my life in the city in pictures

In a thunderstorm earlier this summer, the tree in front of our house fell and totally blocked our staircase. I had to Rambo my way out to get to work in the morning.

You forget that somewhere in the Midwest can have a beach this nice. And yet, there it is. I defy you to look at Lake Michigan and not have at least a moment of thinking it's the ocean.

There were about a dozen of these tiny vintage cars parked all in a line downtown last week. No idea why.

Also in the "no idea why" category, someone threw these lovely flowers away in the garbage can outside my office building last week. Bad boyfriend trying to get back in good graces? I love that whoever threw them away did it bloom side up, though, so I could get a look.

Possibly the best dinner I've ever eaten...greek yogurt + honey + farmstand peaches, blueberries, and raspberries. Yummmm.

Shopping downtown, this couple holding hands made my heart melt.

I LOVE this series of ads for the aquarium. It really is magical.

I wanna do it 'til I can't get enough

Those of you who knew me well my 1L year--to date, the worst year of my life by far--know that this song, KC & The Sunshine Band's Boogie Shoes, in a not-totally-hyperbolic way saved my life. Studying for finals in December of 2006 (unbelievable it was that long ago) in the green-carpeted dungeon of a library, hating my life, hating myself, hating everything...I saved my sanity with that insanely catchy hook. I listened to it at least 3 times a day, a lot of days close to 20 times. That is not an exaggeration. What? It's only about a 2 minute song! It's also the song that kicked off the dancing at my wedding, after I had put on my boogie shoes.

So it is not lightly that I say that this morning, during my weekly Top 20 VH1 Countdown viewing, I thought...holy shit, who is this band, and are they seriously the second coming of KC&SSB? So I sit, transfixed by the 80s sunglasses, and 90s pop hooks, wondering. Who is it? When it got to the end and the band's name came up, I just laughed. I mean, really. Well played, young sirs.

PANTS

Here's something absurd about me, in this moment: I have no idea what size pants I wear. I mean, really. I blogged about my weight gain a bit back in January, which also happened to be right when I started work. Despite my bloggy grumblings, I did eventually find a few pairs of pants from a few gracious retailers willing to sell to my newly-WOMAN-size ass. Now, though, I've lost a pretty significant amount of weight, and really just haven't had time to go buy new pants. I am currently wearing a pair of non-stretchy dress pants that I can remove without undoing the button or zipper, which I am pretty sure is a sign of bad fit. Well, that and the fact that I have taken to pinning them before work so I don't walk around holding them up. It's only margininally effective, and creates bunching issues....from the back, I have droopy diaper syndrome, and from the front, that old enemy of Michael Kors: crazy crotch. I clearly have gone down a size. Have I gone down two? Dear lord, could I be wearing pants three sizes too large? Like my pants are the grinch's chest and I am the grinch's heart?

vacation: all I ever wanted

The hubs and I are back from an extended long weekend in sunny San Francisco. Well, the sun was intermittent, but the fun was NON-STOP. I laid in the sun. I laughed until I couldn't breathe. I smelled the salt air. I wore a sweater and a scarf on the Fourth of July and was still cold. I ate some seriously amazing food and hung out with some seriously amazing people. All in all, it was a super-fun couple of days.

I hear the train a-coming...

This evening on the train, I sat watching a dude who looked like The Sartorialist threw up all over him. I mean, seriously. With his fancy briefcase and his pants rolled just-so to reveal that he wasn't wearing any (visible) socks with his fancy shoes. Even the buttons on his blazer were fancy, in an understated Euro kind of way. I really expected him to get off the train and unlock a fancy retro bike to ride home on. But he was chewing this ENORMOUS piece of gum, and for whatever reason, I found myself unable to look away from him. It's awkward when you know you're staring and you just can't stop, you're only hoping not to get caught. I don't think Mr. Sartorialist noticed my staring--I was sitting far enough away.

I also played one of my favorite games in my head with him--the "which stop is this guy getting off at?" game. I lost today--big. I thought FOR SURE this guy was getting off at the hipsteriest stop on the line, two before my stop. When he didn't get off there (shocking!) I thought, okay, he must be a slightly poorer or grungier hipster than I thought--getting off two stops after mine. All that when, in fact, he got off at the same time I did. I couldn't believe it. I didn't see him after leaving the station, so he must have gone the other way. One of the things I love so much about this city is that I could see him again tomorrow afternoon, riding the train home. Or I could never see him again. Who knows.

summertime chi...it's the good life

Summertime in Chicago is borderline magical. People are PSYCHED about the fact that it's summer (I guess that's what happens when you spend 8 months of the year in hibernation). One of the best things about living here in the summer---aside from the weather, and the patios (so many patios), and the beaches---is that people want to come visit you, which means you get to do all the touristy things you wanted to do anyway under the guise of being a good host. PLUS, you get to see all kinds of people you love without having to go anywhere. Seriously. Awesome.

The hubs and I are fortunate enough to have a place big enough to put up a fair number of people comfortably, and over the next couple of months we're going to have a bunch of people in and out and I couldn't be more excited about it.

The other thing the summertime has meant is that it's nice enough for me to run outside. I say "run" and what I really mean is "old man shuffle." You know what I mean. Where you're not really walking, but you're also going so slowly old ladies with walkers could be passing you. Anyway, despite my ridiculous pace, I've been pretty consistent about it over the last month and a half or so, and honestly, feeling really good. When I stop working out, I always forget how much better I feel when I am working out consistently. It's like it's good for me or some shit.

It's going to be so sad when fall comes. Ah, well. For now: it's the good life.

Unsolicited Uterus Update: Still Empty

I had a SUPER vivid dream this week, which almost never happens to me. Or at least, I almost never remember my dreams. Anyway, in said dream I was pregnant. Like super pregnant. And people's reactions to it were sort of the most hilarious part. The hubs was ecstatic. Liz, you were INSANELY mad at me. Like, taking it as a personal affront that I would do this to you.

Anyway, as I mentioned a few posts ago, I feel like everyone around me is having babies. I think when I mentioned it, I probably sounded like a petulant little kid, annoyed (like Liz) that people would be doing this to me. I don't want to be old enough for all my friends to be parents! I don't want to stop being a mostly irresponsible asshole! The truth is, though, I really couldn't be happier for all the parents and soon-to-be parents in my life. It does, of course, freak me out that I'm old enough to be a mom, and that sometimes when I see an especially cute kid, I do have a twinge of...what is that? maternal instinct? overactive ovaries? Then when the kid gets hysterical, I feel a wave of relief that I'm not actually its mom.

The hubs and I sometimes talk about having kids, as a sort of "yeah...someday we should do that" kind of thing. Or we'll see one of those cute kids pre-hysteria and joke about kidnapping it. (There was a blonde two year old girl at the hubs's family camping trip this year that spoke French. I was concerned we might make it back to Chicago and I actually would discover her in the trunk.) Given how much fear it strikes in me to even wake up from a dream where I was preggers, I wonder if I'll ever think "yes, this is the time. we are totes ready to be ONE HUNDRED PERCENT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE WELFARE OF ANOTHER, HELPLESS HUMAN BEING." I'm guessing no? I don't even take very good care of my own damn self. But I guess we'll probably do it anyway. Someday. A long, long time from now.