Do you ever have those things in life about which you refuse to think, mainly because they make your head hurt? Of course you do. We all do.
Mine include:
1. The internet. I just don't get how it works. I use it obsessively and I love it, but I don't get it. (And please don't explain it to me. Sometimes when I say I don't understand something, I don't really want to understand it. I don't really want to know how it works. Thanks.)
2. Death.
The second one is definitely a deeper unknown and one that has been causing P.I.C. some concern lately. I am not sure if it is the fact he has a birthday looming, or just that he is really that introspective, but it is just one of those things about which I am perfectly content not knowing.
Well. In light of his concerns, P.I.C. began to do some research. About death. On the internet. My head just imploded typing that William Shatner-esque train of thought.) We had a conversation about this research shortly after the fact.
P.I.C.: "You know how I've been concerned about what happens when you die lately?"
F.A.: "Yes."
P.I.C. "Well, I have been doing some research and learned something quite fascinating."
F.A. "Oh really? What's that?"
P.I.C. "There are two creatures that do not die. Ever."
F.A. "And those are...?"
P.I.C. "A jelly fish and a hydra. Both sea creatures."
F.A. "What is the source of this information? Wikipedia?"
Silence.
P.I.C. "Yeah. I found this out on wikipedia."
So. I have solved the death conundrum. Ladies and gentleman, P.I.C. and I will not be moving into an apartment together. Rather, we have decided to don SCUBA gear and relocate to the ocean. We will then live forever.
Stay tuned for our new forwarding address.
(Now you see why I do not ponder these things. It creates some seriously hairbrained schemes.)
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
My super secret, not really useful gift.
"What kind of dog is that?"
"Australian shepherd, I think."
The above question and answer session is a typical one between myself and P.I.C. on a walk through our neighborhood. Apparently, I have a gift for just knowing dog breeds. P.I.C. likens it to "the way dudes know cars." My family had dogs when we were younger, Great Danes to be exact. As I grew older, the parents decided that dogs plus kids were just too much to handle. Therefore I really had no dogs as pets for most of my life. However, I have always loved dogs. Perhaps it's my love of them that makes me more interested in identifying their breeds. I certainly hope that this is not my only super all-star gift in this world. (What, like you don't have a deep-seated desire to one day realize that you really are a fantastically gifted singer or that you are really telepathic a la Sookie Stackhouse? Get real.)
Whereas I might be able to identify dog breeds at nearly the drop of a hat, my brother has an even better gift. He's more of a "dog whisperer." There are such things, I tell you. Bro is capable of training dogs in ridiculously short amounts of time. Furthermore, the tricks he trains his dogs to do are hysterical. Who doesn't want to mime a gun and say bang and watch their dog fling himself to the ground in the hope of a treat? (Answer: Not anyone that I want to know. It's HILARIOUS.)
The other day, as P.I.C. and I were on our way home from work, we see a peculiar-looking dog. P.I.C. asks the usual question, "What kind of dog is that?" I estimated it to be either a labradoodle or a golden doodle. I then began to explain that people don't realize that standard poodles were a type of hunting dogs and not just the miniature versions toted around by socialites.
P.I.C. then reminds me: "Oh. I know. Remember the poodle party in Central Park?"
Who can forget the poodle party?
Honestly, I don't really think I had a real purpose in writing this other than bragging about my special skills in knowing certain dog breeds. Oh, and bringing up the poodle party. I will always look for an excuse to bring up the poodle party. If only I had photographic evidence....oh wait. I do.
Well. You can only really see two of them. Trust me. There were more. I was trying to be discreet when I took the photograph.
"Australian shepherd, I think."
The above question and answer session is a typical one between myself and P.I.C. on a walk through our neighborhood. Apparently, I have a gift for just knowing dog breeds. P.I.C. likens it to "the way dudes know cars." My family had dogs when we were younger, Great Danes to be exact. As I grew older, the parents decided that dogs plus kids were just too much to handle. Therefore I really had no dogs as pets for most of my life. However, I have always loved dogs. Perhaps it's my love of them that makes me more interested in identifying their breeds. I certainly hope that this is not my only super all-star gift in this world. (What, like you don't have a deep-seated desire to one day realize that you really are a fantastically gifted singer or that you are really telepathic a la Sookie Stackhouse? Get real.)
Whereas I might be able to identify dog breeds at nearly the drop of a hat, my brother has an even better gift. He's more of a "dog whisperer." There are such things, I tell you. Bro is capable of training dogs in ridiculously short amounts of time. Furthermore, the tricks he trains his dogs to do are hysterical. Who doesn't want to mime a gun and say bang and watch their dog fling himself to the ground in the hope of a treat? (Answer: Not anyone that I want to know. It's HILARIOUS.)
The other day, as P.I.C. and I were on our way home from work, we see a peculiar-looking dog. P.I.C. asks the usual question, "What kind of dog is that?" I estimated it to be either a labradoodle or a golden doodle. I then began to explain that people don't realize that standard poodles were a type of hunting dogs and not just the miniature versions toted around by socialites.
P.I.C. then reminds me: "Oh. I know. Remember the poodle party in Central Park?"
Who can forget the poodle party?
Honestly, I don't really think I had a real purpose in writing this other than bragging about my special skills in knowing certain dog breeds. Oh, and bringing up the poodle party. I will always look for an excuse to bring up the poodle party. If only I had photographic evidence....oh wait. I do.
Well. You can only really see two of them. Trust me. There were more. I was trying to be discreet when I took the photograph.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The Ukrainian Stare-down
I have to be to my office by about 9:00 a.m. on days where I do not have to travel out of county. Therefore, my schedule is rather regular on those days when I walk the two blocks to my bus stop and take the bus to the train. I see quite a few of the same people.
Sometimes I see my neighbor, only my hipsteribility isn't so great so he doesn't usually see me. (You see, yuppies tend not to register on the hipster-o-meter. Doesn't bother me. When I see him in the building, he's warm and friendly, as if my yuppie shield doesn't impede interaction. We're cool.) Usually, I see the shortish brunette, probably a professional based on her attire, walking south on my street (the opposite direction of me). I remember her because she complimented my scarf one day. For awhile, I would see a cute Hispanic family, a mother and two little ones, always holding hands, that would return my smiles every day.
Lately, I've been encountering an older Eastern European woman with a cute little boy. He's darling, probably five years old, with very blond hair. Because I find children rather darling, I first began to smile and give the usual "good morning nod" to her, acknowledging the cuteness of the child-in-tow. That first day, she stared at me. No smile. No head nod. No words of acknowledgement. It was eerie. I figured that perhaps she thought I was the creepy one (as if!), never having seen me before, so I shook it off.
The very next morning, same routine. Head nod to the brunette professional who likes my scarf, then a smile to the Ukrainian with the cute little boy. Another stare-down. She would meet my gaze and stare at me rather expressionless. There was no smile to her eyes, just blankness. Once again, I was completely creeped out, and this time, irritated.
My inner monologue went something like this:
Oh. Really? You just saw me yesterday. I attempted a friendly gesture at you then. You're gonna snub me two days in a row. Hell no. See if I even LOOK at you tomorrow. You just wait and see.
Sure enough, it's day three, and I encounter them again. I kept my eyes to my right, completely ignoring their existence aside from noting the fact that the little boy had his own little umbrella he was manning and it was so utterly adorable. Must. Keep. Eyes. To the right. And I did. But then I felt slightly guilty, because it's not really in my nature to snub someone. Well, unless you are Attorney 409. Then consider yourself snubbed.
Of course, the next day, the little guy has his umbrella again. So I decide, alright, I'll be the bigger person. I will smile again. Besides, I couldn't help but smile as I saw him expertly folding it down. So I smile at the older lady and she staaaaares me down. Again. I decided I would call her brand of greeting the Ukrainian Stare-down.
Annoyed. Tomorrow I'm going to add an overly chipper good morning. Stay tuned.
Sometimes I see my neighbor, only my hipsteribility isn't so great so he doesn't usually see me. (You see, yuppies tend not to register on the hipster-o-meter. Doesn't bother me. When I see him in the building, he's warm and friendly, as if my yuppie shield doesn't impede interaction. We're cool.) Usually, I see the shortish brunette, probably a professional based on her attire, walking south on my street (the opposite direction of me). I remember her because she complimented my scarf one day. For awhile, I would see a cute Hispanic family, a mother and two little ones, always holding hands, that would return my smiles every day.
Lately, I've been encountering an older Eastern European woman with a cute little boy. He's darling, probably five years old, with very blond hair. Because I find children rather darling, I first began to smile and give the usual "good morning nod" to her, acknowledging the cuteness of the child-in-tow. That first day, she stared at me. No smile. No head nod. No words of acknowledgement. It was eerie. I figured that perhaps she thought I was the creepy one (as if!), never having seen me before, so I shook it off.
The very next morning, same routine. Head nod to the brunette professional who likes my scarf, then a smile to the Ukrainian with the cute little boy. Another stare-down. She would meet my gaze and stare at me rather expressionless. There was no smile to her eyes, just blankness. Once again, I was completely creeped out, and this time, irritated.
My inner monologue went something like this:
Oh. Really? You just saw me yesterday. I attempted a friendly gesture at you then. You're gonna snub me two days in a row. Hell no. See if I even LOOK at you tomorrow. You just wait and see.
Sure enough, it's day three, and I encounter them again. I kept my eyes to my right, completely ignoring their existence aside from noting the fact that the little boy had his own little umbrella he was manning and it was so utterly adorable. Must. Keep. Eyes. To the right. And I did. But then I felt slightly guilty, because it's not really in my nature to snub someone. Well, unless you are Attorney 409. Then consider yourself snubbed.
Of course, the next day, the little guy has his umbrella again. So I decide, alright, I'll be the bigger person. I will smile again. Besides, I couldn't help but smile as I saw him expertly folding it down. So I smile at the older lady and she staaaaares me down. Again. I decided I would call her brand of greeting the Ukrainian Stare-down.
Annoyed. Tomorrow I'm going to add an overly chipper good morning. Stay tuned.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
One incident with a homeless man.
Chicago, like any other big city, has its fair share of homeless people. It's sad, but true. In the rare event that I have some spare change, I will drop that change in that particular person's cup with the hopes that he will use that money for food and not drugs or alcohol. Who really knows.
However, one encounter with a homeless gentleman stands out in my mind: the one that called me a bitch. Now, perhaps you're not entirely surprised by the name-calling, but the reasoning behind the nastiness is what makes this particular episode interesting.
One lovely day, I was walking during my lunch hour to Subway. Let it be known that I really don't like Subway. If I was going to Subway, it was likely due to the fact that there was absolutely nothing else I could fathom eating. To me, eating Subway for lunch is like giving up. No offense, Jared. I just think it's gross for the most part. Subway problems aside, I was on my lunch hour. As I rounded the corner, a homeless man was standing there asking for change. I shook my head and kept walking. He walked the eighth of a block right behind me and then said, "Hey, get me a meatball sub."
I walked through the doors of Subway, in awe that a homeless man made a specific request for a sandwich. The daunting line quickly moved my mind to what would be most painless sandwich for me to order. I placed my order, paid, then walked out the door to go back to work. The homeless man was waiting for me.
H.M.: "Where's my sandwich?"
F.A.: "What?"
H.M.: "I asked for a meatball sub. Where's my sandwich?"
F.A.: "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't get you one."
H.M.: "You're a bitch."
I had no words for this man who called me a bitch for not springing for a sub for him, so I just walked away, dumbfounded.
That day will forever be memorialized as "The Day A Homeless Guy Called Me A Bitch." Over Subway. Yuck.
However, one encounter with a homeless gentleman stands out in my mind: the one that called me a bitch. Now, perhaps you're not entirely surprised by the name-calling, but the reasoning behind the nastiness is what makes this particular episode interesting.
One lovely day, I was walking during my lunch hour to Subway. Let it be known that I really don't like Subway. If I was going to Subway, it was likely due to the fact that there was absolutely nothing else I could fathom eating. To me, eating Subway for lunch is like giving up. No offense, Jared. I just think it's gross for the most part. Subway problems aside, I was on my lunch hour. As I rounded the corner, a homeless man was standing there asking for change. I shook my head and kept walking. He walked the eighth of a block right behind me and then said, "Hey, get me a meatball sub."
I walked through the doors of Subway, in awe that a homeless man made a specific request for a sandwich. The daunting line quickly moved my mind to what would be most painless sandwich for me to order. I placed my order, paid, then walked out the door to go back to work. The homeless man was waiting for me.
H.M.: "Where's my sandwich?"
F.A.: "What?"
H.M.: "I asked for a meatball sub. Where's my sandwich?"
F.A.: "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't get you one."
H.M.: "You're a bitch."
I had no words for this man who called me a bitch for not springing for a sub for him, so I just walked away, dumbfounded.
That day will forever be memorialized as "The Day A Homeless Guy Called Me A Bitch." Over Subway. Yuck.
Monday, July 5, 2010
So, Fatty had a party...
This weekend, a lovely three days of not working, turned into a real eating fest. As I sit here and nurse my swollen over-eating belly, I am evaluating what I ate.
Saturday:
We started the day with a bottomless mimosa brunch. So, aside from the obvious, I enjoyed a lovely omelet with spinach, feta and mushrooms alongside some crispy potatoes. (I had fruit too, so that helps.) Then we were off to the ball park where I had several cold beers (the only way to stay refreshed on a hot day, aside from a dip in a pool) and lots of peanuts. Saturday night was a bit of a date night and we classed up the joint a bit with a jicama and grapefruit salad after which I nearly polished an entire bowl of mussels topped with frites. A few beers later, I decided that pizza would be a good idea. One slice for the walk home, of course.
Sunday:
Breakfast casserole at Casa de Yo (eggs, cheddar cheese, swiss cheese, cottage cheese, bacon and hash browns all cooked to a gooey hot mess) with more fruit (as if that evens out caloric consumption) then we decided to go visit the Taste of Chicago. Eat some more, of course. I had bites of pirogies (amazing), jerk chicken, an upside down caramel cupcake, mustard fried catfish and a churro. Only bites, of course. Then to the brewery for bacon fat popcorn, pulled pork sandwich and some garlic cream cheese mashed potatoes that nearly made me cry they were so good. And, since it was a brewery, we sampled the beer too.
Monday:
Breakfast was a vegetarian croissant sandwich with some more fried potatoes.
I may have a heart attack by day's end. Send help.
Saturday:
We started the day with a bottomless mimosa brunch. So, aside from the obvious, I enjoyed a lovely omelet with spinach, feta and mushrooms alongside some crispy potatoes. (I had fruit too, so that helps.) Then we were off to the ball park where I had several cold beers (the only way to stay refreshed on a hot day, aside from a dip in a pool) and lots of peanuts. Saturday night was a bit of a date night and we classed up the joint a bit with a jicama and grapefruit salad after which I nearly polished an entire bowl of mussels topped with frites. A few beers later, I decided that pizza would be a good idea. One slice for the walk home, of course.
Sunday:
Breakfast casserole at Casa de Yo (eggs, cheddar cheese, swiss cheese, cottage cheese, bacon and hash browns all cooked to a gooey hot mess) with more fruit (as if that evens out caloric consumption) then we decided to go visit the Taste of Chicago. Eat some more, of course. I had bites of pirogies (amazing), jerk chicken, an upside down caramel cupcake, mustard fried catfish and a churro. Only bites, of course. Then to the brewery for bacon fat popcorn, pulled pork sandwich and some garlic cream cheese mashed potatoes that nearly made me cry they were so good. And, since it was a brewery, we sampled the beer too.
Monday:
Breakfast was a vegetarian croissant sandwich with some more fried potatoes.
I may have a heart attack by day's end. Send help.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Tender moments.
Are you ever going about your daily business and, out of nowhere, you see something that just warms your heart?
This morning, I had a lovely drive with the windows down, blasting some Band of Horses and the like on their Pandora channel. (Best ever, trust me.) I was in Waukegan on my way to court at the Lake County Courthouse and passed an auto repair shop. In front of the auto shop, there was a basket of bright pink petunias. They were really lovely. But what was even more lovely was the older hispanic gentleman carefully watering this basket. He was wearing his auto mechanic's shirt, stained with grease from repair after repair, and not quite dirty for the day. The sight of this rougher looking guy tending to such pink and girly flowers in such a careful manner put a smile on my face.
Some days, it might be seeing a really big, tough-looking guy walking a tiny dog, cooing to him in his puppy voice. Other days it might be seeing a very business-looking young guy on the el playing peekaboo with a little girl in a stroller.
Nearly every day, I find something unexpected about which to smile. Life is good.
For all those cynics who think I only take joy in others' misery a la the CTA bus incident of last week, you're wrong. I try to take joy in nearly everything. Life is so much sweeter that way.
This morning, I had a lovely drive with the windows down, blasting some Band of Horses and the like on their Pandora channel. (Best ever, trust me.) I was in Waukegan on my way to court at the Lake County Courthouse and passed an auto repair shop. In front of the auto shop, there was a basket of bright pink petunias. They were really lovely. But what was even more lovely was the older hispanic gentleman carefully watering this basket. He was wearing his auto mechanic's shirt, stained with grease from repair after repair, and not quite dirty for the day. The sight of this rougher looking guy tending to such pink and girly flowers in such a careful manner put a smile on my face.
Some days, it might be seeing a really big, tough-looking guy walking a tiny dog, cooing to him in his puppy voice. Other days it might be seeing a very business-looking young guy on the el playing peekaboo with a little girl in a stroller.
Nearly every day, I find something unexpected about which to smile. Life is good.
For all those cynics who think I only take joy in others' misery a la the CTA bus incident of last week, you're wrong. I try to take joy in nearly everything. Life is so much sweeter that way.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
One reason I call myself awkward...or maybe just a snob.
I am sure that you have people that have come through your life, have been a part of your life, and then left it? Generally, you are not too disappointed by the departure, as this person didn't really add anything to your life, and in fact may have made it worse.
Sadly, in our city, the legal community is a compact group of professionals and no one ever really goes out of sight, out of mind. If that person you knew is still in Chicago, you are highly likely to encounter him or her at one point, whether it be in court or another type of activity.
I had a random encounter with just such a person recently.
It was the evening that P.I.C. and I went to Millennium Park for a picnic to listen to live and free music. We were unable to get seats on the lawn, so we perched our blanket on a grassy knoll right across the sidewalk. Truly it was prime seating because we were very close to the lawn, and also close to the walkway where we could watch everyone pass by our seats. For astalker person with a staring problem curious girl like me, it was ideal.
Sadly, in our city, the legal community is a compact group of professionals and no one ever really goes out of sight, out of mind. If that person you knew is still in Chicago, you are highly likely to encounter him or her at one point, whether it be in court or another type of activity.
I had a random encounter with just such a person recently.
It was the evening that P.I.C. and I went to Millennium Park for a picnic to listen to live and free music. We were unable to get seats on the lawn, so we perched our blanket on a grassy knoll right across the sidewalk. Truly it was prime seating because we were very close to the lawn, and also close to the walkway where we could watch everyone pass by our seats. For a
After an hour, I mention to P.I.C., "I find it hard to believe that we haven't seen anyone we know." At that very moment, we both saw someone we knew.
Arrogant Attorney Number 409.* (For sake of brevity, I will call him 409 from here on out.) I knew 409 from when I was in law school. He was an attorney at the law firm at which I was clerking. While he was never a jerk to me, I could sense his misplaced cockiness from back in the day. Fresh out of law school and working for a very profitable, yet small firm, he would get yelled at on the regular. On those days, he would come back into the clerks' office and complain, taking his tie off every. single. time. We suspected he was trying to impress us with his importance as an attorney. Needless to say (and yet I'm going to say it), we were not impressed. He left for another job not long after I started at the firm. After he left, the only time I saw him was after I had my first lawyer job and he'd say something relatively stupid as in, "Hello there, counselor." In typing that, I realize that this doesn't seem stupid, but trust me, his mannerisms made it so.
Only I had no idea that P.I.C. knew 409 and he had no idea that I knew him. I enjoy pretending not to see him and P.I.C. mutters under his breath, "Ugh, what a d-bag."
Turns out, P.I.C. went to law school with him. 409 was as cocky then as he was when I knew him. P.I.C. gave him an awkward half-wave, half-head nod and I proceeded to look the other way. As I mentioned, most encounters with 409 were awkward and rather stupid. Furthermore, I can be snobby, I readily admit that. There are just those days when you don't really want to be pretend nice. This was one of them.
P.I.C. and I spent the next ten minutes or so discussing 409 and comparing stories. The concert proceeded and we had a lovely time.
The very next morning, I was in court and guess who was on the other side? 409. Of course, at this moment, I was unable to pretend that I hadn't seen him at this time, so I chatted him up. No mention was made of the evening before snub. Additionally, I learned that 409 is engaged to be married. We had to schedule a briefing schedule around his Jazz Festival bachelor party.
Of course, this entire story had to be reported to my fellow clerks, us having known him as a bachelor on the prowl (and one who brought a completely inappropriate girl to our firm holiday party) and finding it hard to believe that he was getting married.
Crazy.
*I honestly don't have a reason as to why I picked the number 409. It popped into my head and I went with it. Honestly, have you met an attorney? It's not that far-fetched to imagine there being over 408 arrogant ones, right? He's one of many.
Of course, this entire story had to be reported to my fellow clerks, us having known him as a bachelor on the prowl (and one who brought a completely inappropriate girl to our firm holiday party) and finding it hard to believe that he was getting married.
Crazy.
*I honestly don't have a reason as to why I picked the number 409. It popped into my head and I went with it. Honestly, have you met an attorney? It's not that far-fetched to imagine there being over 408 arrogant ones, right? He's one of many.
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