29 February 2008

0 february: a revue

in no particular order & uttered by various citizens of the Oline in the City world


"it seems, on days like these, stock in kleenex wouldn't be a bad idea."

"frick'n people. i hate them."

"i wish i could get married every year, so you don't have to just have One dress. nevermind the huge ceremony and the reception and all that shit. just give me the chance to wear a wedding dress every year! evan can wear this one pair of wool pants that he looks totally hot in, and we can just go get married on a beach every year... good thing I'm not rich. i would be stupid with extra money."

"known for their chocolate and watches, the swiss are a kind people... and timely."

"did i mention how much i hate people?"

"there's good sweaty sex and bad sweaty sex and bad sweaty sex is when the sweat drips from your face and onto the person you're sexing."

"you don't remember that kid from high school? samuel... samuel powers?"
"no, i don't. because that was screech from saved by the bell."

"if you did that, then you feel guilty about being the evil bitch that you are, but you didn't do that so you're not an evil bitch."

"any relationship where you have to bring other people into the bedroom to make it better is probably not a good thing."

"as someone who knows about the movie industry, it was very difficult watching an entire movie about vhs tapes."

"i do not advise sex on a chair that has a broken leg- and it's especially bad if you're on a balcony."

"so it was a really lovely night except for the part when i thought my husband was missing."

"some women are juicier than others."

"did you get a tan?"
"no. i got windburn."

"she is grinding my woes into me. can you ask her to leave?"

"so i was watching the tudors and i made the shocking discovery that a show entirely about bed hopping and graphic sex is really not as interesting as one would think it would be."

"it's really hard to say in an email 'hey, motherfuckers! give me the business!'"

"theraflu is nasty. it's like it wants to be lemonade, but it still has a little evil mixed in."

"just keep doing what you're doing. unless what you're doing is having sex, in which case please stop."

"eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew."
"did you get a penis enlargement ad too?"
"um...no. my coffee was cold."

"there's a fine line between asshole and cattle auction."

"i'll pick your cotton."

27 February 2008

26 February 2008

19 delirium


i powered through the plague watching hours and hours and hours of alias. it has left me with a fearful need to dress like a eurotrash tart and kick someone's ass.

24 February 2008

5 viva chicago!


i've had the plague. it has apparently left me so snotty and insensible that i only just this morning resurfaced from my delirium to realize i have lazed through the entire week and weekend of my chiversary.

this time for celebrating my city has instead been spent swanning about the sofa, being intimate with a box of kleenex, mainlining vitamin water, downing super-extreme-extra-maximum-strength decongestants, and beseeching the vieve for pity (alas, she has none).

thus, i did only one girl in the city thing on this my second chiversary. actually, make that two.

one, i accompanied croftie to try on dresses for The Thing That Is Happening Next October (never mind that i sneezed and wheezed and snotted in the sacred presence of vera wang).

two, i woke up this morning and dragged my coughing, sneezing, snotty self from bed, and in the glow of the christmas tree i have yet to take down, the vieve nuzzling my bare legs, i stood in the kitchen sipping champagne on a sunday at 7 a.m.

sometimes the smallest celebrations are the best.

22 February 2008

20 February 2008

19 February 2008

1 foosed:

(\'pfhü*s-ed/)
function: verb, noun
inflected form(s): a foose; foosal; foosing; foosted; foosification
date: 21st century

1 a: to call someone more than 5 times in a 1 hour period; b: to do so while simultaneously emailing; c: and having them paged.

2 to include the phrase "well, when you're done with him, come do me" in 37% of all conversations.

3 to misjudge the required quantity of an item by more than 800.

4 to identify a crisis involving the production of 1,000 specially produced multi-media pieces that must be stuffed into 1,000 specially printed envelopes less than 48hours prior to the moment in which the 1,000 specially produced and stuffed multi-media and printed pieces will be required in a city to which fed ex does not priority overnight.

exhibit a:

2 why did we choose to live here?

i honestly can't recall.

18 February 2008

10 and... she's down


as a kid, i longed to be a figure skater. i think this is fairly common. because for little girls, there's nothing quite so graceful and glamorous (other than hoopskirts) as the thought of wearing next to nothing (half of which is flesh-colored tulle), lacquering on a shit ton of makeup, putting on white boots and effortlessly gliding across a sheet of ice on a 4mm blade.

that's not to say that i ever went effortlessly gliding across a sheet of ice. what few efforts i made wrought nothing resembling a glide, so i contented myself with dancing about my bedroom like a maniac in my mum's discarded slips, choreographing- on carpet, in socked feet- masterpieces soundtracked to michael bolton's greatest hits. the end result? a sprained ankle, a broken arm and a bloody nose. thus ended my "skating" career.

until today. when, rendered somewhat insensible by my recent travels through significantly warmer climes, i brazenly strode upon the sidewalk in boots with 3" heels. a step and a half in, i hit the ground. i fell in front of the house of the little old lady who waters her flowers every summer evening when i'm walking home. the little old lady i always smile at in that "don't i remind you of your favorite granddaughter" way. that's where i fell.

but this wasn't just a fall. it was the culmination of three years of fear- fear that i would fall on the ice, that i would break a leg, that i would be all alone in chicago and that i would be trapped in a 4th floor apartment for a whole summer and only escape into the open at winter's return. this was the realization of that fear.

it was also perhaps the most graceful topple ever managed by anyone in human history. a tumble so smooth and soundtracked so splendidly by benoît pioulard, that i was aware of the fact that i was smiling and judging my own fall as flawlessly perfect even as i was in the process of falling down. scott hamilton would've swooned.

then there i was: flat on the ground, the entire length of my left leg covered in a streak of snow soon to be replaced by a glory of a bruise.

in my excitement at having survived my great winter fear and my agitation at being unexpectedly ripped from a retirement i'd imposed since lillehammer, i did what every glamorous, graceful girl does.

i said, FUCK. loudly.

only then did i look up and see the little old lady, standing 3 feet away.

15 February 2008

11 breast petals

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

they. are. so. awesome. you have to get over the terrible name, and the fact that you are putting a flower sticker on your boobie. so yes. breast petals. i am a believer.

--lindear

07 February 2008

4 this won't be pretty

whiney inarticulate girlish rants seldom are. but i have come to realize in recent days that i loathe- nay!- HATE the parka people.

in fairness, i should define parka. a parka features a hood and extends to the floor. a parka is not a simple coat. it is not a winter coat or a cape or any other piece of reasonable winter wear. a parka is entirely unreasonable unless one is in the polar ice caps (by its very definition, it is intended exclusively for "arctic wear"). and we are in chicago. cold it may be, but the polar ice caps it ain't.

thus, i HATE the parka people. this is my judgemental elitism at it's very worst, because the logic for my hatred of the parka people is this: i'm blazing through winter in a svelte spring coat, hoodie, sweater, and lots 'o socks while you, parka person, are wrapped in a fabric evocative of quilted sausage casing and 9 layers of puff, therefore, i am better than you and you suck.

but, aesthetics aside, the parka people suck for many many reasons. the reason that has lately driven me mad is their seeming immunity to all rules of the road. their bulk suddenly tripled, the parka people assume they need the entire sidewalk to accomodate their vast expanse. cacooned in fur and puff, their periferial vision is obliterated and their hearing dulled so they remain blithely oblivious to the footsteps and shadows and pleas of the many unparkaed people around them. encased in warming therma-fluff, they exhibit a lethargy that slows their steps to a speed that would make a moving sidewalk appear lightening fast.

this may seem entirely unreasonable- my fervent desire for these people to unparka and embrace more reasonable winter wear. because i get it- your coat is ginormous and deprives you of motor dexterity and human compassion and i should, therefore, strive to accomodate you in your impaired state. and, yes, it is cooooooooooooold out there.

but is it really that cold? dougo makes it through every winter with little more than a windbreaker. croftie's been rocking that thin green coat with the tattered candy-striped lining for three years running. there are people walking around without hats or gloves. that's a bit extreme, yes, but regardless, they are still alive. we, the unparkaed, are all still alive. the cold hasn't got us... yet.

04 February 2008

12 it's hard to live in the city

i recently had a revelation. while dicking around on msn.com's financial page last wednesday, i uncovered a wicked little piece of journalism. an article on budgeting. an article that said a single person should spend $150 on groceries a month.

not over a 72-hour period. not a week. not a fortnight. ONE MONTH.

this blew my mind. it has continued to blow my mind as i've brought it up in conversations with practically everyone i've spoken to in the past 4 days. (days in which, according to this wicked piece of journalism, i am to have only spent $20 on groceries. in reality, i blew $31 at the marché on friday and am already in grievous need of milk.)

it's become a bit of an obsession. this idea that it is humanly possible to live (well and healthily) on $150 of food and drink and miscellaneous a month. i can understand $150 on clothes per month. or $150 on books and shoes and cds and loans and prescriptions. but $150 on groceries? this simply cannot be. there's no way. it's a lie.

apparently, it isn't entirely. eF swears up and down he can rock the $150 a month. but then, he doesn't drink three gallons of $3.69 milk a week or have a hungry ($35/month) and peeing ($21/month) vieve/pickle/barry or long, long hair that requires 1 ounce of $7.94/12 oz. conditioner a day. i'm a girl who requires all of these things.

i made the mistake of mentioning this to my mum in three successive conversations. my belief that it's impossible to live on $150 of groceries a month and my subsequent fear that perhaps my grocery expenditures are unreasonably bloated and my succeeding notion that maybe my salads should have less spinach or my bagels should go without cream cheese or i should make peace with my hair being a ratty, underconditioned mess.

as does any discussion of finance, this led us here, to this comment: but, carrie bear, i know you're living CLOSE TO THE EDGE...

as a rational person, i know what living CLOSE TO THE EDGE means to my parents. i know this simply means i have a paycheck under $45,000 a year and a savings account that has been sapped by living in the city. as an irrational person, i abhor this CLOSE TO THE EDGE comment because it leaves me suddenly feeling as though i'm falling further and further into a grand canyon of debt with each purchase of my 95¢ fruit on the bottom yogurt. (the extra, indulgent 11¢ be damned- i love the fruit on the bottom.)

i've thought about this a stupid lot the past few days and it all comes down to the city. it's hard to live in the city. because without a car a girl can only carry so much. (and the car's probably not too much to blame since croftie has a car and she's still in my boat.) so she goes to the store three times a week for milk and walks out with peaches and zucchinni and four varieties of oatmeal every time. there's no staying away or stocking up. the store is a toll-booth- it demands a $30 minimum entry fee.

i like to think the author of this wicked piece of grossly fictitous journalism was never a single person. that she was the daughter of a publishing mogul, got a $65,000 a year internship at his paper in NYC, rode to classes at columbia in chauffered cars, married some wealthy jerk straight out of college, gave birth to quintuplets and instantly racked up $1,875 a month in groceries.

i like to think she doesn't know shit about being a long-haired, cat-owning single girl and buying groceries in the city on an english major salary.

and i like to think we're not really all so CLOSE TO THE EDGE as it sometimes seems.

01 February 2008

10 further proof that far too few people have braved the swamps of lousiana


X: "what is that?"

Y: "it's like a pastry."

X: "it looks like it's tie-dyed."

Z: "why does it look like that?"

X: "oh my god, it's pure sugar."

Z: "what is it for?"

Y: "i think it's like some passover thing."

X: "oh they eat that down south, don't they? for the birth of god?"

Z: "is it safe to eat? can we eat this?"

X: "it looks like something of the devil."

Y: "but people down there eat it, right? down south? and they live?"