Sunday, September 28, 2008

I Don't Know What's Wrong With Me But...

***Update- this was pulled from Youtube, but I found it again. And I watched it again. And I loved it again!



I seriously don't know what my problem is. I giggle just thinking about it. And in case you're thinking about NOT watching the whole thing, near the end, the dude has a dance solo. No. He really does.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Dear Ron Huberman,

When I saw you on the Redline a few weeks ago, I was dazzled. There you were, the President of the CTA riding the Redline, and being totally, unspeakably, ridiculously gorgeous.

I have to admit, I didn't know who you were at first. I just thought you were some random, really really well dressed guy without a wedding ring on. I thought you were smiling at me because you thought I was cute, too. But no. You thought I recognized you as Ron Huberman. Actually, my friend had whispered in my ear, "That's Ron Huberman!"

You were so pretty, I just wanted to cry. And you were actually riding the train to see how the slow zones were doing!! That was so cute. So adorably diligent.

It was so nice that you took the time to talk to us and ask our opinions about the redline. And told us when the brown line stop near my place would open back up.

I was totally unaware that your young age was a source of some criticism, otherwise I never would have asked you how old you were. I was just asking to see if you and I were age appropriate for each other. And you seemed to sort of like talking to my friends and me. You thought we had cool jobs.

During the walk home, I thought about your really nice arms. And your really pretty smile. And that you were young, and the president of the CTA. And the fact that you used to be a cop. I thought about how the name Grace Huberman sounded.

Then I went home and googled you. And I found out that you were instrumental to the creation of I-Clear. Well, sugar. That sealed the deal.

I vowed to send you a little note, and invite you out to lunch. But even more so, I vowed to be a CTA rider forever. We never got that far, did we?

Well, my sweet, love is a fickle thing. We have to break up. I am so sorry to do this on a blog, but it really seems the most practical way, seeing as we don't really know each other.

I'm leaving you for the Metra.

On Friday, I was running late. I was going to take the bus to the redline, but the CTA Bus Tracker (which is still an awesome idea, my darling) told me I would have to wait 19 minutes for my bus. I did the math in my head. 19 minutes waiting for the bus. 8 minutes on the bus, probably about 5 minutes waiting for the El. 30 minutes on the el. 5 minute walk to work. 63 minutes. And probably having to stand the whole time because there will be no available seats.
It didn't seem like I had any other choice. I had been hesitant to try the Metra, as it seemed complicated. And different. And mysterious. but it seemed like if I didn't want to be embarrasingly late, I would have to take a chance.

I got on. I got a seat. The seat was VERY well-cushioned. 14 minutes later, I get off. I walk a few blocks and get to work with a minute or two to spare.

It was QUIET, Ron. It was clean, Ron. It didn't smell like the urine of an alcoholic, Ron. There were no homeless people yelling at themselves. There was no one asking me for money. There was no one casually leafing through a RedEye while holding his urine sample

Of course, there were loud talkers. They are everywhere. But they didn't really bother me as much. Their voices sort of blended in with the mellow hum of the speeding engine which sounded like a symphony of purring kittens and gratuitous compliments.

And yes, of COURSE, I'll miss the homeless ladies masturbating. Of COURSE I'll miss the drunken asshole Cubs fans coming in from the suburbs. Of course I'll miss being packed in a hot car with 5,0000 other miserable commuters, stopped somewhere between Belmont and Fullerton for what seems like hours for no apparent reason.

I am so sorry that it has to end like this, Ron.
Now, the Metra is my Boo.



Monday, September 22, 2008

Sarah Palin Isn't So Bad

Just kidding. She's a fucking trainwreck and she IS that bad and yes, I hate her. Ok. Hate is a little strong of a word. It's more, it's pretty much hate.

I know that me blasting Palin is a little...well...obvious, so I'll try and keep this brief.

I just have to say something about the newest little gem we've learned about her, and what exactly does and doesn't matter to this disaster of a human being.

Rape victims in the city of Wasilla where Palin was the mayor, have to pay for their own rape kits.

Sweet. Nice fucking lady, right?

Obviously, as the owner of a vagina, I find this practice to be absolutely reprehensible. It's disgusting, and unfair and insulting. And unforgiveable.

But have no fear! The Palin camp has an excellent reason. Wait for it... wait for it... wait for it....

Palin, like, totally didn't know!

Phew! I thought it was something serious. Now that I know that the mayor of a town is excused from the practices of that town if it's because it's stuff she just totally didn't know about. OK now I think she's TOTALLY qualified to be vice-president. Super!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :-)

Ugh. I HATE her.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Spiders, Apartments, and Dating Grace: An Update

Blogging two days in a row. I know.

So. The spider... is...dead. It took an entire can of hairspray, half a can of carpet stain remover, my landlord screaming like a little girl, and a boot. But it's dead. There was some question as to the size of the spider. The body was not quite as big as my forefinger and thumb making an ok sign. But if I used my pinkie finger and my thumb, it was approximately that big. And its web was easily 5' by 3'. I know this because I discoverd the spider by walking my face into the web. But we can all rest assured, the little fucker is no more. Rest in peace, little fucker.


Mama Grace came over the other day to see the new apartment. She was thrilled that I was no longer living above a liquor store. She thought it was now much much safer. It is. However, as I was getting ready to walk her out, she peered out the window and into the yard, and said "Oh, Grace, honey. You have guests!"

I looked out the window, and sure enough there were two young men sitting out on my patio furniture. Just sitting there. Looking a little nervous. But just sitting. I told my mother that these guys were not my guests, and that I would walk her out. As she and I walk out the door, we see two cops, with their guns drawn, rush from my neighbors back yard into my backyard yelling "Freeze mother fuckers! Get on the fucking ground! GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND!"

My mom hadn't quite made it out the door yet, so she was still inside, but I was in full view of the officers, and so I put my hands in the air, too. The cop sees this and yells up to me, "Ma'am, what's the address here?"

"Um.... Ummm...." Because I just moved I totally couldn't remember. Finally it came to me. I yelled out the street number.

"What's the NAME of the street, Ma'am?

After a longer than appropriate response for someone to say the name of the street they lived on, I shouted it out. He radio'd for backup officers, and the little punks were arrested.

Apparently, they were seen dealing drugs within 1,000 feet of a school and when the cops saw them, they started running, and eventually needed to take a little breather. In my backyard.

My poor mom. She hates the term mother fucker.


So, after a few more dates with Lawyer, who, from here on out shall be referred to as Lawyer #1, it has become clear that Lawyer #1 and I are not a good match. Lawyer #1, while very sweet, attractive, and smart, apparently has not cut ties with an ex. And doesn't mind being less than forthright about it. It's sort of why Lawyer and I couldn't make it work the first time around. It's ok, though. I'm a little disappointed, but when it comes down to it, Lawyer should go and try to make it work with the Ex. I can do better, but, the ex, quite frankly, probably cannot.

In the next few weeks, I have a date with Lawyer #2, and a date with Chef. I've had a crush on Lawyer #2 for a while. I don't know Chef very well, but anyone who offers to make sure my kitchen in my new place works by cooking me a gourmet meal in it, is A-OK in my book.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Spotlight on Daisy

Daisy, from the always charming Legally Blonde Ambition, and I, in an effort to cure our respective writer's blocks, decided to interview each other. She asked me some questions, and I asked her some questions. Here's what she had to say:

1. Grace: When & why did you start blogging?

Daisy: I have a private blog with my best friends from college. And I started just writing on it every day, sharing my inane thoughts & they politely put up with me. I finally determined their kindness was not in fact endless, and I began to subject myself upon the world.

2. Grace: What is the first blog you read?

Daisy: To be honest it wasn't a "blog"- but when I was in college I worked for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital and a lot of the patients (whom I had met) had Caringbridge websites authored by their parents. They are sort of like blogs, even if the purpose is different (i.e. to keep friends & family updated on their child's cancer treatment). Anyway, as some of the kids either went into remission or became angels, their parents switched to blogging & they were such good writers, I kept reading on their new websites. And it snowballed from there.

3. Grace: I know you've lived in a lot of different states, (and countries?) Let's have the list.

Daisy: Spokane, Washington. Mountain Home, Idaho. Phoenix, Arizona. England. Yorktown, Virginia. Montgomery, Alabama. Phoenix, Arizona (again...). Germany. Salt Lake City, Utah. New Orleans, Louisiana (home is where the heart is...). Dallas, Texas. Chicago, Illinois. I consider New Orleans to be "home".

4. Grace: Why did you want to go to law school?

Daisy: Honestly? Because I couldn't pass chemistry and I knew I needed a graduate degree to afford to eat. (Probably the 'natural knack' for reading & writing played a part, but in all honesty, it was that fateful day of dropping chemistry to avoid a "fail" on my college transcript)

5. Grace: You've just won the Academy Award. Let's hear the last line of your acceptance speech.

Daisy: This award is in honor of every child who has bravely fought pediatric cancer- may you too have your moment on the stage of the world.

6. Grace: If you went blind, what would you miss most?

Daisy: My sight. I kid, I kid. Probably the view of downtown Chicago from Lake Michigan at sunset. Breathtaking.

7. Grace: Where did you and BISMOW/Wayward Esquire meet?

Daisy: In the lounge of our law school, introduced by Ms. Scarlett O'Hara herself.

8. Grace: Were you the teaser or the teasee in elementary school?

Daisy: Depends on where I lived. Honestly, I've been on both sides, and I can readily admit that bullies suck and should have rocks thrown at them.

9. Grace: What is your dream vacation spot?

Daisy: Of places I have never been, Tahiti. I salivate at the thought of going there. Of places I have been, Italy. Oh how I adore Italy. Pizza! Ruins! Romans! Naples! Wine! Tuscany! The Pope! Venice! Wine!! More wine!! Florence!

10. Grace: If you were in a plane crash, and you were the only living person, and you HAD to resort to cannibalism, what would you tell the families of the victims that you ate?

Daisy: Donner, Party of 10.

*** Questions 11 and 12 and 13 involve the game "Do, Dump, or Marry" AKA "Fuck, Marry, Kill" I'll give you the name of three people, one of them you have to have sex with, one you have to marry, and the other you have to either dump or kill, depending on which version you choose to play.

11. Grace: Halle Berry; Gwyneth Paltrow; Jennifer Lopez

Daisy: Halle: Do. Gwenyth: Dump Jennifer: Marry (hello private jet!)

12. Grace: Justin Timberlake, Kiefer Sutherland, Rob Lowe

Daisy: Justin: Marry. Kiefer: Do. Rob: Dump

13. Daisy: Justice Scalia, Justice Breyer, Justice Ginsberg

Daisy: Justice Scalia: Dump (He was mean to me when I met him) Justice Ginsberg: Marry. I heard her speak a few weeks ago, and awww. Justice Breyer: Do. He's cuter than Tony

14. Grace: You have to give up alcohol, shoes, or red meat? Which do you choose?

Daisy: Um. BISMOW informed me alcohol. He is probably right.

15. Grace: What celebrity do people most tell you that you look like?

Daisy: Tie, between Kate Winslet and Kate Hudson. Weird, I know.

16. Grace: Best gift you ever gave?

Daisy: I found my parents a first edition of The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay when I was 14 years old. Lets just say that Christmas morning was fan-fucking-tastic.

17. Grace: You go on a roadtrip- what are the 5 things I would definitely find in your car.

Daisy: Smart Water. Country & Dave Matthews CD's. M & M's. Orbit Gum. iPhone + charger

18. Grace: What are you scared of?

Daisy: My Mom getting sick and my Dad's plane crashing. And Bismow's sense of organization.

19. Grace: What needs to be invented that would make your life easier?

Daisy: Tele-transport. Beam Me Up Scotty! And a machine to add an extra few hours in the day. The things I could get done.

20. Grace: What's your favorite thing about Grace?

Daisy: If Grace counts you on her list of friends, she will be an unwavering advocate on your behalf, come rain, shine or hell & highwater. Seriously, you could NOT ask for a more loyal friend. Oh yeah, and she's hot.

21. Grace: If you could wear one designer, from head to toe, for the rest of your life, who would it be? (Sorry I know this was your question, but I really like it and want to know your answer)

Daisy: Carolina Herrara. Her clothes ooooze sophistication.

22. Grace: Favorite movie. You can list three.

Daisy: Top Gun. Saving Private Ryan. Dumb & Dumber.

23. Grace: You wrote a week ago or so about regrets. Let's hear about something you got absolutely dead on right.

Daisy: Kissing BISMOW even though I was terrified it would ruin our friendship.

24. Grace: Last stranger you yelled at?

Daisy: Um. Well. Define 'stranger'. I recently lost it at an independent medical exam when the "independent" physician was a raging asshole to both myself & my client. I believe he told me I was out of line (for telling my client not to answer a question that was inappropriate!) and I told him he was out of line & lacked basic respect. And when he said he was sorry at the end, I told him not to apologize for something he wasn't sorry for simply because it became awkward. Pretentious asshole made it clear I was young and woman, and therefore nothing in his eyes. I hope he depends on a young woman to save his ass one day, and that I never ever come across him in court. I will crush him like the tiny turd-faced bug that he is.

25. Grace: Bam. You get a do-over. What's your new profeesion and location?

Daisy: New Orleans. Restaurant owner. Something delicious & quaint, filled with locals, an excellent wine cellar, good smells, well-mixed drinks and one hell of a brunch menu.

Thanks Daisy!! You are awesome!!

For my answers to Daisy's questions, check out her blog.

Monday, September 08, 2008

This Spider Wants To Kill Me.

And he won't let me use my door. And he almost made the cable guy cry. And I sprayed it with hairspray, Windex, and Pledge. Nothing worked.
I hate my new place.

Sunday, September 07, 2008

All Moved In.

It's a really fucking beautiful day. I spent most of the day watching football on the couch, and playing around on the internet, (YES I HAVE INTERNET IN MY HOUSE AGAIN! FUCKIN' A, YAY YAY YAY!) and now I am in my new back yard sitting on the nice patio furniture writing this blog and sipping a glass of pinot grigio.

So, yeah. I moved. A big part of me is sad. And I feel like a loser. Millions of people can get mortgages. Millions of people can own homes. I'm just not going to be one of them. At least right now.

However, a whole other big part of me is relieved. Living above a liquor store has its obvious advantages. But really. One of these days, I'm going to want to get knocked up. And you can't have a baby above a liquor store. It's just weird and wrong. And the place was awfully small. And the builder was a real asshole and a bully, and the thought of giving him hundreds of thousands of dollars kinda made me wanna stab myself in the eyes.

And there's some sort of nursing home for alcoholic amputees in that nieghborhood. And our liquor store was the closest one to where the home was, so about once a week, there'd be about 5 or 6 people with only about 8 limbs between them, sitting on our lawn and swigging beer. And they left the cans everywhere.

But, sigh. The bathtub in that place was ridiculously awesome. It was like a swimming pool. And really really pretty. My new bathtub is like a shotglass.

But my new place has its plusses, too. It's bigger. It's got a backyard. My neighbors are cool. It's on a really quiet street. The old place was right on a major Chicago street. With a bus stop on the corner, and a hospital down the street. It was really fucking loud. And bright. Even with all of the lights turned off in my place, it was almost bright enough to read. The new place is dark. And quiet.

There's also something oddly comforting about having almost no one know where I live. Currently only 5 people know where I live. I LOVE that. That's going to change, though. I am probably going to have a housewarming thingee or something. Then, by necessity, other people will have to know where I live. Because having a housewarming party in a neighboring bar is usually thought of as a little weird. And the people who I would invite aren't really the people who I would worry about knowing where I live anyway.

God this is a rambling and uninteresting post. I'm not feeling very inspired.

Sarah Palin. She's really cute. Like, REALLY REALLY cute. She should do that for a living. Be cute, that is. I am totally voting for her for "Cutest Vice-Presidential Nominee" And in the event that John McCain cannot fulfill his duties as Ms. Cutie Alaska, I would be thrilled for Sarah Palin to take over those duties. But since she thinks gay sex makes the Baby Jesus cry, and is the most anti-woman candidate on the ballot, (and I have virtually no chance of ever hooking up with her) she won't be getting my vote. I would sooner vote for her knocked up 17 year old daughter's baby daddy for president. And her toddler with Down's Syndrome for vice-president.

And ummm.... not like I watch soap operas or anything... because I am a lawyer and have more important and intellectual things to do with my time when I take a day off, but does anyone think her husband looks like Bo Brady from Days of our Lives? It could just be me. But I think they bear a striking resemblance.

So, while the weather is still kind of nice, I think this whole sitting-in-my-backyard-with-a-glass-of-wine-and-my-computer-writing-blogs could be a really nice routiney sort of thing. And there are a lot of things I'm looking forward to writing about. Now that my life has settled down a bit, I think I've got the time to do it.

Except now I have to go get ready for a date with Lawyer.

Monday, September 01, 2008

The Dog and Me- A Dialogue Part IV

Dog: What the FUCK is with all the boxes?

Me: I was waiting for the right time to tell you. We're moving.

Dog: "WE'RE" moving? I don't recall having much of a say in this.

Me: Well, I know. But I don't have a choice. I couldn't get a mortgage.

Dog: Because you're a complete loser. And an asshole. And you're fat with bad hair, and bad taste, in both clothing and home furnishings.

Me: You're a little mean. You haven't even heard about the place. It's got a fenced in backyard!

Dog: You are such a fucking idiot. There's nothing appealing to me about a fenced in backyard. How about no fence? How about you just give me a key and I'll come and go as I please?

Me: Because, and I don't want to be too repetitive, but you don't have opposable thumbs. You can't operate a key.

Dog: You know the worst part about that? I can't use my opposable thumbs to punch you in the neck for your subpar FICO score.

Me: You don't even know what a FICO score is.

Dog: You can't get a mortgage, and you're questioning MY knowledge of finances? You're lucky I don't know how to drive.

Me: And why is that?

Dog: Forget it. I just had a fantasy about driving you into my imaginary fiery cauldron of hate.

Me: Super. You're the best. Love you, doggie. And thanks for your support.

Dog: Eat me, tramp.