Goodbye to the Aughts

Before Christmas I started to draft a decade retrospective blog entry. A listing of the things I said goodbye to in the last decade. Things like an answering machine, a landline, DC, New York, and people lost. I had envisioned it being part nostalgic, part sentimental, part, sad, part funny.



But seriously, just the number of funerals that I went to in the past decade, was depressing. (btw, that number is 7). I just couldn't lighten it up enough.

Rather than a quippy retrospective, this is what I have:

In sum, the past decade, I switched careers, moved to NYC, entered my thirties, switched careers again, moved to Chicago, did some traveling (Spain, Morocco, Italy, London, Dublin), had some boyfriends, made some friends, lost some people, had some stories published, grew to appreciate my family (and the few really amazing friends that I have known for decades) and their love.

It is time to say GoodBye to this decade.

I'm ready for the tweens.

update: I forgot to add, started a blog.

Transference

Most mornings, when I’m too lazy to brew it myself, I stop at Starbucks. It’s not that I’m a fan of Starbucks (I think ya’ll know my favorite latte, where the foam is sublime), it’s really about proximity and convenience. It’s on my walk to the el.

Everyone at that particular Starbucks is great. They are friendly and cheerful (not too cheerful), they remember me and my order. They are efficient. They get the job done. And manage to not annoy me before I’ve ingested caffeine.

Except one barista. Who is nice. Who seems a bit timid. Who smiles. Who speaks in a soft voice. Who irritates me. Inexplicably, grates on my nerves. I feel impatience rising in me when I realize he’s the one at the counter.

This barista has never done anything wrong. Never messed up an order, never taken too long. He’s perfectly fine. I just, chemically, have a reaction to him that fills me with annoyance.

Then one morning I realized what it was. He reminds me of someone I once dated. Someone who, initially I thought was as a nice guy, and this was my attraction to him. I then started to realize, it wasn’t so much that he was nice, it was that he was passive. And nice, well, it is the path of least resistance. It is the easier, lazier, safer choice. His passivity quickly became repulsive to me. Which in term made me a bit nasty to him. Which made him a bit whiny towards me. Which repulsed me more. Do you see the horrible cycle?

He wasn’t a bad guy. But with him, I was a bitch. And generally I’m often too nice for my own good.

So this poor barista, with the soft voice and the doughy face, well, I’m trying to not be unreasonably annoyed with him. I mean, he’s not to blame for my dating past. But really, it’s too much to process before I’ve had my coffee.

Old school, like it’s 2004

Yesterday I experienced something horrifying. A day without my cellphone. It's such a naked, impotent feeling. The empty space in my purse, puffed out with loneliness, it's shape molded still from the missing phone.

No music player to play Andrew Bird or Calvin Marty and the Sunken Ship. No internet. No email. No facebook. No texts. No twitter.

I waited at the corner and actually watched the cars, saw the light change, did not cross the street with my head down, my thumbs active.

I stood on the el platform and looked around. People. People everywhere. Many without a phone. Without an iPod. I marveled at their electronicless wait. I thought, what do I do to entertain myself?

Then I remembered. I have a book to read. Wow.

It was like it was 2004. And I was back in NYC. Back when I didn't own an iPod, didn't have a phone with internet. Where riding the subway means, no internet or cell connection (Except inexplicitly when sitting on the 6 train in the station at Bleecker, I would randomly get cell reception)

Right. Books. I read books. I couldn't spend my train ride texting people, reading emails, twittering. Books. I happened to have a book in my purse.

Paper and words. Pretty radical, huh?

Then I remembered the horrifying and embarrassing experience of reading something emotional. That's always cool. Sitting on the brown line trying not to tear up too much reading Elizabeth Strout.

Of course, this morning, I remembered the phone. I listened to Colin Hay on my walk to the el. And read tweets and emails on the train. My book never left my purse.

Maybe on my ride home I'll kick it old school, like it's 2004 and read. Paper and words that is.

What do an Eagle, Mr. T, Pirates and Ivy have to do with each other?

Last night, I had quite the inaugural Bleacher experience.

It started with me cranky and tired (as I am most days). Sunday, I spent too many hours drinking beers and cheering for the losing Blackhawks. Sunday was a perfect Memorial Day weekend. Crisp, sunny, full of sloshed jackasses (me included). But Monday, Monday I was exhausted a bit hungover and outside it was soggy and grey. Not a day (or night) that you want to sit outside and watch a baseball game. The kind of day when you want to sleep in and watch Tivo’d Hills episodes.

I was hoping the game would get rained out and that my girlfriends and I would grab a great dinner and drink a bottle of wine instead. Somewhere inside, where’s it’s warm.

But we dragged our cranky selves, complaining about the weather and commenting on our attempts to layer up and (for me) the decision to forsake fashion for warmth.

Living near Wrigley is both wonderful and horrific. When you want to go about your day and do simple things like walk up the street to a friends house or go shopping, it’s horrific to have thousands of drunk assholes from the ‘burbs crowding the sidewalks and the streets, vomiting on your doorstep, screaming to each other (or crying) on the corner. But, when you are in the mood for the game, being a part of it, it’s pretty great to walk only four blocks to the world’s largest bar, Wrigley Field. And let me be honest, I have been that drunk asshole crowding the sidewalk, yelling at my friends (maybe even crying on the corner). But I digress.

Wrigley, well, it sucks you in. We walked in the gates and Darcy said, “I wasn’t going to drink, but now that I’m here…” Yep, that’s Wrigley for you.

Here’s what was great about it:

· It was Memorial Day. I get a bit teary and emotional during the national anthem. Well it doubles on Memorial Day, especially when you throw a bald eagle into the mix. There was an Eagle named Challenger. During the last verse of the National Anthem he started a few rows behind us in the bleachers, circled the pitcher’s mound a few times and landed on the arm of his handler. I’m an emotional dork. I got teary eyed. It was pretty awesome.

· After Challenger’s performance, seagulls circled the park and Darcy said, “I know they are going to shit on me.”

· Mr. T threw out the first pitch. Mr. T. Seriously, Mr. T.

· The drama. Oh the drama in the bleachers. Overheard conversations: one woman telling another man that he and his wife should become swingers, another woman telling her friends that she connected with a former student on facebook and they are now dating.

· There was a couple making out. I mean full on sloppy drunk making out. Then they left, and ANOTHER couple sat in the same spot, and proceeded to make out. Oh and they also were kind enough to stand up at one point while they were making out, so that everyone could see better.

· British and Scottish Soccer (or in their words, football) players dressed in kilts with their faces painted. They were all ruckus and drunkenness, hitting on all the girls around us.

· Kelly kept mimicking and repeating the British phrases. She’s going to speak “British” this summer. I told her I think that’s “brilliant.”

· Mr. T sang the 7th inning stretch, finishing with “I pity the pirates.”

· The cubs lost, but that last inning they ALMOST had it. It was exciting. Except, well, they still lost.

· On the walk home, a driver in a car at the intersection of Sheffield/Clark/Cornelia was singing Opera, top of his lungs, full on Susan Boyle enthusiasm to himself.

Did I mention that I ate a hot dog and drank some beers? I maybe a vodka girl, but sometimes a beer is what’s needed.

Thankful for Chicago

Things in Chicago for which I am thankful
(and while I love them, I’m staying away from the obvious things like the Lake and the Cubs)

The CTA

It’s like dating a bad boy or having that friend. Unpredictable, frequently late, crowded, frustrating. But it serves a purpose. And it’s worth it for those moments. Like on the brown line when you cross the Chicago river or on the 145 or 146 on Lake Shore Drive and you get that view of the Lake Front. For those moments of “Wow” I’m grateful.




Two sided.

If you get a card from me, 99% of the time I purchased it at Two Sided. They have the best selection of cards and wacky unique gifts. Plus it usually smells nice because of all the different candles in there. And they have dog biscuits outside the store. That’s just cuteness all around.


Large Intelligentsia skim lattes with three packets of Splenda.

The foam is crack. My crack. When I take that first sip I have to resist moaning out loud. Public displays of java orgasms are just not cool.


Matilda’s and it’s bartenders.

My local. My home away from home to drink. I like it best during the week when it’s quieter, a little older. Less drunk horny twenty-somethings and more grown ups getting tipsy on a Monday night. I crave the fish tacos and I think the best deal ever is Fish Taco Tuesdays. They have my favorite juke box in the city. But really my favorite thing about Matilda’s is that they always make me feel at home and totally welcome. Like I’m their favorite regular. I have no delusions about this. I have bartended and waited tables but still I eat it up. And my favorite bartender is Calvin. He’s adorable, funny and always engaging to talk to. He’s flirty in the right way. (but sorry girls, he does have a girlfriend) Still, I like some innocent flirting with my vodka. And he’s an amazing musician. sigh.

Sweet Mandy B’s cupcakes.

I miss Magnolia Bakery. I do. And I wanted to love Cupcakes (since it is on my corner) but really, really, my absolutely favorite cupcakes in Chicago are Sweet Mandy B’s. The icing is sugary and the sprinkles pastel. I don’t know what it is with me and cupcakes, but I love LOVE love them. And Sweet Mandy B’s are my favorite. Just. Simply. YUM.