2 Girls + 1 Truck, Vampires, and A Very Windy City

It was nary a month ago that Haley and I boarded the Penske truck and I heeded the words, "Go west, young woman." Not only was the drive fantastic and laden with expert Haley Glover playlists of Toad, Chicago (the Peter Cetera days, of course), Morrissey (le sigh), and the Cure; large, sausagey meals from the Erie, PA Cracker Barrel, and lots of chatting and reminiscing - but the drive was also accompanied by snow, freezing rain, and the lovely surprise of receiving a 16 foot truck, as opposed to the 12 foot one I reserved. After getting over the additional 4 feet to accommodate ("that difference is only a little shorter than I am!"), we settled into being road warriors of the best kind. It was a truly memorable journey. We arrived safely at Amber's abode on the 16th, played with darling house doggies for most of the day, and then took Hays to the airport (so she could present at a conference in MN - what a friend!). The remaining days were spent moving into my apartment, fighting with IKEA about my couch, hosting my father and my mother via separate, but equally lovely trips, and visiting the Anti-Cruelty League (right down the road from me, trouble) to have tearful hellos and goodbyes with shetler pups of my dreams who I could not take home because I travel too much. WTF was I thinking taking a consulting gig, when all I want is to give those dogs a nice home?! Ah, well.

A month in, I've adjusted well at work, which has me going to Indianapolis every M-Th to work on a health and human services project. Normally, this would suck, but I get to see Haley at least once a week (last night we saw "Twilight" swooooooon) and the Westin is kind of like a floating spaceship of convenience right in the middle of downtown Indy. Snowing outside? No worries! The Westin has a skybridge that will take you right to the mall, the movie theatre, the TJ Maxx, and the food court (hi, Johnny Rockets and Chik-Fil-A). I even like the Westin toiletries and have grown accustomed to the synthetic smell of white team being pumped through the lobby. The 3 hour drives to and from are made better by the fact that I am on the project with some KPMG folks who have turned out to be pretty swell. And, when I finally get back to my darling, 28th floor view of Chicago, I treasure my home time and my weekends more than ever. I am greeted by Gandhi, the little, ever-welcoming doorman who I love so much I've taken to baking him cakes and cookies to express my gratitude, and I never have to worry about a dying rat or a noisy stoner urinating on the facade of my building. And though Chicago is bitch-ass cold, cheap cabs and a puffy down coat make it easy to explore and fall even more in love with.

I'm slowly exploring my neighborhood (both because of the cold and the time in Indy). I live next to a fantastic, cheap tapas place that is hopping in the evenings. If I take a right out of my apartment, I can hit up Barney's, a cupcake boutique (trouble), and see my fill of disgustingly nipped and tucked women with impossibly small dogs donning ridiculously cruel floor-length furs. They call that area "Viagra Circle," because when the sun goes down, the older, wealthy businessmen come out to play...with their young, nubile escorts. If I go left, I get into the more salt-of-the-eart Old Town and River North, brimming with dog shelters, eco-boutiques, and the Moody Bible Academy. In fact, I was eating at a restaurant before Thanksgiving and was struck by a very handsome guy taking his little sister (he was ~ my age and she was ~12) to dinner. He was so polite and Harry Potteresque and I was swooning as I watched him teach her how to make a little football out her her napkin ring and kick a fake field goal through his fingers. Then, when their meals came, he instigated one of the longest in-public sayings of grace I'd ever seen. Not that this really deterred me - I'm down with the spirituality and can totally embrace the idea of a sexy man of faith or whatever, but it was a little astonishing - until I realized that I was steps from the Bible academy. Then, of course, I was consumed with thoughts of corrupting buttoned-up Bible academy men. Rowr.

For the most part, Chicago still holds the "people are nice" badge with me. Of course, like all cities, there are outliers, but for the most part, folks are dandy. And the nightlife is all that. Truly. Mike Mason has been kind enough to show Amber and me the grittier, more Indie sides of Wicker Park and Rogers Park, complete with their ping pong bars, incredibly over lit Polish dives run by foul-mouthed women named Olga, and places with great jukeboxes where you can linger over heated Scrabble games with hipsters. Work folks and friends-of-Boston-friends have shown me the glossier bars in town, complete with David Schwimmer sightings (and brief interaction - he asked me if I was a "naughty librarian," I think because I had come from work and was wearing a sweater vest) and 2am trips to the 'Rock n' Roll' McDonald's. My cousin Laura has shown me great brunch spots, salsa dancing clubs, and the Lyric Opera. One of these weekends, I will hunker down at the Field Museum or the Art Institute and take it all in. Snowy walks downtown to Christmas shop always feel magical. Yeah, the cold is a bitch, but the snow falling around the city is beautiful and, I'm usually surprised by new discoveries like Puppet Bike (puppetbike.com - amazing) or some dude selling delicious smelling Chicago dogs outside the Macy's. It's really wonderful to have new, unexplored things to look forward to every day. And even better, is when the things you've already explored still give you a rush. I know it won't always be this intense, but after just a month, I already feel incredibly at home here. And my demeanor is much calmer now that the B line is a distant memory. A 5 minute ride on the bus, where I usually get a seat and/or get to chat with someone interesting is how I get to work - easy and happy.

Of course, I miss my Boston folk and old haunts, too. Much as I love the relative ease and glamour of my new digs, I miss the sound and feel of hardwood underfoot and the ability to have the windows open so I can hear the trees rustle and people walk by with their dogs (of course, I am romanticizing this - usually it was that I was hearing someone digging through the trash or the constant 'ting ting ting' of Rigatone - such is the anthem of Brighton). I miss my little routine of going to Whole Foods, reading trashy books and listening to certain songs on the T. I miss Polar pomegranate and vanilla seltzer, which does not exist in the Midwest. I miss friends and pseudo-family and coworkers and b.Good - Lord, how I miss b.Good. Of course I miss things and people and memories, but I've traded up. People in Chicago don't think I'm strange when I chirp out peppy hellos. People on the street say hi to one another. I haven't seen anyone litter (though I'm sure it happens, Chicago is fucking clean as a whistle). It's all I really wanted from a city - to be somewhere where people sort of give a shit about one another and where they live.

And let's talk about Edward Cullen. Lord, how can a fictitious vampire character ruin me for all other men? Every time I read that damn 'Twilight' book or watch the film, I am sighing like an old spinster. How can a human be that stunning, that interesting, that mysterious, that sensitive, that sexy, and that protective/strong/fast/nice dressingerish? It's unfair! I actually had to stop reading the book because it was making me develop a "why bother?" attitude about dating. I'd read it, go on a date, and act formidable, but the whole time I'd think, "this guy is not as fast/strong/sexy/inwardly conflicted as Edward Cullen." Ha. Yes, Robert Pattinson is a creature of unfathomable beauty. And the pale skin, dark hair, dark eyes combo? Well, I've been on that bandwagon long before that Mormon chick put pen to paper. BUT, it's not because he's so hot that entirely accounts for the allure. Men, take note - the character is interesting and sexy because he (a) is interested in Bella in the truest sense, as in he asks her questions, exhibits real concern for her, etc and (b) because he's protective of her. At least, these seem to be what resonate with me. Am I 27 and blogging about a fictitious vegetarian vampire character? Yeah - so what?!

I wish I could say I have work to do, but I don't. After a bushel of work, today is slow slow slow, hence the blogging. I will post some pics of the apartment and nights out soon. Right now, all I want to do is go back to the 'Westin heavenly bed' and sleep. If only.

kiss kiss, little bumblebees!

Precious Roy: "Buy my hookers"

Howdy, campers.  Let us all take a knee while I relate tales of moving, packing, and my unsupervised, unassisted use of wood glue.  And, if you don't understand the title, well, that's okay.  It just means that we can't be friends.  Hey, sometimes shit happens.  I kid.  Precious Roy was a sketch on Sifl and Olly, the greatest damn sock puppet show ever.  If you've never seen it, well take a little visit to YouTube and czech it out (too lazy to hyperlink).

Anyways, I am experiencing mover's block.  I am surrounded by boxes, bubble wrap, and tons of stuff I need to pack and yet I am writing this blog.  I concede that I am a tad overwhelmed.  With less than a week left in Boston, I am feeling a little emotional and boy, does it show in fun ways.  After a particularly stupid Friday night, I woke on Saturday to get my hair did and mosey over to the hardware store for stuff that rugged people like.  You see, for awhile I was all into the idea of buying all new furniture when I got to Chitown.  Then something got into me where I was sitting in my apartment one night, listening to the jazz station on cable, and feeling nostalgic about my art deco dresser and my desk.  I had this grand idea that I would refurbish them and they'd come out looking great.  So, last night I painted the desk a lovely dark cobalt blue and gave it a new drawer pull, while my dresser got new drawer pulls and a nice sand and stain session.  Great.  Ya know what, they look better, but I can't see either of them in my new place.  They're either too big, too small, or just not right.  So, all that work and $45 later and I will likely be listing them as free on CL tomorrow.  Sheesh.  Not to mention, my nails, face, arms, etc are still covered in blue paint splatters and little drips of furniture stain and polish.

As I was loading stuff in the basement to take to Goodwill today, I noticed a dead ratty on one of the glue traps.  Oh grosscity.  Oh, how I cannot wait to live in a place where I will never have to set foot in a basement, let alone have to dispose of a decomposing animal right next to my apartment.  While I will miss the good times I've had in my little apartment, making meals and hosting friends, I will not miss my neighbors, the basement, the laundry room (where people are inconsiderate and steal dryer time and/or throw away their laundry detergent bottles when there is a recycle bin right outside the door), or the rodent infestation.  While high rise places may lack soul, I feel I've earned my new elevator taking/no more dish washing by hand/washing my clothes in my own apartment existence.  It's going to be rad.

And as much as I know that Chicago is going to be rad, I am starting to feel sad/very nervous.  I'm sure this is normal (though the last time I had a comparable experience, I couldn't fucking wait to head to...you heard me right...Boston), but it's perhaps responsible for my stalling packing.  There's nothing here I'm staying for, I guess I am just still overwhelmed that just a month ago, this was a dream and now it's happening and I have to have all hands on deck.  It's wonderful, but frightening at the same time.  I love and highly value the feeling and knowledge that I can pretty much do anything, weather any situation, but at the same time, it can drive you crazy with wondering if I'm too nomadic?  My gut feeling is no - the world is a very big place and I knew long ago that I wanted to experience as much of life as I could.  Does this mean that I am going to join the Peace Corps and be living in huts in Rwanda until I'm too old to walk?  Nope.  Does it mean I feel like spending time in a city that I'm not crazy about?  Nope.  Life, while actually quite long, is simply too short to spend time in a place that doesn't make you happy.  It's like marrying someone you're just lukewarm about or working a job for 20 years that sends you home crying every night.  Commitment and stability are excellent virtues and ideas - they feel good in practice.  But only if they're rooted in something valuable to you.  Keeping things the same (when they're not all that) because you fear the repercussions of change is silly in my opinion.  Hence the foolish consistency being the hobgoblin of little minds shit.  I'll miss people and things and places here, no doubt.  But there's no cap on how much or how many things I can love.  There's plenty of room for Boston to coexist with my fervor for Chicago.  So, yeah.  I'm scared (mostly of driving that truck).  But I have to believe that life rewards risks - or, at the very least, that these moments build character.  Or, at the very least, that Hays and I are going to have a hell of a time getting there and might meet a dog that needs rescuing along the way.

I'm still eating everything in sight, although I now blame this on my incredible emotional excitement over Obama's victory.  Not only is it monumental for all of the obvious reasons, but it makes going to Chicago all the sweeter.  The sweetness of victory is tinged with sadness for our LGBT pals, though.  WTF - Arizona, Cali, and Arkansas?  This gay marriage/adoption stuff really gets me fired up.  If your life is so small and you feel marriage is the apex of everything, sure, I can see why you'd be threatened by other folks so unlike you wanting to get married.  If you're so self-righteous to see marriage as something caressed by the Lord only for heteros, then yes, I can see why you'd be a perturbed.  I can also see why you're fucking stupid and need to get your head out of your ass.  See, last time I checked, marriage was about love.  On Wednesday morning, I awoke to Facebook status updates from dumbasses that I grew up with saying, "we may have lost the war, but we won the battles to preserve the sanctity of marriage."  OMG.  Really?  Because I'm pretty sure your husband - yeah, the one you met Freshman year at that Baptist college you went to for like a second to find a husband - is beating off to gay porn on the Rent-A-Center computer you kids have right now.  I'm being fresh.  I believe in marriage and think it's incredible.  But I would never want to deny an entire group of people the opportunity to marry.  And heteros haven't been doing so great at marriage anyways - hi, let's look at the Duggars, for God's sake.  By the time you're done reading this message, they will have had another child.  That's not a marriage, that's a breeding assembly line.

Which brings me to my more heated argument - adoption.  Adoption is fucking incredible.  It really is.  Arkansas prohibiting gay couples or single folks from adopting is despicable.  Yes, because letting kids languish in group homes as opposed to going home with someone who really gives a shit about them is good policy.  I visited the Arkansas website for the Prop on Facebook and it was really awesome.  By awesome, I mean someone with a very low IQ and logical reasoning skills put it together.  "In MA, where they allow gay adoptions, gay parents are now received preferential treatment over straight couples."  Really?  Not really?  That's a flat out lie.  Perhaps they neglected the fact that gay couples are more likely to be open to adopting children of color; siblings together; older kids; kids with special needs.  Last time I checked, most heterosexual couples were not banging down the doors of local social services for a crack addicted hispanic 8 year old with Autism.  Right, because for those folks they want a little white infant, which is rare in social services.  Which is why most couples (aside from those who, in my opinion, are fucking awesome) go through IVF bullshit and adoption abroad/adoption through private organizations long before they reach the last resort of going to social services.  I'm not saying that I feel that social services should be seen as a last resort - no way - I plan on adopting from social services.  There are great kids there.  I'm just saying that it's statistically proven that most people want a BABY and that gay couples are statistically more likely to adopt children who are no less wonderful, but just might happen to have a few more behaviors/situations that others find challenging.  So shame on you, Cali, Arizona, and Arkansas.

Now I must go and scrape the wood glue off my floor.  Sticky stuff.  Don't ask.  

How to Gain 5lbs in 3 weeks

You might be wondering how such a thing is possible.  Well, I'll tell you - moving.  Yes, folks, plan a cross-country move in a few weeks from job hunting to loading up the Penske, to successfully transitioning your job, and you WILL eat everything in sight.  That's been me.  Oh, and I cancelled my gym membership just a few weeks ago (see the correlation?) - just in time for it to get too nippy outside to run.  Today I had not one lunch, but two.  How does this happen, you might ask?  I'm not really sure.  One minute, I am running errands or busting ass at work and the next, I've got a bag of carrots/rice pudding/burrito/chocolate croissant in my hand.  And I'm not getting very much sleep.  Basically I wake up, eat lots of food, commute to work, eat more food, work really, really hard, commute home (whilst thinking about eating lots of food), open my home to strangers from the internet to sell my furnishings, and then eat some more while doing chores about the house.  Occasionally I sleep and having a bath has been rare, rare, rare.  Do I have a scale to ascertain my weight gain?  Nope.  Perhaps that fact that I nearly bust a zipper today is evidence enough?  Sheesh.

Good news, though.  I did find a radical apartment.  I'm pretty psyched about my little apartment in a luxury highrise (boutique, mind you - we'd still like to know our neighbors) in the Gold Coast neighborhood.  Lots of old trees and lovely shops.  Dive bars to my left and Barney's and Prada to my right.  After working Friday, flying to Chitown Friday night, apartment hunting all Saturday, and heading back to Boston on Sunday, I'm pretty freaking whipped.  Of course, I am up nervously blogging as opposed to sleeping, so I'm doing just great.  My apartment is rad, though, and I am very excited.  It's totally dog friendly (even has its own dog pack attached to the building) and I met many of the lovely local residents, of the two and four-legged variety who affirmed that my decision to live here was a good one.  And Amber went with me during the whole apartment hunt and was a complete gem.  I owe her big time.  So, in celebration, we ate a massive Italian dinner at Carmine's in my new neighborhood.  This place was apparently one of Al Capone's old haunts and is a favorite of old crooners still living.  The jalapeno flank steak was fucking legendary.  Then we walked through Washington Park and did a few passes by my new place before we headed back to Lake Forest, tired as tired can be.  I have some pics attached - as you can see, it's on the 28th floor, so the view is pretty clutch.  And I finally have a (a) dishwasher and (b) washer and dryer in the unit.  No rats.  No mice.  No roaches.  No students.  No stoners.  BLISS.  And the final selling point - when they took me up to the roofdeck, "All I Want" by Toad the Wet Fucking Sprocket was being piped through the speakers.  Amidst a panoramic view of Chicago on a lovely fall day I thought to myself, "yes, this is all I want right now."  And there you have it.  Chicago bound in less than two weeks.  For God Sakes!

My Kind of Town

Hello buddy bears!  I'm back to writing a little bloggy to chronicle the recent good news events.  I mean, most of you who've ever read my blog - well, I talk to you on a regular basis anyways, so whatever.  I'm basically writing this because I am sitting sniffly in my furniture-less apartment totally marveling at what is going to happen in just a few weeks.  That's right - Chicago is a GO and I am going way sooner than I had originally anticipated.  As of 11/15, Haley and I are loading up the moving truck and Thelma and Louise-ing it to Chi-town.  But first, I have to head back to Chicago (and my little Amber face!) and get me a sweet pad.  Preferably one of those luxury high rise jobs that has a balcony, gym, and maybe even a grocery store inside.  The kind of places on Michigan Avenue where they pre-screen out the unemployed and chronically stoned.  Yeah, that sounds elitist, but you know what?  I'm so there.  No more schlepping groceries a mile in the snow ON FOOT.  No more being woken up every evening at 2am to the sounds of my W.O.S. (waste of space) Filipino neighbor coughing, wheezing, and talking loudly about smoking pot right outside my window.  NO more will I venture into the basement to find suffering rodents on glue traps.  No more rodents, period.  I want a place that quality controls for that shit.  And if said place also has granite counter tops in the kitchen and allows dogs, well that's grand, too.  Amber and I will embark on the incredible house-hunt this Saturday and I think it will be lots of fun!

On to the cream: My week in Chicago was beyond awesome.  I spent every weekday pounding the pavement from 8am - 6pm, commuting in from Lake Forest in my little suit.  I averaged about 8 meetings/interviews a day and they were all glorious.  I met with the Mayor's office, the state commissioner for Dept. of Children and Families, and tons of consulting firms and foundations.  And the coolest part is almost everyone was ridiculously nice.  Cab drivers - nice.  The gals who work at Nine West - Nice (unlike the little whores at Copley).  The folks at bars - nice and friendly.  Chicago definitely lived up to what I have imagined it to be.  The weekends were spent partying with good folks and new friends.  The week nights were spent with Amber's wonderful, delightfully eccentric family, who truly treated me like one of their own.  I saw my cousin Laura, who I haven't seen in 8 years, and we have the most awesome time salsa dancing with her friends and making up for lost time.  I've never lived anywhere as an adult where I have family close by (this is largely because I have a pretty small family to begin with...) and I guess I never understood the townie mentality of staying in the same place you grew up.  I also saw it, based upon those I grew up with in Texas, as ridiculously simple - a way of shirking adventure, opportunity, and independence in life.  BUT, it was beyond nice to have someone I could rely on in Chicago - both with Amber and her fam there and my own Argentinian cousin.  While I love my own family and parents, I've spent a lot of time relying on friends or myself.  Both of which are great, but this is an added element of comfort that I wasn't expecting, but will truly come to appreciate.

*OH WAIT.  The Scorpion's "No One Like You" is on VH1 classic and holy smokes do I love this song.  I have always loved this song (and the Scorpions, come on...), but really, you haven't lived until you've seen Brian Peterik kill this on Guitar Hero.*

So yeah, I was perma-grin girl the whole time I was there.  And the boys.  Let's not even talk about that.  Let's just leave it at they're cute and mannerly.  Hurrah!  And the job hunt.  It was good.  Hectic, but almost...enjoyable.  Every interview was like having a pleasant conversation with someone.  None of this insane New England reserve permeating every inch of conversation.  I accepted an offer from a boutique government consulting firm, located right across city hall.  To be honest, I think I can do a great job at it, but I have no idea what I'm in for.  Travel 50% of the time, participating in business development, managing other consultants' projects.  I'm admittedly a little nervous, but I think it will be a good challenge.  And it exceeded my hopes - more money than I make now in Boston, which is a much more expensive city, the opportunity to travel and get exposure, a more varied work day, and the opportunity to get bonuses.  Wow.  It'll be pretty interesting to go from state gov to private sector consultant.

So, I have a few weeks to make this happen and, because I love my current boss, I'm working up to the very last day when I load up the truck.  I'm selling most of my furniture via CL, which has been interesting, because my apartment, as of recent has become like a brothel, with people floating in and out, giving me money, slinging a coffee table over their shoulder.  Perhaps the last part is unlike a brothel, but I digress...  It's really very liberating to get rid of stuff that weighs you down.  And just when I thought I'd be driving cross country alone, enter Haley Glover, who will be driving with me.  I'm very excited to have a companion - and to see how well we can maneuver a moving truck.  Rest assured, there will be lots of Morrissey, Depeche Mode, and New Order serenading our journey.

As with most things like this, the uncertainty is killer.  Had I read this entry back in August, all of the weekend nights I stayed in working on applications, cold calls I made, frustrations I had over petty things, and sleepless nights spent wondering if this is a completely ridiculous move would've likely never happened.  While most peeps make a move like this because of a significant other or a transfer from work, I put a pin on the map, based on a few fun visits I'd had there, and hoped that if I did my part, the universe would take care of the rest.  And though I'm not a Chicago resident just yet, I feel so grateful that things have fallen into place and that what has been an idea for a year or so, is quickly becoming a reality.  Folks at work come up to me and say, "why are you moving?" and I tell them that I've always felt like Chicago was a good fit, they say, "gosh, that's brave."  I don't really feel scared, so perhaps that why I don't feel particularly brave.  But yeah, I'll take it.  All I know is that I feel very excited for what's to come and have been heartily rockin' out to Irene Cara's "What a Feeling" and The New Radicals "You Get What You Give" with a fervor I never had before.  Thanks for all of your support, friend-os.  I can't wait for you guys to come visit!  Love love love.  SWAK!

here i am, chicago. rock you like a hurricane.

let's do this.  weeeeee!

favorite things

oprah has a show about favorite things.  too bad oprah's stupid and her favorite things suck.  here are some of mine - with some pics of things previously mentioned, but never photographically backed up.  i also solicit readers and friends to submit their own.  perhaps i'll do a follow-up post with all of your fave stuff?  is that lame?  oh well, just do it and we'll cross that bridge later.

malin + goetz lime tonic cologne

way out wax soy candles (preferably 'cozy home' and 'cinnamon')

dr. bronner's liquid and bar soaps in rose, peppermint, and eucalyptus (the liquid version is ideal for scented soaks in the tub - and all of them can be used for laundry, brushing teeth, and washing dishes)

john master's organics lavender hair conditioner (at $25 a pop, i haven't yet splurged, but the samples i steal from whole foods make me feel like a goddess.  the smell is amazing and totally natural)

fat free coffeemate creamer (though i am a strong coffee purist - i usually drink a pot of espresso each day, this is delicious and comes in lots of flavors)

NARS lipstick in 'funny face' (some women are pussies when it comes to cosmetics.  i am not.  iridescent hot pink lipstick is unbearably rad and i'm gonna rock it until i'm in the grave)

OPI for sephora nail varnish in 'never enough shoes' (the title sucks, but the color is a nice spin on the black you see everywhere.  glossy black with bronze shimmer)

bruno frisoni heels (i've never owned a pair, but he's the master of sky high heels with shit on the toe (velvet ribbons, jeweled satin, etc) and we all know how i love it when feet look like little presents)

chanel lipstick in 'lotus rouge' (just enough red to shock against pale skin, with a little tinge of orange.  it makes me feel likea  geisha and it's well worth the price because it lasts forever)

virginia johnson and lotta jansdotter textiles and clothes (amazing cashmere wraps, sparse scandinavian dresses, greeting cards, and canvas totes abound with these two and they're are beautiful)

anemonies, asters, and poppies (forget about chichi bouquets of roses, it's all about the messy, cut from the farm posies that get my heart racing)

hugging dogs (duh)

gold eyeshadow and eyeliner (strike the right shade of gold (think tequila, not lame') and it looks positively goddessesque)

the afghan my nonna knit me a few years back that's moroccan themed with patches of zigzaggy colors

the pic of my great grandmother, the opera singer, topless with ascot discreetly covering her bosoms (the caption reads "honey, i knew you'd want to know how the gloves and ascot look. love, ruth. self portrait. honest (underlined for effect)")

cooking while listening to jazz

chatting with friends and family on the phone, in succession, until i'm so laughed and chatted out that i fall asleep

american apparel headbands in bright colors

lush karma powder (amazing when sprinkled on bed linens, in shoes, or in the summer as a body powder)

yves saint laurent anything (if i were rich, i'd uniform myself head-to-toe in ysl, but for now, i do have the lush patent leather, satin-lined anais bag, which makes me swoon each time i touch it)

the homeless sammy davis junior impersonator/singer at the park street t stop (i helped this dude get permanent housing awhile back and every time i see him in the morning, he says into the microphone, "there's my wife.  the white woman" before singing 'the candy man')

experimenting with impromptu french toast and pancake combinations on weekend mornings

marmalade

ballgowns

my dresser which features: a morning glory that abs needlepointed for my birthday, a picture of my mother from the seventies, my great grandmother's antique clock (rescued from my grandpa's horrible second wife - we nearly came to blows), photo booth sticker pictures of me and amber when we were 22, a textile amber gave me from zanzibar, a picture of brian holding a puppy, a pic of me, hays, and abs walking through fanieul hall in the winter.  it's the first thing i see when i wake up and the combination makes me very happy.

the super ridiculous pic amber took of me when i was 24 after a night out that involved a very sexy swedish hipster named kurt, dancing to bloc party, and making out on a manhattan roof deck.  i look peeved, but really, it was 7am and i was blissfully happy.

going to the farmer's market and buying lush produce (and the occasional pesto - yum) see pics below.

i want to know what i think and what i'm feeling.

hello, bloggies!  it's been awhile, mainly because i've been spending the week trying (a) not to worry about job stuff for chicago, (b) being drunk, and (c) being holed up in my apt. because of the rain.  but, the radio silence is good because it means i've been doing kewl (i'm utilizing teenage speak to be ironic.  buckle up.) things and this entry will be rich with pics and fables.  so, take a knee, kids and listen to auntie ashie tell you all about this week's bounty.

the work week was grueling and chock full of pimping and self-promotion with a not-what-i-expected-or-hoped-for response.  but, as mentioned in other entries, i've 'come to jesus' (as my dad would say) with the fact that i can only put in so much and other things/people/fate-controlled-kewlness (#2) play a big role in how shit pans out.  so, i am being breezy about this exploration and looking at my visit as an opportunity to have criminal amounts of fun, which, for those of you who really know me and the events of, oh, say, the past few years, i truly deserve.  speaking of criminal amounts of fun, i reunited with brennon, emerson pal of yore, on friday night and boy, did we fuck some shit up.  some things are different from the last time we hung out.  for one, we're not in college.  two, i no longer have red hair and i now shave my legs. three, brennon is, as he puts it so eloquently, "gay GAY," which is great, but a bit disappointing because he looked tres cute in his little hat and stripy shirt.  dare i say that we had a super cool (said with french accent, if you please) time dancing to 90's music at the common ground and befriending (or being adopted by?) a group of 21 year old Berklee students with piercings, tattoos, and belt buckles in the shape of boom boxes.  between me pouring beer on brennon out of excitement and rascalishness during soul decision's "faded," to brennon telling people that we were brother and sister, gf/bf, and various other lies to satisfy his devious side, the night was rich with whiskey shots, amstel lights, and bumpin', grinding, and singing along with the youth of today.  we were such a hit with these cats that they invited us to their after party in the fens (which resulted in me losing my very beautiful umbrella in the cab.  sadness.).  wow.  brennon and i were forthcoming with our ages (26 and 27, respectively) from the beginning and these kids seemed not to care, inviting us into their home that was littered with music posters, keyboards, and heineken keg cans.  it was a surreal experience.  not only were we hammered, but we both made out with the boys (odd? sure.) for like a second and suffered through vapid conversations from some tube-topped college girls who were talking about how they're "like best friends, but like SOOOO different" (brennon does a really good impersonation).  we left our pals shortly after arriving, crashed at my place (where b made fun of my bedspread ("it looks like the oil on top of chicken soup or pita bread" and thanked me for "letting me have night emissions in your pajama pants), and made a morning pilgrimage to mcd's for sausagey goodness to sop up hangovers that only get worse as we become more acutely aware of our age.  we then parted ways because i had to go get a facial (found a gift certificate a few days back that i'd won at a raffle) at a chichi medi spa, the kind of place where the wealthy get covertly nipped and tucked to the point of looking like shiny lionesses.  

so naturally, i felt pretty awesome rolling in in beat up jordache jeans (a total score at marshall's) and a 'skullberry' hoodie (a gift from brian from our early skateboarding days), sipping coffee in the waiting room while russian receptionists in sky high heels pranced by like gazelles.  i meet my aesthetician, tricia, who's been under the knife a few times, and she sits me down to have a consultation where she tells me shit i pretty much already know, but hell, i love talking skin care.  she announces triumphantly, "well, i don't think you need any plastic surgery or injectables today, so let's just go with a facial."  thanks, tricia.  because, ya know, at 27, i was really worried that i might need serious intervention.  jesus.  i felt a bit like a hyperactive kid at a shrink's office, bracing myself for a hardcore prescription and being spared...for now.  too funny.

the facial was pretty awesome - done with sound waves (i had to wear a bracelet to channel the current and everything - very johnny five) and water.  it felt rad and the relaxing asian sitar type music lulled me to sleep for a bit.  the coolest part was when tricia let me look in a mirror while she was doing the treatment and you could literally see shit being coaxed for my pores.  now, if you know me well, you know i love this stuff.  i have an unhealthy (but shared, haley and amber know) obsession with extraction.  as i told hays last night, "you know how in labyrinth ludo can call the rocks and they start rolling to him?  well, it was kind of like that."  she understood.  better than masturbation, folks (not the understanding, the facial).  the sound wave facial, also know as the "ultrasonic."  she recommended a toner and red tea oil, both of which are luxe and fun to use, and i woke up this morning with the complexion of a lil' peach - soft, dewy, and totally unfettered porcelain.  apparently, the upkeep requires treatments every week, but at $150 a pop (again, gift certificate, people), that will not be happening.

so i spent the rest of the rainy day eating saag paneer in my pajamas and received very entertaining texts from a 21 year old with a lip ring who was trying to woo me to go to a 'clothing optional' gig with him.  perhaps i'm wired wrong, but the idea of a clothing optional party actually makes me shudder, almost as much as sleeping with a 21 year old.  instead, i ignored said texts (they got unsolicitedly more racy the more i ignored.  you men.) in favor of watching 'beyond the sea' and 'the pianist' on ifc.  hi, adrian brody is gorgeous and talented (i want to run my hands all through his glossy hair and all over his pale face).  but don't watch that film unless you want to cry and be profoundly depressed.  oh, and i watched loads of 'keeping up appearances' which i fucking heart hardcore.  hyacinth bucket is pretty much the funniest character of all time.  it was the episode where her father was found cycling naked and fell in the river.  this calamity spoiled her candlelight supper.  genius.

this morning i woke to aforementioned peachy complexion and a still rainy day (see view from window).  naturally, a rainy day inspires creativity mixed with coziness.  whatever am i to do?  reflecting on the clothing optional party, i revisited my stash of actually very darling lingerie (but quite retired) and lounged around in various combinations like a madame.  such is a luxury afforded only (i'd assume) to those who live alone.  i felt positively vivienne westwood, which was nice because it put me back in touch with a time when i actually had a calculated sense of sensuality and detail.  now it's all making out in cabs, near nightclub bathrooms, or in elevators during work (i'm not complaining - that was a cool arrangement).  perhaps chicago will breathe new life into my frilly things.  i then got inspired to delve into stacks of magazines and cut and collage favorites and see how i can (in the spirit of economizing and paring down) replicate looks with my own closet.  pair this activity with swedish music (i'm loving "hitten" by those dancing days and the new radio dept. stuff) and some glowing cinnamon soy candles (i'm in love with them) and the day is perfect.

aw shucks

i called this afternoon to inquire after provolone and it seems that he's already been adopted.  drat!  but also great for him, because the less shelter pups in need of homes out there, the better.  of course, because i'm a bit superstitious and always on the lookout for signs (especially in an endeavor such as picking up and moving my life arbitrarily across country), i was a tad worried that this was a bad omen, but then i realized that i love all dogs and have the general ability to fall in love with most things (people, animals, the stinky coffee shop downstairs with stale pastries) if i talk myself into the idea.  so, it's all good in the hood.  i wonder if little provolone knows there are many blog entries about him!  he's so famous.

i've heard through the grapevine (though it hasn't been confirmed because the posting was just taken down yesterday), that i will get an interview for the assistant commissioner position.  if this is the case, i will do cartwheels.  how fun!  however, without sounding all boo hoo about stuff, i've redefined my version of what "success" in this endeavor will look like.  i used to think that if i went to chicago for a week and came back without a job, i'd be a real loser.  like i'd be embarrassed to admit to all of you fine people that after all the effort, pimping, applications, networking, phone calls, etc i've got nothing.  but, as a true believer in things unfolding as they ought to, i've redefined the notion of success to be more about taking this trip as the opportunity to scout out what feels right intuitively.  to have fun with wonderful new people that i've met and will reunite with.  the laugh a lot and challenge myself via interviews and feeling the rush of uncertainty.  if i come back to boston with no concrete job offer, sure, i'll need to reevaluate some decisions moving forward, but life goes on.  many people would remain complacent where they are, never deigning to wonder about or actualize a new life somewhere else.  have the guts to do that and breathe life into such a thing, with no traditional motivators (significant other, work made me move, etc) in place, i feel already very successful that i'm actually doing what life is meant for (not the whole meaning, but some of it) - to answer curiosity with action, to never stop dreaming about the possibilities.  to have adventures, even if they don't always pan out.  i know i won't stay in boston forever or even much longer, but how that transition comes to be, i can only do so much to persuade and steer.  with a piss poor economy and other factors beyond my control, all i can do is my best.

so, folks, after weeks of obsessing, i'm going to slow it down and let things unfold a bit.  sure, it'd be a mad, wonderful rush if things came to fruition the way i've been hoping, but it'd also be great to have things settle themselves in an unexpected, but satisfying way.  so, i'm throwing my cares to the wind (probably for just a day or two) and letting life take its course.  my purpose on the chicago visit will be to ascertain how the city feels to me and if i can see myself making an enjoyable life there.  my suspicion is that i overwhelmingly can, but overall, i'm going to enjoy and savor this exploration.  and perhaps still get a shelter dog.  

when you say it's going to happen now, when exactly do you mean?

hello, little sparrows! a brief update on the ratties - last i checked, the dead one is still stuck to the trap in the bowels of the basement (yuck) and the other one is nowhere to be found. i'm sure there will be a stench emanating from the walls sometime soon. blech.

this weekend actually saw me out of the house for a change, which is nice. friday night was spent in dutiful practice of frenzied job hunting. the chicago dept. of children and youth services (which is like a hybrid of child welfare, early education and care, and youth workforce development, ie. the most perfect fit of all time for me) recently posted an assistant commissioner position. i am working my connections to try to get an interview for that puppy. cross your legs (please, ladies) and whatever else that this works out. i have some interviews here and there, but i am beginning to get a bit nervous. my hope is that stuff will ramp up and start pouring in soon.

i tried to take my mind off the job hunt on saturday, when i made a leisurely breakfast (i'm loving the morningstar farms veggie sausage), tidied up a bit, and set out to the south end to visit the open studios. the stroll was amazing. i forgot how wonderful it is to be in a neighborhood not littered with students, piles of vomit, and empty red bull and lay's chips vessels just lying around. everywhere. instead, the taint of allston/brighton was replaced by pristine brownstones, pleasantly wild gardens, friendly shelter dogs, and kind and artsy folk. i had the loveliest random conversations with people in shops and the open market proved to be a treasure trove. not only did it feature over 60 artisans' wares (painted pottery, jewelry, handmade soaps, handbags), but there were two local farms selling a gorgeous array of the season's bounty. i scored a ring and matching earrings from a gal who went to risd (we bonded because apparently, we went to the same parties in college), an organic body oil (patchouli and orange = not the least bit hippieish, believe it or not), sigh-inducing produce (kale so deep green and thick, that i wanted to cry; heirloom tomatoes; white peaches; fingerling potatoes), and a baguette and farm made pesto, which i ate all of as i browsed the kiosks. the weather was cool and breezy and i felt ever so at peace with my scarf and my spoils. it was a wonderful day.

followed up by an evening of pub crawling in south boston, which is kind of like spending the day listening to classical music and then spending all night listening to NKOTB. the pub crawl was fun and we met many irish people with bad tempers, but big hearts. observe above.

on another note, when did east cambridge become the retirement community for men that i've dated? i had a lovely brunch at eric's yesterday (he called it modest, i called it fantastic) of chicken sausage, herbed greens, cantaloupe, and hi, the best grits i've ever had. oh, and lots of cafe bustelo, which truly is the only kind of coffee worth drinking. once i rolled up to his place, i saw a little squatty scrappy jack russel that looked familiar. "it's jackpot!" yes, it was jackpot, the dog that belongs to brian's gambling addict next door neighbor. brian and eric, incidentally, like 4 houses down from one another. and that's not the only coincidence - without going into detail, if you've ever loved me, i've loved you, or we've feigned such feelings in the drunken darkness, the probability that you live in east cambridge now is like 72%. if you expand that zone to cambridge, it's almost 90%. so wowza. thanks for the memories, cambridge boys. it's like that huge nashville retirement community for aging country stars, except you have the awesome distinction of saying you hit it with me. hooray.

now i am headed to get my run on and fantasize about coming home to a slobbery friend named provolone. mike had the fantastic idea to visit ole prov when i'm in chicago in a few weeks, so if anyone wants to join up to ascertain his character (provolone's, not mike's), please feel free. i mean, if i'm not going to leave chicago with a job, at least i'll leave it with another mouth to feed.

update on the little ratties

haley coined the term of "little ratties" and now i can't get enough.  and also reminded me of a time way back when, when we worked with dan black (who we all, despite our various attachments, had a wee crush on) at the state house and because he kept his desk so rife with food crumbs and half-eaten bowls of oatmeal, mice were flocking there.  he opted to catch it with a snap trap, much to my, abbey, and haley's protest.  we even offered to buy a catch-and-release trap for him, but dan black seemed more hell bent on getting us worked up by harming the mice, than actually just catching the mice and being done with it.  when the gauntlet came down on the first mouse, our crushes instantly went away and we, as haley so aptly put it, "realized that he was a douchebag."  which is a bit of a shame, because he was a whole lot of fun.

i arrived home this evening and, of course, because i am a glutton for punishment, went and checked out the basement to see if the landlord had removed the bodies of my deceased buddies.  grossness.  the trap is still there, but wait, only one rat is on it.  weirdness.  a closer inspection shows the other rat's leg to be partially gnawed off (i have heard that glue traps make them do this, which hey, if i was in the same situation and freeing myself from my leg was the kicker between life or death, i'd probably start gnawing away, too), with no sign of the missing leg parts anywhere and  no sign of the other ratty anywhere.  this is a gruesome business, people.  so nasty it is, that i have packed a very vegetarian lunch and do not plan on buying meat for some time.  i mean, this is pretty much what goes on in slaughterhouses, we, the fortunate ones, just don't have to see it.  wherever you are, little rat, i hope you're okay.  then again, brian sent me a wonderful cheer up email (thank you!) citing how the life span of an undomesticated rat is about 1 year (probably because the glue traps, snap traps, and poison eating seriously fuck with the median life span) and they chew on people's (babies, he said specifically) faces and stuff.  so, that made me feel a little less bad and now seeing the wild cannibalism (for survival - i'm giving freed ratty the benefit of the doubt) of the basement situation now, i can see they are truly out for themselves, these rats.  moreover, i'm wondering if freed rat is limping around with his bro's leg/foot still stuck to him (this is the only reason i can imagine he'd gnaw it off)?  imagine that in real life, guys (or don't, if you're feeling particularly chipper today...).  like, i love my friends and stuff, but i don't know if i could bear walking around with abbey's severed arm stuck to my side.  actually, the latter half of that sentence sounded like something that could be a title of a morrissey song.

it's autumn and chilly and wonderful outside.  it's so lovely, i can walk around sans ipod accompaniment and simply delight in the deliciousness of the weather.  and of course, i'm still madly in love with provolone the dog.  i want to call and inquire about him, but since my move is still quite awhile away, i don't want to get the shelter's (or his, really) hopes up.  if it is meant to be, it will be.  but that picture still cracks me up.  i want that face (though not exclusively that face, just so we're clear.  i love animals, but not in that creepy tote-bag-with-a-face-of-my-dog-on-it-to-hold-my-reader's-digests way) waking me up every morning to go running.

speaking of running, i need to start doing it again.  working next to flour bakery has enabled a ritual of getting something delicious with veronica almost daily.  today was apple snacking cake, which is a heavenly combination of locally-grown apples, lots of cinnamon, dark chocolate chips, cakeyness, and powdered sugar.  oh, and most likely lots of butter, which gives it its golden richness.  the other day, it was a southern peach corn cake (cake cake cake).  all are delicious and hard to resist.  but without running, this ritual is making me feel a bit rolypoly, so i plan on getting it crack-a-lackin' again this weekend.  veronica and i are in talks to go apple picking, which i've never done before, but am ridiculously excited about.  this means that i will likely be making lots and lots of homemade apple pies and cobbles.  i am also thinking of taking a stab at making and canning my own apple butter and giving jars as little stocking stuffers for the holidays.  canning is serious business, though, and i feel like i will need assistance.  perhaps i will enlist some of my epicure pals for a canning party come october/november.  go about canning the wrong way and all your jars can be contaminated with weird, sickness-inducing buggies (bacteria), and that is really no way to make/keep friends - over the holidays especially.

i am excited for the weekend.  this week has been utterly grueling at work, what with the submission of spending plans looming and my pseudo-supervisor (not the cool one i've mentioned before, but rather the aforementioned "going postal" one) having full-scale weeping sessions at the drop of a hat.  it's not the weeping that weirds me out (i usually console her), it's the odd, desolate, psychopathic demeanor she has afterwards (she often speaks in riddles, keeps to herself, and sighs A LOT).  Basically, she's super mentally and emotionally unstable and it shows.  pair that with managing ~$1B dollars at the granular level and you've got a catastrophe on your hands.  so, when she doesn't do her work, i cannot do mine, and this week has been an example of me doing both of our work, because she's consistently losing her shit over something small and throws in the towel.  i'm not trying to bash her - i actually feel kinda sad that this is SOP for her.  but, hey, it's a job.  compose yourself from 9-5 and feel free to act bat shit crazy the rest of the day/night.  so, i'll be glad to sleep in and actually experience the sun.  it also looks like there are some cool pub crawls going on in my friend sphere, so i might also get reacquainted with the world of booze and having fun.  wild concepts, but i think i can handle it.

and they call it puppy lo-o-o-ove

feast your eyes on this little sweetie. not only does it crack me up that these shelter dogs are posing in a professional portraiture session, but this one in particular named 'provolone' is a real heart stealer. if he's around come christmas when i'm settling into chicago, consider him named banjo.

(overflowing with love for this crazy doggie)

ashie

(i love how human he looks in this pic, like he's going to use it for his book cover or curriculum vitae at mit - he's a genius!)

i'm a horrible person; this is all my fault.

ladies and gentlemen, it's 11:30pm here in boston and after watching a very touching hallmark hall of fame movie and eating delicious homemade cupboard meal, after taking a nice hot bath and reading in bed for a bit, i finally gave in to wondering what the constant whistling sound i'd been hearing all night was (i thought it was the wind - or my worthless neighbors smoking up with a squeaky special-type hookah).  a peek out my door showed the sound to be coming from the bowels of the basement and getting louder and louder, much more shriek-like than a whistle.  i put on my shoes (close-toed, thank you) and tip toed into the basement, which since i called the landlord re: the rat sighting, is now disgustingly lined with horribly inhumane glue traps.  my heart racing, i am getting nervous as i get nearer to the sound, the noises getting louder as i approach.  i'm totally scared.  from the sounds of it, i thought i was going to (happily) come upon a nest of baby sparrows in the rafters of the building (just chirpin' away, how ya doing?) or perhaps (god forbid) a squirrel or cat stuck to the traps.  nope.  i get closer, i see movement, i'm starting to feel sad - the noises obviously indicate panic and struggle.  i turn the corner and see not one, but two rats, huddle close together, both stuck to (and trying to struggle free from) the same barbaric glue trap.  i didn't even know that rats could make these hysterical hiss/chirp/tweet noises.  and seeing them there on the trap, likely terrified, breathing so fast, i can see their respiration from a yard away.  i am frozen by a tremendous wallop of guilt.  like guilt and sadness has got me all wrapped up like a party frock.  and now these poor little guys are so loud in their suffering that i can hear them through my walls.

oh god.  oh god.  oh god.  i love animals.  truly.  and while i agree that rats are vicious and understand that they're vermin, i feel so bad for these two that i am a teary mess, feeling inhumane and very helpless as to what i can do to ease their pain.  seeing anything suffer is awful.  and at almost midnight, what am i to do?  i thought of trying to oil them free from the traps, but i am too scared to do that, for fear they'd kill me, and think that any attempts would likely be ineffective or cause them greater harm/pain.  i feel like a farmer whose horse has just been made lame, grasping at any ideas that might end the animal's suffering.  i truly feel horrible.  little rats probably just snuck in when the doors were left wide open by stupid dumbass tenant and thought it would be a cool adventure loaded with pizza crumbs (my neighbors) and fun systems of pipes to race through.  they're obviously the same two that i saw a few days back, thus i think that they're obviously buddies.  this humanization is killing me.  truly.  i may as well imagine them in little ball caps and sneakers, running after an ice cream truck or making gourmet meals in paris.  ladies and gentlemen, while i did not lay the traps myself or even request them (i did specifically say to the landlord that i thought they were horrific), i am responsible for the protracted agony and (i'm assuming) death of two small, innocent animals.  rip ratatouille and rizzo.

i'm stressed at work, so i am procrastinating by posting stuff that makes me grin

money well spent - my new reading, this shit is crazy shirt.

posted by a friend of a friend from found magazine. found on a bulletin board of a homeless shelter. amazing.

if only my darling new phone was capable of this

my dad's would be "reminding you of every possible way you could fail related to this move"

i must confess, my destiny's manifest

i'm wearing my new old navy shoes and though they are darling, they hold the petulant curse of cheap shoes - they hurt and rub and ouch. they added a dash of polish to my morning commute and the fates smiled on me, because seated directly across from me was a dashing character who looked a lot like the lead singer from better than ezra. hauntingly so. now, given this is boston and no one talks to one another, but rather drowns out the world with their ipods, i didn't speak with this gentleman. instead, i quietly fantasized about him crooning 'porcelain' to me. le sigh. i did showcase my shoes as much as possible, though. perhaps he too has an affinity for t-straps with "shit on the toe." and the ksg consulting fair is open to only harvard grad students. and it's from 10:30 - 3pm. and look at me, i'm here blogging. i determined that sneaking in looks a bit desperate. i might phone a friend in a bit to see if my instincts are correct. plus, i'll have to produce some form of harvard id, which i do not have. and then shit could get crazy. oop, just checked in with haley - she thinks it's a nutty thing to do, so i will not go. plus i'm looking a little too breasty today to be taken seriously in a sea of grey suited boring people with sensible haircuts, shoes, and a passion for writing consulting plans. perhaps i should just print my resumes on hot pink paper, scent them, and complete the elle woods scenario. you'd think that clawing my way up from a being nose-pierced, ani difranco loving deejay at the emerson radio station to the ivy leagues would make job hunting, like, easier.

instead, i'd like to blog about my recent playlist, because that's good times. i had a productive, sniffly day yesterday and have my playlist to thank for motivating me to get my ass out of bed at 7am, walk in the rain across the dot bridge, run various errands, and bang out a fucking sensational efficiencies proposal that, yes, kids, yields $10M in real, we can do it savings. anyone who doesn't want to hire me in chicago needs to get their heads checked (obviously a day of good hard work is making me a bit big headed) because when i put pedal to the metal, watch out! what? yeah, radness. cough cough cough. oh, and i'm thinking of getting my hair dyed red before chitown. thoughts? hooray for autumn. and here's the playlist:

maple leaves - jens lekman

ready or not - fugees (i forgot how fucking awesome this song is)

in the blood - better than ezra (in homage to my fellow t-rider)

wine up - kat deluna (this song gets me moving, pretty much no matter where i am)

it's not over - antennas

lloyd, i'm ready to be heartbroken - camera obscura

alison - douglas heart

suedehead - morrissey (a year-round favorite)

anything by the gin blossoms and toad the wet sprocket because i am going through a mid-90's phase

love will tear us apart - joy division

thieves like us - new order

please, please, please let me get what i want - the smiths

true - spandau ballet (hi, did anyone see the episode of 'ugly betty' where she chaperones a middle school dance and another cute dude chaperone requests this song for her and they slow dance? swoon.)

THE LUST REPORT - for fall, i've been scoping some unconventional additions to my wardrobe. scoping is the extent of it really - too bad this move is making me broke. enjoy:

this is my soon-to-be-arriving phone that has indentured me to at&t wireless for another 2 years. it's soooooo cuuute, though. how is wish the radio dept. would tour so i could get this rad shirt. gold tom's - fun with jeans? yes/no? tres expensive merino scarf with owls. xoxox.

"if i had the energy, i'd tell you to go fuck yourself"

yes, folks, this is a direct quote.  and yes, it's 1:something am on a saturday night and i'm hopped up on coffee and blogging.  oh, the folly!  some of you have already heard the sordid tale from which this quote emerged.  i'll set the scene: dreary friday evening, 6pm ish.  ashlee, vessel of phlegm, has just braved a grueling day of work loaded with memos, pivot tables, and an unstable coworker having a brush with going postal on our supervisor.  she is tired.  but she has a large bag of designer clothes to consign in the name of funding her impending move.  she hauls ass in the rain to second time around, an established consigner of fine goods, this particular storefront being in the ever-snooty beacon hill.  

i pass through the doors and see all of the wonderful racks of clothes.  knowing full well that they rob you blind in this place, i still was eager to unload my wares and eventually get a check in the mail for a few hundred buckaroos.  i see the teenage fashion victim salesperson, clad head to toe in what looked to be marc jacobs and costume national (covet.).  she looks snarky, but then again, this is beacon hill and i look like a drenched carpet bagger.  now, as some of us know, i lost quite a bit of weight about a year ago (thank you, stay-at-home-moms and aged jewish women of weight watchers).  so, naturally many of my clothes no longer fit.  it wasn't like i was huge before; i'm just smaller now.  anyways, back to the show.  so, the salesteenager is a mean whore to me from the beginning, taking my bag from me and sorting through my wares.  when i tried to explain about a pair of shoes, she said, "you can look around while i look through these" to brush me off.  she was a real sweetheart.  she goes about her bizness, putting her icky petty bourgoise hands all over my stuff, contorting her face at certain items as if i have no fashion sense.  i wanted to drop kick her, but had my eye on the prize of consigning as many items as possible and boarding the train for the long commute home, the glow of future money making in my cheeks.  she gets to a david meister gown that i wore to a charity function a year or so ago.  it's midnight blue, old hollywood style, and fucking gorgeous.  not to mention it was expensive and purchased at neiman marcus.  oh, and it's a size 12.  she holds it up and says, "we don't accept plus sizes here."  i nearly pissed myself.  "that's not a plus size; it's a 12."  now, even though i no longer wear a size 12, i am taking offense and feeling bad for any other patrons in the store who are overhearing this willowy bitch being, well, a bitch.  she glares at me and says, "let me put it this way - we don't have many people who come in here looking for size 12," as if there are no normally-sized persons in beacon hill (yeah fucking right).  i realize this is a losing battle and the dayquil is making me loopy and uncensored (which actually felt kind of cool, like being an out-of-control hobo for halloween).  i gather up all of my goods, shove them back into my bag, whilst she's saying "what are you doing?"  i head for the door, but just before i reach the door, i turn to her, ever so dramatically and say, "you know, i have the flu.  but if i had the energy, i'd tell you to go fuck yourself."  i realize, of course, that i essentially did.  but that's what makes what i said so cool and whogivesashit.  what i really meant to say was, "if i had the energy, i'd snap you over my knee," but i only thought of that as i was boarding the train.  how do people get away with being so rat nasty to customers - or to people in general?  thank god i'm moving to chicago.  while it might not be perfect, i have a sneaking suspicion that the midwest is not as chock full o' these ridiculous, entitled little vineyard vines, baby pink red sox hat wearing groupies who went to wellesley academy and think that the cape is the only beach in the world.

i'm hopped up on caffeine.  damn you, job hunt stress!  i tell ya, i had a weekend of nervousness, but this evening somewhat redeemed me.  tomorrow, i plan to stroll into work, bang out a wicked presentation (not before analyzing a spreadsheet of 400+ pages.  nice.), send out 5 applications to big consulting firms, and run 3 miles, all before 5pm.  that could be the super strong coffee that i had at 10pm talking, but i know that i won't feel good about my october trip if i haven't given it my all.  speaking of my all, i could be a borderline stalker.  this organization that i am madly in love with, that is tres exclusive (i've talked to a few folks there and they seem interested in meeting, but oddly aloof), i found out is going to be at the kennedy school of government consulting fair on monday.  i saw this on the org's website and thought, "a ha! fate!" - but subsequent research shows the career fair to be listed on the ksg website, but the details to be not disclosed (ie. it's only for ksg students).  hmph.  so, i'm thinking about finding out where it is, showing up (sneaking in, if i have to), and introducing myself to the president and founder of the org (who i've had an email exchange with).  would this be creepy?  i can't tell. because right now this sounds like an awesome idea, a real way to show interest and moxie.  your feedback is appreciated.  heck, i've crashed ksg events before.  my mind goes to the ksg event at the state house that dan black took me and kristen behnke to.  everyone was wearing suits and i was wearing jeans.  by the end of the night, i was hammered and some chick from cape verde recruited me to be a model for her clothing line (turned out her clothing line was comprised of tube tops and mini skirts which were modeled in bars.  it was a no-go).  it was a fun time listening to all those harvard folks pontificate about how they were going to revolutionize politics and save the world.  some of the conversations i had with folks were hysterical and bordered on the dialogue from the show 'frasier' where someone asks frasier where he went to school.  he snobbily says, "harvard" and the person talking with him says affectionately, "oh, i always wanted to go there."  frasier proceeds to yak about how exclusive harvard is and then asks his companion where he attended school.  his snobbery is silenced when the guy answers, "oxford."  i'm certainly no academic genius, but it's funny to see people catch themselves when they're being ivy league elitists.

on another note, i went to the mall today with veronica and her two babes, aged 3 and 8 months.  hi, they're amazing and lovely and beautiful - and AWESOME birth control, as if i needed it.  maileah, the 3 year old, is a dear heart/bipolar wild child as all toddlers are, but we had a nice day where i let her be my clothing advisor at old navy (she opened the dressing room door thrice while i was changing) and watched as she picked cranberries out of my salad, licked them, and threw them back on my plate (all the while, i'm like (channeling my inner social worker/day care center drone from back in the day), "ma'am, can you behave like a lady, please?" to which she'd respond with a nonchalant, "nope.").  she also has an obsession with juice.  veronica is smart in that she waters down juice to the point where it's no longer recognizable as juice, but the kid is a hummingbird.  some of the choicest phrases of the day from her were, "hey, what's that?" (said about and to everything); "max and ruby, ruby and max.  you've never watched ruby and max?  hey, you need to get with the program;" and "mama, i want juice.  i want zapatos!  i want piggies!!!" (said over and over again in the car).  it was amazing to see veronica do her thing - truly, i'm in awe.  she's an amazingly patient, nurturing, unphased mother.  we were both tired by the end of the excursion and took naps at our respective homes and i got those wicked shoes with the shit on the toe (as seen below).

i am now going to read the ikea catalogue in the hopes that it will lull me to sleep.  goodnight, fair readers and friends.  oh, and many thanks to those who called, emailed, sang, and sent well-wishes for a speedy recovery.  big smooches to you all.

sniffle

dear faithful bloggies: i have the flu.  it goes without saying that this is no fun.  perhaps it came about from being caught in a downpour twice and wearing my soggy suits to meetings the rest of the days.  i'm not sure.  either way, i'm sick.  like, it takes 3 minutes to walk to the kitchen to get a glass of juice sick.  on a positive note, thanks to (i think) five scalding hot baths with rosemary oil that i took last night to get rid of the insane body aches, i do feel a bit better this morning.  so far, i have successfully kept down a glass of grapefruit juice and a clif bar.  how did this happen?  wah wah wah!?  what sucks more is that, in the absence of my buddies (who have moved to colorado and indy, respectively) i now have no one who will drive a mile or so to bring me juice or sit with me in my hour of need.  so, after spending most of 4pm - 6pm time slot yesterday (i ralphed during the Tyra Banks Show, which I think is normal) dry heaving, i collected myself and moseyed over the whole foods where i slowly got some provisions.  hey, at least i no longer live in the 4th floor walk up surrounded by teenagers.  oop!  one of my ears is entirely plugged up, so the sound of my typing is strange.  i sound like i'm on heavy meds, but i'm not.

in fact, as with any malady, i devised my own holistic treatment plan.  it involves an intense amount of gaia herbs echinacea and other homeopathic liquigels; drinking (as heather, my dancer friend, once suggested) a quart of oj - with the juice of an entire lemon squeezed in it - in under an hour; teas of various kinds; and lots of scalding baths with rosemary oil.  later on, when my stomach has proven to me that it can go the distance, i might make a very sexy concoction of garlic, onion, lemon juice, hot pepper, and chicken broth - a nonna specialty that can do everything from put hair on your chest to cure a common cold.  what it will not do is get anyone lining up to make out with you.  to cap off this whine, i'll just say that, duh, i hate being sick.  but this is ever so inconvenient because i have loads of stuff to do for work and even more to do for chicagojobhunttime.  i'm starting to get nervous and feel as if i have an hourglass strapped to my back.  my mom sent me cell phone pics of a three-legged cat she's befriended in her neighborhood.  that lifted my spirits significantly.  

also, a piece of advice, when you've been in your apt. for almost 24 hours straight (i understand that for some this is normal) and you're not used to it (like me), are wearing the same stained stanford sweatshirt and slipper socks all day, and cannot breathe through both of your nostrils, DO NOT WATCH a danish drama that netflix just so happened to choose from your queue.  'after the wedding' was a good movie, but the grey sky and stoicism of the danes were not uplifting for my situation.  instead, i recommend 'milo and otis' or something equally feel-good.

so dear friends - call me, email me, sing 'uptown girl' to me or something.  tell me how this whole moving to chicago thing is an awesome idea despite the piss poor economy and hiring climate.  tell me how my trip there to interview will be so awesomely destined that i'll scarcely believe how great it turns out, because it will feel like a drew barrymore/jennifer garner/chick-flick movie where i have a fabulous wardrobe, along with an amazing, 'how'd i land that?' job.  sniffle.  i'm going to see what's on tv - i am astonished to find that among all the trash tv, the style network literally plays 'whose wedding is it anyway?' non-stop from 9 - 6pm.  gag.

cagefight: ashlee vs. sarah (palin)

CRUELLA DEALASKA VS. PEOPLE WHO DON'T MAKE COUCHES OUT OF BEARS AKA:

PALIN vs. PIPER

so, i had the good fortune of, in my quest to make the agenda for the federal improper authorizations project i head up more interesting, stumbling upon this picture of sarah palin. not only do her teased bangs indicate to me that she is too out-of-touch with trends to be a leader of any sort (she reminds me of the women who whole-heartedly work the lancome counter in pittsburgh - brown lip liner, too much perfume, an air of knowing everything there is to know about the glamour industry whilst lacking any knowledge of glamour), but she's a fucking balls out hunter. they say a picture is worth a thousand words and if you peruse my and my friend's facebook pages (sorry hays, brian, and others implicated), you can see why we would make better vps, simply because we don't surround ourselves with taxidermied shit. i am waiting for her to debate joe biden while swathed in a coat made of dalmatian. oh, and she'll be pimping out her poor baby the whole time. the biggest sadness is that it's working. my dad called me the other night to say, "you should like sarah palin - she wears glasses and she's for kids with downs syndrome and all that stuff you care about." like anyone is against supporting kids with disabilities. don't do it, america. don't scare me so. the only animals i have zero love for are the rats kicking around my basement. and even then, if they spoke to me or exhibited non-threatening behaviors, i would keep their secret and make them my friends. so long as i can envision them sporting bonnets and aprons, i'm golden.

upon checking my photos at home, boy howdy do i have pics of peeps getting cozy with animals.  none of which include embracing a king crab, but whatever.  and, much to my shock, i have almost none of haley or abbey with animals (unless you count skeevy state government or gypsy bar clientele), which is odd because they love animals more than people, as i do.  we will have to remedy this and go on a reunion tour of the zoo where we will embrace and coo at every creature imaginable.  

i dug deeper into the genesis of this picture.  it's her office - like the governor's office.  now, some of us recall romney's office and patrick's inner sanctum, which featured the much publicized new curtains and furnishings procured with tax payer's cash, but i never remember any animals.  or slide red platform sandals.  god, i look at her and the word that comes to mind is "yeasty."  there's a special place in hell for a woman like me, i know.

flip cup champion

my friend emily, master of child welfare and vegan baking and owner of gorgeous red hair and lovely shelter dog, rosie, recently moved into an MIT dorm with her hubs who's a PhD stud-ent there. it's a sweet gig - they act like RAs and they get an amazing suite to live in. to christen the place, they had a flip cup party, complete with vegan pizza, high-low beer, and a resonant speech on responsible drinking (no condoms on bananas, though - they're not those kind of RAs...). good times. unfortunately, despite my raging fake tan and the giddyness of vacation overcoming me (and shortness on clothes because they were all packed so my shorn peter, bjorn, and john will have to do), it was not my night at flip cup and i basically had flipping anxiety. the pics were just released, so feast your ojos on these bad boys. woo hoo. sarah is the gal in the spray painted hat - a soulmate of sorts. we're always trying to unload clothes on each other. in an email today, she said (and i quote) "do you have any need for leather pants? i have a black pair i want to get rid of." now, that, my friends, is a friend.