"Jordyn, You Are An Excellent Titler": Compliments As Titles

2007-05-08T23:14:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's been a while. Two weeks, at least -Oo my!

The remnants of my seasonal sinus-cold are all but the occasional cough.

I spent a week with my vocal cords on the "Chewbacca/Bea Arthur" setting and had to overcome my longtime fear of blowing my nose in public (which goes all the way back to grade school. I was often put off by classmates who shared their congestion with the class and my voyeuristic teachers always put the box of Kleenex in the front by the pencil sharpener. Maybe my usage of "voyeuristic" is unjust but it won out over my next option: sadistic. And maybe I'm a bit bitter that I can't blame this wandering sentence on the Dayquil I'm no longer taking, hmph).

I even broke down and purchased a mini pack of tissues, popular with grandmothers, the world over. Actually, I'm half tempted to keep a mini pack of tissues in my bag (hear me out). They're the perfect prop for days when you just didn't get enough sleep, maybe you were a bit rushed on your way out the door and simply not looking your best ...Just pull out a tissue and mock a muffled cough and suddenly "Wow, that girl looks like hell," turns into "Aww, she's sick. Poor girl, I bet she looks spectacular and is the picture of health, otherwise ". I found myself doing this very exact act, if you will, while out in public. Sure, I was technically sick but I felt the need to make it more obvious to the googley-eyed public, as I awaited an inbound train. I'm giving you pearls, here. That day when you just can't be bothered to shower: mini tissues. Try it. That one's free.

What I'm trying to get at is my introduction to Throat Coat tea, from Traditional Medicinals. Amazing! Licorce root, marshmallow root, safe, calendula flower, cinnamon/orange/cherry bark, you get the picture. Probably the best thing about my week of congestion.

Ever the savvy shopper, I opted to pick up the "Throat Coat for Kids," at my local grocer. 18 bags opposed to the standard Throat Coat (minus kids) 16 bags, for half the price. The kicker? Throat Coat for Kids' spokes ...animal, Gigi the Giraffe. Each bag comes with a nifty "giraffe fun fact" and a mini-comic about the sore throat adventures of Gigi the Giraffe and her friend Tea-ger the Tiger, who as the story goes is actually the tea pusher and knows "all about special plants" and "goes to his garden to pick these special herbs for Organic Throat Coat tea."

"Tea-ger knows how to make the tea taste good too, so, just like you Gigi loves her Organic Throat Coat tea." Personally, I suspect Tea-ger's real name is something like Harold or Daryl. After an ill-fated music career, billed as Harold Rocket or Daryl Sixx, he spent some time in rehab, where he learned the fine art of gardening and more than likely befriended this Gigi the Giraffe character -who now has chronic throat issues due to her years spent free-basing glue (which stems from a longtime hatred towards horses).

[your cue] "Hey Jordyn, you're putting way too much thought into this ...Wrap it up!"

I'm getting the red light so I'll end this posting with a "giraffe fun fact," brought to you by Gigi, Tea-ger and the fine folks of Traditional Medicinals:

Inspired to find out more about giraffes? Check out: Random Giraffe Facts

Achoo!: How I Learned To Stop Worrying + Love The Snot Bomb

2007-04-29T18:46:00.000-07:00

Friday, redline -southbound:

Two little girls, braids + barrettes, seated behind me -Their Mother (reading a copy of the Red Eye + chatting on her cellphone] seated across the aisle from me.

Girl #1: "I can see a playground! A School! Wow, a playground! I can see houses! What I'd give to live over here! I can see stairs ...millions of them! Wow, I can see trains move! I see people! I see leaves, different colors! Wow! ...What do you see?"
Girl #2: "I see people!"
Girl #1: "Wow, looking at people to look at! Hey, where'd you see that Dunkin' Donuts?"
Girl #2: "Ova here!"
Girl #1: "Wow! Dunkin Donuts fish sticks! ...Dunkin' Donuts fish sticks!"
[Girl #1 repeats "Dunkin Donuts fish sticks" x10, in a sing-songy pattern]
Mom: "Hush now, you're talkin' too loud! Sit down!"
Girl #1: "Dunkin' Donuts fish sticks, people! Dunkin' Donuts fish sticks, a big train! Dunkin' Donuts fish sticks, I can see the world! Dunkin' Donuts fish sticks!"
Mom: "You're too loud!"
Girl #1: "Dunkin' Donuts fish sticks, Dunkin' Donuts fish sticks, Dunkin' Donuts fish sticks, what did I say? Dunkin' Donuts fish sticks! Hear what I say? Dunkin' Donuts fish sticks!"

Even Diana Ross had to start somewhere.
_____________

Danger Mike pointed this out to me at work:

The latter reads "Kosher for Passover," you needn't adjust your screens and/or glasses ...I just couldn't get the right focus but you get the idea.

To be honest, I'm under the influence of Dayquil + Airbourne so it sort of looked that way to me.

For Vanity's Sake + A Box Of Bla

2007-04-26T20:55:00.000-07:00

10AM, Dominick's grocery, me w/ my wheeley-cart cutting up an aisle to the check-out lanes.

[Indian woman, black hair w/ a sploch ..Yes, sploch ...of gray smack-dab ...Yes, smack-dab ...at the crown, looking at hair dye with a confused expression and blocking my way]

Me: [nudging my cart] "Excuse me, sorry ...Excuse me? ...Sorry?"
Woman: [thumbing boxes of blonde highlights]
Me: "Hello?"
Woman: [looks over at me]
Me: "Hi" [nudging cart] "I'm sorry, excuse me"
Woman: [continues to browse the glossy boxes of hair dye]
[Mental note: I'm trying this one more time ...If she's going to dye her hair blonde, she's going to need something a lot stronger than Clairol's "champagne dream" blonde]
Me: "Hello ...Excuse me?" [nudge, nudge]
Woman: "Yes hi, you help me"
Me: "What?"
Woman: "Where bla? "
Me: "Oo ...Um, bla? Black?"
Woman: "Yes, bla. I can't find it. I want this kind of box"
Me: "Black?"
Woman: [stare]
Me: [tugging at my own hair] "Black?"
Woman: "Yes! But I want this box"
Me: "Oo, well that's not black ...Here, this right here is black, like mine."
Woman: "But I want this box."
Me: "Yes, it's the same box but it's black, you want black. Look, this one down here is on sale $6.99, it's black too"
Woman: [stare, grabs box] "Like yours?"
Me: "Yes"
Woman: "I don't know"
Me: "It's a good brand"
Woman: [stare]
Me: "It's a good box"
Woman: [walks off w/ box and finally moves cart]
Me: [looks back in her direction] " ...Bye?"

In other news, I now have a camera of my very own, thanks to my dear friend Lisa (thank you, thank you, thank you)

Jane Austen Doesn't Live Here No More: For Those of You Who Want To Start A Book Club ...

2007-04-23T11:41:00.000-07:00

The Department of The Treasury has a few suggestions ...

[The following titles are from a mini-flyer included alongside my federal tax return]

"Order some of our best sellers!"

-Federal Benefits for Veterans and Dependents, 2007
-A Healthier You: Based On The Dietary Guidelines For Americans
-Welcome to the United States: A Guide For New Immigrants
-Occupational Outlook Handbook, 2006-2007
-United States Senate Catalogue of Graphic Art

[in fine print] "If you have any questions, do NOT contact the Treasury Dept."

Benefits, diet, immigration, occupations and ...graphic art. The Department of The Treasury has all your bases covered ...And unlike Oprah and various other book clubs, they don't want to hear your imput. No essays, no journaling, no "reader of the week".

Note: I actually did a little research on Oprah's book club and came across one of the many membership benefits ..."O's Reader of the Week" and in turn a new goal has been born. I'm half tempted to join O's book club and work hard towards becoming a "Reader of the Week," just like Sherri!

I could have my own Q&A ...I've always wanted my own Q&A and to share my "lightblub moment" with fellow O readers everywhere!

I'm making my pledge today that I will be one of Oprah's "Readers of the Week" and I will milk my Q&A for all that it is worth ...That said, I hope that next month's selection isn't the Odyssey.

Ok, let me try this again: I'm making my pledge today that I will be one of Oprah's "Readers of the Week," unless that involves the Odyssey ...In that case, I'm ordering my copy of "Welcome to the United States: A Guide For New Immigrants".

Which I just so happened to find a PDF link to and after a little browsing (Ok, skimming), I present to you my Q&A on "Welcome to the United States: A Guide For New Immigrants" for the Department of The Treasury a la Oprah's Book Club, if the Department of The Treasury indeed had a "Reader of the Week" (Still with me? Good).

Q. How did you do it?

A. First, I should point out that I believe I'm the only member of the DTT book club, that said I'm tickled to be chosen as the "Reader of the Week". Aside from a few art awards in grade school and a few medals during my brief t-ball career (which I later found out everyone recieved), I've never really won much of anything so this is a true honor and I will not take this title lightly. So how did I do it? Well, I'd like to thank my dear friend Lisa for helping me with my taxes this year. I should also mention my other dear friend, Google for finding the PDF of "Welcome to the United States ...".

Q. How did the book affect you?

A. Well, the glare of my computer screen, a few pages in, started to bother my eyes a bit but other than that I was ok. I found the first section warning me that as an immigrant there are many "dishonest" people in the world that set up fake government websites to confuse and take advantage of me. I will never again be fooled by hotasiancumsluts.gov or winalottamoney.gov. The chapter on how to use 911 was very informative and I now know to never call 911 in order to "find out if someone is in jail".

Q. Did you have a "lightbulb moment" reading the book?

A. I did and fortunately for me it was a 60 watt soft white light energy saving replacement bulb that only uses 13 watts and will last up to 7 yrs. (if I only use it 3 hrs. a day). That's 8,000 hours! I'd have to say that's a lot of moments.

Q. Would you recommend this book?

A. Of course, I'm thinking of setting up a kiosk at O'Hare, but don't worry I'll make sure no one contacts the Dept. of the Treasury.

Q. Describe this DTT pick in five words or less.

A. Insightful book about parental advisory. Oo wait, that's Sheri's answer. Umm ...Mimi haja usingizi sahihi sasa.

Q. How pretentious do you find the "The" in front of Treasury?

A. Very.

White Skirts + Dwarf TKO

2007-04-10T09:25:00.000-07:00

First things first, a twist ...A book review, if you will.

Yesterday, on the train en route to work:

[Two girls, sitting behind me]

Girl #1: "Yeah so I read the 'Zodiac' and that book messed with my mind!"
Girl #2: "For real?"
[Inaudible banter. Something about "questioning being," not sure]
Girl #1: "That book made me feel like I was on my fuckin' rag, wearing a white skirt."

[I can only assume that she's talking about "Zodiac," by Robert Graysmith, which I read years ago ...I don't really remember the rag/white skirt feeling but then again, everyone's a critic].
_____________

Reason No. 628 why I will always adore Lexi:

Lexi: "I keep missing you!"
Me: "I keep missing you!"
Lexi: "I was this close to selling fruit at intersections!"
_____________

And now, a special report:

I'm a big fan of the taskbar/dock. While coasting along the internet super highway (Remember that term?), I'll come across newsy tidbits (articles, editorials, to-dos/how-tos, recipes) which I'll want to read but for some reason or another I opt to save for a later date. Bookmark? Psh! I just store it on my taskbar/dock and hope that my Safari doesn't close (Or most recently, Princess Milo doesn't tinker around online, looking for Liberace photos).

This morning, coffee in hand, NPR playing in the kitchen, I sat at my desk, flicked on my computer screen and noticed a handful of documents/pages awaiting me.

This American Life's homepage, a soup recipe I've been meaning to jot down (fire roasted corn -could be tasty + help me overcome my fear of corn), the latest editorial on Gaper's Block, Myspace (fancy that), a human height chapter on Wikipedia, Little People of America's homepage, an IMDb bio on John Oates and another Wikipedia chapter on "midgets".

First, the argument: John Oates, of Hall & Oates fame, while short in stature, is not legally a "midget" and/or [the more PC] "little person".

Sure the hints/clues are there, he supposedly (allegedly) needed the help of his own mini-stage during the Hall & Oates Live Aid '85 performance (I have yet to find this footage). And yes, on most if not all Hall & Oates' album covers Daryl Hall can be seen leaning into his shorter counterpart. It should be noted that Hall (please excuse the rhyme) is well rather, somewhat freakishly (But not in the Joey Ramone sort of way) tall, coming in at 6'1" (his feathered coif, popular throughout the 80s, coming in at at least 3 or 4" -At least!). Plus, there's the questionable track off of Hall & Oates' 1984 release "Big Bam Boom," entitled "Dance On Your Knees".

According to the Little People of America's (LPA) website, the term "midget," while in some circles refers to a "proportionate dwarf," is often frowned upon and in turn "dwarf" and "little person" are safer alternatives.

The average height of a dwarf and/or LP is 4' but can range between 2'8"-4'8". Dwarfism, is deemed both a medical and genetic condition (the term also includes plants and animals). The overall "legal" height for a dwarf cuts off at 4'10".

With that knowledge at hand, according to IMDb's bio on John Oates, Oates stands at a height of 5'5", well-above dwarf status though short (considering the average male height of 5'10"). That alone disputes any "That Oates from Hall & Oates is a mustachioed midget with a mullet of pubes" argument (Though the jury is still out on the "mustachioed/mullet of pubes" bit ...I'm just writing on height, today, sorry).

There's much debate on whether or not dwarfism could be considered a disability. The LPA site responds to such a debate, "Certainly many short-statured people could be considered disabled as a result of conditions, mainly orthopedic, related to their type of dwarfism. In addition, access issues and problems exist even for healthy LPs. Consider, for example, the simple fact that most achondroplastic adults cannot reach an automated teller machine. "

Wikipedia's section on dwarfism also touches on the possible problems and/or disabilities associated with dwarfism, listing "social prejudice," "reduced social, employment and marital opportunities," and overall self-esteem issues.

Through all of my LP reading, I have yet to come across anything that states any reduction on rocking hard and/or making Sara smile. Which means that while Oates may legally be a dwarf, while sitting, that by no means has any effect on the man's craft.

In conclusion, mustachioed? A mullet of pubes? A victim of a taller bandmate? Possibly. John Oates, a "midget," dwarf and/or LP? I can't go for that, no can do and neither should you.

Gonna Look In Every Corner of the City: Part I

2007-04-04T16:04:00.000-07:00

I'm being stalked.

"You're what?"
"Who?"
"When?"

Well, I'll tell you ...I am being stalked by five men: John, Zal, Steve, Joe + Jerry ...You might know them as the Lovin' Spoonful (that's the original line-up at least. "Wait Jordyn, you know the Lovin' Spoonful's original line-up?" Yes)

It all started this morning, when I woke up with the Zombies "Tell Her No,' stuck in my head ..."But Jordyn, you cannot compare the Zombies to the Lovin' Spoonful!" I know, I know, please let me continue.

So there I was, singing "Tell her no, no, no/No, no, no, no," as I sat at my computer, checking my email and various newsy websites. I couldn't decide what to listen to ...Inspired by the Zombies (and already exhausting my Zombies' collection), I clicked to an oldies station, on my iTunes.

The Chi-lites (love 'em), the Turtles (even better), Bachman-Turner Overdive (that's ok), Buffalo Springfield (why not?), the Lovin Spoonful (Aww, the Lovin' Spoonful ..."Summer In the City," I can deal with this).

[30 minutes later]

Jim Croce (don't mess with Jim), Bread (eh, it's ...Bread), Aretha Franklin (R E S P E C T, I will) and the Lovin Spoonful (Ah ok, it's still "Summer In the City," didn't they just play this?).

[1 hr. later, returning from the grocery store, left the station on]

Steppenwolf (Oo just missed the magic carpet ride), Diana Ross (the only song I can stand that uses the slang "ain't" -Sing it Diana!) and the Lovin Spoonful (Again? Ok, I get it, it's "Summer In the City" and you're a "cool cat" looking for a "kitty").

[40 minutes later, cleaning my kitchen, putting things away]

Jackson 5 (they're never going to say goodbye, girl), Steam (na-na-he-hey-goodbye!) and the Lovin' Spoonful (Oo my! What!? C'mon now!)

[phone rings]
Telemarketer: "Hi, is Ms. Phelps, there?"
Me: "Yes" ["Back of my neck getting dirty + gritty"]
Telemarketer: [pause] "Hi, Ms. Phelps?"
Me: "Yes, speaking" ["Walking on the sidewalk/hotter than a match head]
Telemarketer: "Hi, Ms. Phelps, I'm calling in regards to the Lake County Police Dept. Fund-Drive -yadda yadda yadda"
[Mental Note: I don't even live in Lake County + by this time it's safe to assume that I am, indeed, Ms. Phelps]
Me: "I'm sorry, I'm not interested ..." ["Running up the stairs/Gonna meet you on the rooftop"]
Telemarketer: "Oo ok ...Wait, is that 'Summer In the City'?"
Me: "Yes it is!"
Telemarketer: "It's not summer today! [nervous laughter]"
[FYI: It was snowing outside]
Me: "[fake laughter] That's Chicago for you! Well, have a nice day."
Telemarketer: "Thanks"

[1 hr. or so later, sorting through mail, making coffee]

Beach Boys (wouldn't be an oldies station without them + Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann), Santana (where's my incense?), the Zombies (Hooray!) and the Lovin' Spoonful (...)

Remember the film (yes, film) Groundhog's Day? Bill Murray's character woke up every morning to Sonny + Cher's "I Got You Babe" (then again, don't we all?) ...By this time, the Lovin' Spoonful and I have stepped into the Groundhog's Day-zone ...You might also recall the scene where Murray grabs his toaster and attempts to bathe with it ...Hmm.

"Come on, come on and dance all night/Despite the heat, it'll be alright"

[phone rings]
Nick: "Hey"
[Paul McCartney + Wings "Band On the Run"]
Me: "Uno momento, Paul McCartney, be quiet!"
Nick: "Aww, Wings? Are they on the run?"
Me: "Perhaps ...Hey, I'm being stalked"
Nick: "What?"
Me: "I've been listening to an oldies station all day and the Lovin Spoonful's 'Summer In the City,' has been playing every hour, on the hour! I'm being stalked by the Lovin' Spoonful!"
[this is when both Nick and I started singing "Summer In the City, back and forth]
Nick: [mumble, mumble] "Hotter than a match head"
Me: "Cool cat, lookin' for a kitty"
[more of our duet]
Nick: [mumble, mumble]
Me: "We gave it a good go! Karaoke bars look out! The Nick + Jordyn Explosion is coming!"

[10 minutes ago, as I type this]

Doobie Brothers (!!!), Elvis (he's caught in a trap, can't get out), Jackson 5 (Primo! Leave Princess Milo alone!) and (Yep, you guessed it) ...the Lovin' Spoonful "Summer In the City"

"And babe, don't you know it's a pity/The days can't be like the nights/In the summer/In the city"

In the summer, in the city ...Where is my toaster?

Double-Quilted Coffee + Memoirs Of A Faux-Geisha

2007-03-30T20:47:00.000-07:00

Shortly after work, this morning, I set out to run some errands and various to-dos.

To say I "caught" the #36 Broadway bus would be an understatement ...In truth, I stood @ the bus stop for 25 mins, blinking excessively (I woke up @ 5AM, it was 1PM) and reassuring an elderly man that "Yes, the bus is coming," "Yep, this is where you stand," and "Oo of course, the bus is coming, sir".

When said bus finally arrived, I settled into this week's Reader and awaited my turn to tug the cord.

I set about my errands, my hair pulled up in my typical post-work 'do. I think my friend/coworker Russell summed it up best, shortly after meeting me, "I was working on a project, the other day, and I thought of you because your hair up like that is very geisha and I was painting a geisha like figure." Hair clip + shiny black headband = my medicating cats/outta my face/"geisha" statement.

Any make-up I managed to slap on around 5AM was by then an afterthought and the grey skies were more than likely making me look paler than I already am.

After I finished said errands, I opted to treat myself to an Intelligentsia coffee (where you can say "large" and "just black" without any furrowed brow of confusion -What a relief!) ...I headed up Broadway. As I stood at a stoplight, a rather daper looking man crossed the street ...I'm guessing he was in his early/mid 50s, dressed in his finest "casual Friday" businessman attire (meaning he was without a tie).

Daper Man: "I love your hair"
Me: "Oo, thank you"
Daper Man: "Is that your natural color? It is, right? It looks perfect"
Me: "Oo, why thank you and no, it's not my natural color"
Daper Man: "You're a gorgeous young lady ...You have a very 1940s look to you. A truly beautiful look. Do you like the 1940s?"
[Mental Thought: Do I like the 1940s? Hmm, sure, why not?]
Me: "Oo, well thank you ...Yeah, the 1940s ...Actually, I've heard that before"
Daper Man: "Well, it's a beautiful look! Your beauty is 1940s reincarnated."
Me: "Thank you ...Have a great day"
[Mental Thought: Look? Sir, can I explain to you the joys of running cat fecals at 8AM?]
Daper Man: "You have such a 1940s spirit. Have a beautiful -wonderful day, young lady!"

My cup of coffee was delicious and helped me brave the packed bus ride home. Seated nearby, a group of school children ...Where one girl (the leader of the pack) was trying to convince her pals that she (indeed, for honest) lived @ the IHOP, up the street.

Girl: "I eat pancakes everyday!"
Boy: "Even for dinner?"
Girl: "Yeah-huh!"
Boy: "Yeah right"
Girl: "I do so!"

____________

And now for a few honorable mentions:

Lexi: "Do you think the Reality Bites toilet paper in the coffee maker trick would work? I don't have any coffee filters"
Lexi: "By jove, I think it worked! Thank you, Winona Ryder"

Alexander: "I'm at a place called Big Wangs. Where did it all go wrong?"

Me: "Does Airbourne really work?"
Josh: "Alan Alda says 'If you think so it probably does'."
Me: "I can't get sick"
Josh: "I bet you can!"

Me: [telling Dave about my Airbourne purchase] "And guesswhat flavor I chose?"
Dave: "Red? Red is my favorite flavor!"

[I answer the front door, at work]
Me: "Hello?"
Woman w/ cat: "Hi! I called about an admit ...I'm Jacquelyn Smith"
[Mental Thought: No you're not!]

Reason No. 465, why I will always love a certain Mr. Nick Pyle: To Suck An Egg

On March 20th, my friend Neil + his roommates started their annual "electricity fast" going on through April 20th. For more info, feel free to check-out: Allium Collective

Me: "Are you growing a beard?"
Neil: "Well kind of, yeah ...My razor is electric."
____________

Dave is working on a project that involves a couple of questions on sound ...One question, in particular, that caught my attention was/is:

What is your best/favorite (along those lines) sound memory?

My answer? Cars (No, not Ric Ocasek) ...More specific my parents' cars.

My Father worked 5+ days a week. He'd get up around 4AM and be out the door by 5AM ...In the wintertime I'd wake to hear the hum of the engine, warming up and pulling out of the drive. I've always prefered weekdays to weekends ...Hearing my Father leave for work symbolized in my sound memory the normalcy of the work week, that above all else I always loved my welder-Father's hard work ethic and that I had two more hours before my alarm would sound for school. During my parents' inevitable divorce, the sound of my Father's vehicle would take on a different tone as he would come home. "He's home ..."

The other car sound being my Mother's car, pulling into the drive. Not necessarily an obvious and/or unusual sound but distinctive in the way that "Mom's home!" When she worked Midnights @ the hospital, I'd be up early, awaiting her sound up the drive. She's home! She's home! She's home! Hooray!

Good Morning, Billy: No Bugs Here

2007-03-27T08:03:00.000-07:00

My morning started off, as usual ...Slippers on, boiling water for coffee, NPR on the radio, feeding my cats, giving Primo his insulin, checking email, browsing today's newsy tidbits, hair pulled back in a messy nest on top of my head.

Halfway through my first cup of coffee, there was a knock on the door ...Oo no, Oo no, I forgot! My building had passed out a memo noting that on Tuesday, my Billy Preston lookalike exterminator (w/ a gold tooth that I just now noticed) would be going from apartment to apartment, as a precautionary measure. I work this afternoon and Lisa and I are meeting up for a pre-work lunch. Since there was no clear/cut time, I had been meaning to flag down my building manager and explain that I'm not completely sold with anyone coming into my place and neither are my three cats.

[knock on the door -"Tap tap"]
[Mental note: CRAP! CARDIGAN!]
Me: "Just a moment, please!"
[knock knock]
Me: "I'll be right there!"
[Mental note: C'mon arm, go through sleeve! Button, button!]
[Peek through peephole ...It's Billy Preston! Answer the door]
Billy Preston: "Well g'morning lil lady!"
Me: "Why hello, good morning"
Billy Preston [non-subtle look up and down] "Why aren't you a sight!"
[nervous laughter, trying to hide behind the door]
Billy Preston: "I was wonderin' when I'd get to your apartment and now my morning is made!"
[more nervous laughter ...What could I say? You're welcome? Glad I could make your day? Look, it's me and my nightgown? C'mon in and watch me brush my teeth?]
[Mental note: Billy Preston has seen me in my nightgown!]
Me: "I got the memo saying you'd be going through the building, today."
[Mental note: Billy preston has seen me in my nightgown!]
Billy Preston: [stick head through doorway w/ a spray container, eyes my cats] "Ooo, you got kitties!"
Me: "Yes, three of them ...And I wasn't sure if any spraying would be neccesary, for their safety"
Billy Preston: "Well, you don't got bugs, right?"
Me: "Nope! No bugs!"
Billy Preston: "That's ok, I skip the spray. You know, lil lady, anytime you need me or if you ever have a problem w/ bugs, I'm your guy! You just put a work order in and I'll be up here [knocks on my door]."
Me: "Aw, well thank you."
Billy Preston: "It sure was nice to see ya and you lookin' GOOD in the mornin'! You have yourself a beautiful day!"
Me: "You too, have a great day and thanks again!"
[Shut door ...Run to my bathroom's mirror to double check just what exactly he may have seen ...Ok, safe, I don't think he saw anything. I'm a lady!]

CRAP! Billy Preston saw me in my nightgown. Good morning to me.

From now on, I'm sleeping in a snowsuit.

UPDATE: Amber Alert: Who Are You?

2007-03-26T18:59:00.000-07:00

Originally posted at 10:42AM,
Monday, March 26, 2007

My State ID card ran away, last week ...I can't say I blame it. I refused to get it a wallet, I often shoved it in my pocket or left it alone on my bookshelf. I'm positive I've dropped it numerous times and I'm sure its been shoved between the musty pages of a book or two. I even called around, retracing my steps, checking with a few buisnesses around town and being referred to as "ma'am," as in "Nope, sorry ma'am," "Let me check for you, ma'am [5 minutes later] Ma'am? No, I'm sorry ...ma'am," and "Just a second, ma'am, I can't hear you, could you speak up, ma'am?"...Nothing.

Short of issuing a full-on "Amber Alert," I opted to break my apartment up into sections for an in-depth search. I will never give up hope for you, State ID but it's dawned on me that you are gone and that I will have to schlep my way to the Secretary of State to (begrudgingly) get a new one.

[Yes, State ID. Those who know me know that I don't have a driver's license and actually I've never had one. "Why?" a question I generally answer with a shrug and "I just never really wanted one". Which I'm sure fuels assumptions that I'm in "recovery" ...No driver's license, I order coffee @ bars ...Great]

However, true to form, when looking for something, you'll always find things that you weren't looking for:

-Receipts, receipts, receipts ("Ah, on 2/12/07 I saved $16.37 @ Dominick's ...The kicker is that I only spent $20+ ...It's a keeper!")
-Six water bottle caps ("No Princess Milo, I can't pick you up right now ...Here, have a bottle cap. Fun! Woo!")
-Pennies upon pennies
-Pens upon pens ("Where is my fine-tipped black Sharpie? ...Ah ha! Yes, it's underneath the bookcase, behind the printer, next to Primo's long neglected wooden spoon!" To which I will use said Sharpie and put back underneath the bookcase, behind the printer, next to the wooden spoon ...Hey, I know where it is).
-"So that's where those X-Files trading cards that Tom sent me so long ago are!"
-Paycheck + bill-paid stubs (C'mon audit, I'm ready for you!)
-A stack of unread or rifled through Newcity, Chicago Readers, Red Eyes and a copy of Hoy! I once used for an impromptu umbrella.
-"Oo, my Metamucil sampler from a few months ago ...I wonder if that fiber cracker is still good? Hmm"
-A "Are You A Good Person?" pamphlet from downtown ...I have yet to take their "ultimate' test.
-Dunkin' Donuts "Sip, Scratch + Score!" card for a free donut (The question: Famed racing horse Man O' War won how many races out of his 21 starts? I scratched D 20, "You Win!")
-Glitter balls which have yet to make their way underneath the refrigerator (Save yourselves!).
-A post-it that reads: "Coffee? Carrot juice? 'Everything That Rises: A Book On Convergences' Weschler?"
-A pamphlet that Danger Mike recently gave me: "How To Describe A Suspect From The Unknown ...To The Known," thank you Danger.
-What was that? Where's my classical section? Under my sofa ...At least that's where I found my Mozart's Symphonies no. 40+41 disc.
-Directions + ETA, terminal 5 @ O'Hare (when I spent Lexi + Gabe's lay-over from their honeymoon in Spain @ a classy airport bar).
-A stack of cards from my Mother, ranging from "I hear it's bitter cold there, Mandy. Be safe and bundle up" to "Sure wish I could see your beautiful face and lovely smile. I will in the spring. Be safe and use your umbrella".
-"Electricity Free Game Night, Sunday @ 6PM," from Neil (more on that later)
-A couple more post-its that read: "SHOES! APPLES!" and "HAND CLAPS!"
-Oo crap! A notice from my building stating that my Billy Preston Exterminator will be going through the building and may enter my apartment, on Tuesday. I need to talk w/ management about this ...I love you Billy, it's not you, it's me (and my three cats).

And no, no state ID ...Hmph.

I mentioned my recent loss to Danger Mike + Gloria, at work on Monday.

Gloria: "$20 for a new one!? I know who I am, I don't need their card!"
Me: "Well, it'd only be $10 if I was renewing my ID but since I lost it ...$20"
Gloria: "You know, when I got a new one, they still used my photo from 10 yrs. ago! For all they know, I could change my look, I could be trying fool 'em. I could be a terrorist!"
Me: "Do you have something you'd like to tell me, Gloria?"

UPDATE!

After a sweaty day @ work, w/ the thoughts of my Tuesday morning being gobbled up by a Secretary of State visit, Lisa and I debated whether or not to make a pit stop at Dominick's, on the way home. Just as Glenlake came into sight, we opted to make the turn and go to Dominick's.

There we were in the produce section, Lisa w/ her lemon and I w/ my apples (yes, red delicious), when the woman who usually works the service desk walked towards me.

Service Desk Woman: "Hi ...You know, you left your ID at the service desk, last week"
Me: [blink!] "What!? ...Are you serious? Do you realize that I was going to go to the Secretary of State tomorrow morning ...Can I hug you!?"
Service Desk Woman: "Sure!"
[hug]
Me: "Thank you! Thank you! Oo my goodness!"
Service Desk Woman: "You can swing by the service desk and pick it up"
[insert in-store freak out dance ...!!]
Lisa: "Do you want to go to the service desk now!?"
Me: "YES!"

And there it was ...My state ID.

Me [to my state ID]: "I'm going to get a wallet for you."

Excuse me while I twirl myself silly.

The Secret to Good Good Vibrations: Random Motes In 5 Parts

2007-03-18T08:08:00.000-07:00

It's a fact: The radio in ISO 2 (at work) is well, crap. After spending 30 seconds too long trying to find a decent station, I finally came across a fuzzy oldies station. Joe, a caretaker was busy cleaning and I started my round of treatments -A dance of some sort, lacking in any form of coordination, since it's cramped quarters downstairs. A lot of "excuse me," "sorry," "whoops!" and "just one quick moment ...sorry" ...A spasmodic version of the Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations," came on.

Joe: "This the Beach Boys?"
Me: "Yep -Wouldn't be an 'oldies' station without at least 3 Beach Boys tunes, per hour."
Joe: "You know what band is better than the Beach Boys ...Man, umm ...Oo yeah! They're better than the Beach Boys -Huey Lewis & the News."
Me: "Oo yeah, they're ...fun."
___________

I came home to a message from Alexander:
"You are indier than I. You're even vegan! I could never compare. I give in to sin too often. I'm not even drunk!"
___________

Yesterday evening, Lisa came over for Thai food + taxes. As I waited for her downstairs, idling chatting w/ Xavier (front desk guy).

Xavier: "You don't eat any meat!?"
Me: "No"
Xavier: "So like fruits and vegetables?"
Me: Yep"
Xavier: "So lots of potatoes?"
Me: "Only as a precautionary measure and in case of a famine."

Enter Crystal, a "celebrity" (self-professed, mind you) neighbor. Crystal is a gay clown. He can often be seen wearing Mardi Gras beads of every color/size (Mr. T-style), Liberace sunglasses complete w/ red lenses, a half shirt (complete w/ potbelly poking through), rings on every finger and bodybuilder pants (you know, the ones w/ the gathered waist/cuffs + loud prints). On this (festive) occasion, Crystal was wearing a pointy green wizard's cap w/ fake elf ears attached and a neck-flap (which still kind of confuses me) and he had a few bags in hand.

Crystal: "I just got back from the most amazing crystal sale. This darling guy is selling an estate of crystals and gemstones and I just had to go! Oo my God, honey, lemme tell you, I could have moved in w/ this man for all of his wares. I just have to show you!"
[Crystal opens a bag and sets a few crystals of various colors/forms/detail onto the front desk]
Crystal: "I'm hanging this one up in my window -Oo it'll be fabulous, the light coming through. I'll wear this one, can you imagine? It's a crystal and my name is Crystal. I'm a celebrity." [Crystal holds up this wine-colored ...plastic ...crystal the size of a fist, to his chest, minus a gold chain]
Crystal: "Isn't Mother Nature ...awesome!? She made these for me. this man had @ least a half million dollars worth. Are you two ready for THE pride of all of my purchases!?"
[Crystal unwraps a thumb sized, iridescent piece of quartz]
Crystal: "Isn't this just fabulous!? Touch it! [hands it to Xavier] Hold it! C'mon, hold it!"
[Xavier takes the piece of quartz]
Crystal: "Isn't it just magical?"
Xavier: "Is this metal?"
Crystal: "Metal!? No, honey, Mother Earth made this! It's quartz ...It's perfect! No man could make something so magnificent. All the colors, the shine, the jagged edges. It's my prized piece."
Xavier: "Is it glued together?"
[Lisa, where are you?]

I'll spare you the rest but a few keynotes: Crystal has died twice, has had 3 open heart surgeries and is convinced that the latest self-help book "The Secret," is actually writen about him, for him. He fully intends on using the powers of "The Secret" and his gemstones to help him through an upcoming court battle w/ the state guardian (or something to that affect). I should also mention that Crystal is 20 yrs. sober.

And somehow I'm unfazed. Somehow retelling this event seems as ordinary as explaining the contents of my fridge (water, carrot juice, carrots, parsley, soymilk, vitamins and various condiments -no of which start w/ a "k" and/or a "mayo").

[Scott: Tell me a story.
Me: I met a gay clown named Crystal, today that has died twice and came back.
Scott: Whatttt? Are you lying?
Me: Nope, it's a true story -C'mon, even I couldn't make that shit up.
Scott: Y did u just curse....you neverrrrrrrrrrrrr curse!]
__________

Alexander called later on as he drove back from a LA video store, to share his inner St. Patrick's Day kvetch.

Alexander: "I fucking HATE Irish folk music! I hate it! Like, Nickelcreek, the brother/sister duo? They're good but I fucking hate it!"

Oo Alexander.
__________

I was explaining to Dave how I consider Dunkin' Donuts coffee beans as my "filler" beans. To extend the life of my "good" beans, I'll add a few Dunkin' Donuts beans, to which he summed up:

Dave: "So it's like the Hamburger Helper of coffee beans."

Oo Dave.
_________

Review:

-Huey Lewis + the News are better than the Beach Boys and "fun"!
-There's a "celebrity" gay clown named Crystal, living in my building who ironically enough collects crystals -Crystal has the power, he knows the secret.
-I did my taxes. (Though, I'm bitter that I can't claim Primo ...He's both an unique expense and a disabled "child")
-Alexander will forever hate Irish folk music so you can keep your copy of Brobdingnagian Bards.
-Dave's quick wit never sleeps and I now will forever associate Hamburger Helper w/ Dunkin' Donuts coffee.
-I not only never curse -I "neverrrrrrrrrrrrrr" curse
-Nick needs a hug: But don't squeeze too tight

Bobbing, Dodging + Weaving For Apples

2007-03-16T13:31:00.000-07:00

Deja vu at the grocery store, this afternoon ...Only instead of peddlin' pineapples (like the last time -Oo "exotic" pineapple), the take-a-taste of the week: apples. Shiny, red, crisp, "triple-washed" ...ordinary apples. My wheely-cart and I walked right into their produce trap ...I could tell from the twinkle in this dedicated Dominick employee's eye (she had two), she was not only looking to give away free samples of this symbol of forbidden folklore ...She believed in the whole Malus domestica family.

[Note: My ipod is sick. It has a hardware cold and I've scheduled a check-up. In turn, I've been sans my little box of joy. My little white headphones that tell others "I see your lips moving but I didn't know you could sing."]

[Apple Lady spots me ...Do not make eye contact, do not make eye contact. I see the samples. Turn away, turn away ...Oo no! Our eyes meet! She's smiling. Her plastic gloves are reaching ...reaching for a sample ...Where's the parsley!? Must find parsley.]

Apple Peddler: "Hi there!"
[CRAP]
Apple Peddler: "I have some wonderful apple samplers for you!"
[For me? Just me? Really? All of this ...for me? Well ...]
Apple Peddler: "Here!"
Me: "Oo no, thank you"
Apple Peddler: "10lbs. for $10! I've been sneaking bites all day [fake embarrassed laughter]. I don't usually like apples but THESE apples are ...DELICIOUS. Like their name! [laughter]"
Me: [pressed smile] "No, no -Thank you, though ...I just ate."
[c'mon wheely-cart -PIVOT!]
Apple Peddler: "Oo yeah? What did you have?"
Me: "What? Uh, soup. Yep."
Apple Peddler: "That's not a meal! Here!" [thrusts 2 browning apple slices my way]
Me: "Have a nice evening"
Apple Peddler: "Aww ...Well ..."
Old Man [in a Bears play-off hat] "Whaddya got here?"
Apple Peddler: "Hi there! These are RED DELICIOUS apples"

Phew ...Wait, apples were on my list. I double-check my little orange notepad ...Yep: litter, fancy feast, oatmeal, toilet paper, parsley and RED DELICIOUS ...Hmm. Fine. I'll do it.

Apple Peddler: [eyes me, smiles] "See! I knew you wanted some!"

Wait, is that girl tired? No. Well maybe she's cold? No, that's not it. Wait, I know that look, that girl wants apples!

Cut to my return home ...I push my cart up to the front doors, spin around, kick my foot out at a ninety-degree angle to prop open the door, pull my cart in backwards, spin around.

John [building operations manager/opening the second set of doors for me]: "What's this crazy dance move you're doing?"
Me: "Oo, ha ...Just something I've been working on. Thanks."
John: "Oo, looks like you got some num-nums for the kitties"
[...Num-nums?]
Me: "Ah, yeah ...Actually, it's litter. It'll make them like me for about 10 minutes."
John: "And how are the kitties?"
[He asked me this yesterday and now that I think about it -He asks me this every time he sees me]
Me: "Oo, they're fine. Thanks. Have a good evening"
[to the elevator!]

And to think, I was actually going to "blog" a detailed list of "when I grow up" notions and the growing trend amongst my peers who are jumping ship to follow more fulfilling/self-affirming career paths. How do ya like them apples?