I'm sorry, what?!?

There are reasons I remain in IL. (Besides my previously mentioned adoration of Chicago) One of the really good ones, or so I thought, was that we here in the fine Land of Lincoln do not have natural disasters. No hurricanes. No tidal waves. Not many tornadoes (at least not where I live). NO EARTHQUAKES. Hm. Hm I say. So, why did I wake up to the news this morning reporting on the 5.2 earthquake that hit in Salem, IL at 4:37 am? Why did I wake up to pee at 4:45ish and Charlie was wandering around the house whining? Of course I ignored him and went back to sleep, but that's besides the point. So, I have no first hand knowledge of this quake. I felt nothing, heard nothing. But then the news showed this section of a highway not at all far from my house that has this "crack/seam" that they are investigating. "How did this happen?" Newslady says. Um, let's see - There was a freakin' earthquake this morning!! That's how! Dumbass! Then, there's the fact that I work in a 58 story building. I'm not worried - like they said on the news, these buildings are built to withstand these types of things. So maybe they will sway a little, but they do that, so no big deal, blah blah blah. Maybe because I am still new to the working in a tall building lifestyle, but I know that I feel something when it's a windy day, so I'm likely to feel something if there's an earthquake. It's that weird feeling, like your head feels funny, and your just not quite right. So, quick recap - last year, coyote in cooler in a deli. This year, cougar in Chicago proper. Earthquake. Yep, might just have to move. Or buy a big plastic bubble to live in. Cougars might find the bubble toy-like. Damn.

I love this windy city! (and fountains are cool too!)

I have to admit, I am dorkily addicted to my city. I LOVE Chicago. I love it. Every week day, I grin like a little suburban school girl when the Loop comes in to view on my train, and I grin all the way to work. I am she who walks down the street checking out the cool buildings, and the river, and the lake, and the people. I am daily like a tourist in my own city. I love it that much. Today I woke up a little on the grumpy side of things, and I didn't expect to be that happy to go to work. But then my beloved city tossed me a happy thing. I work across the street from Millenium Park. There's this fountain that is right at the edge of the park. The fountain has been dry since like September (damn winter! damn you!). In March-ish I decided to watch the fountain, and when it went back on it would be spring, and I would be gleeful. So, of course, today, when I least expected it, the fountain was back on!! And it's going to be 70 degrees today! And I'm wearing a skirt! A cute plaid skirt! And my legs didn't get frost bite from the wearing of the cute plaid skirt and bare legs! I fully intend to go visit "my" fountain on lunch. I may even pull a Go-Gos move and splash around in it and get arrested. Cops won't get me, they are too busy shooting cougars. Sidebar- Though I do love my plaid skirt, I underestimated the wind factor today. So, for all of you on Clinton that I may or may not have inadvertantly showed my panties to while I was walking to the bus, I am so so sorry. Ahem, anyway, Viva Spring!

My weekend

Since I don't have any stunning revelations to share with y'all today, I thought I'd give you a quick recap of my weekend. Friday night I got to do a new function at my happy place, The Old Town School of Folk Music. I got to work hospitality for the Glen Phillips (of Toad the Wet Sprocket fame) show. This entailed me hovering around the office waiting for instruction from K1, the day of show producer, and K2 the house manager. Now, generally K1 scares the shit of of me. She's a little quiet, which I generally take to mean that she HATES me. Well, Friday night she was awesome to me, and taught me what to do without making me feel like a child. We chatted. K2 is already my friend and awesome in general, so that was all ok. K2 is funny as hell, and we have the same likes/dislikes of some people around the OTSFM, so we're allies. Anyway. Glen Phillips was very nice, yet quiet. He was kind and soft spoken. He had an opening act named Jonathan Kingham who is a fantastic human being. I spent more time with Jonathan than Glen, and we chatted. Jonathan is nice and chill and from Seattle. I had to get in his car with him to direct him to a secret parking spot, so we chatted quite a bit - Amen to Chicago's one way streets! He said that I have no Chicago accent.He loves Old Town's vibe. I found myself thinking that were he a Chicagoan, we'd totally be friends. We'd meet for coffee and have brunch. He'd teach me how to play guitar. Coolly. Anyway, since I don't know how to do that cool link stuff yet, please people, look up both Glen and Jonathan - they are FANTASTIC and you will not be disappointed. To look for: Jonathan's version of "Every little step I take". It'll change your life. Saturday - Hm. Ok, on the up side. I am so completely over smoking. T and I went to a casino in Indiana. HATED IT. The food was good. Surprisingly good actually. It had better be, for $32 a plate. The casino sucked major ass. Too smoky. Too many yucky leering types. Too few cheap slots w/ bonus rounds. So, we high-tailed it out of there after a few hours and headed back to blissfully smoke-free IL. Went to our old hang out, Jet's, for a quick drink. Ran into Mike J., owner of Jet's. NOw, Mike J is a wonderful guy. You kind of want to dislike him because he's my age, and owns a bar, and runs a restaurant, and is hot. BUT he's so freakin' nice that one can't dislike him at all. He's a good people. Sunday. Well. Sunday was Sunday. Sunday is as Sunday does. I don't like to do much on Sundays, and so far this year I've been mostly hungover most Sundays, so I don't plan to do things. Yesterday I was not hungover, but it was cold out and I didn't want to do much. I watched a surprisingly good silly movie "Stardust" (love me some Netflix) and also watched 3 episodes of Dexter Season 1. Love me some Dexter.

Quit your bitching

So, one of my little hobbies is to evesdrop on everyone around me. I do this mostly as I move around my work week. On the train. Walking down the street. Whatever. What was the number one topic this week? The freaking weather. Ok, so for my readers that do not live in Chicago, this week's weather was a bit chilly, mostly overcast, and rainy. Last night, major rainy. So, all week people have been pissing and moaning to one and other about the terrible weather, the bad weather, how tired they are of the weather, blah blah blah. What this week's weather is: Wet. Chilly. Hair frizzing (God Damn It). A little inconvienient. Spring like. What this week's weather ISN'T: Fucking 10 below zero with a 30 below zero wind chill. Snowing. Icy. Black as midnight at noon. Freezing rain. Blizzarding. Winter like. So, Shut up. Seriously. Chicagoans are a very fickle bunch when it comes to our sports teams and our weather. If it's that bad, and such a horrible strain on your day, move. NO one wants you here anyway.

Smell ya later

So, lots of good things happen to a body when said body quits smoking. Today, I'm talking about one thing that happens that I find to be not so good. Way not so good. The return of the sense of smell. Ok. To smell the flowers again - good. To smell tasty cookin' smells - good. 7am Metra platform Wall of Stink - not good. Not good at all. I feel like I didn't get the memo that said 'On Wed., 4/9, all riders of the Pacific NW line 7:15 train to Ogilvie please wear your worst/oldest/cheesiest/heaviest/most noxious perfume and or cologne and or eau du toilette and or body spray, and please walk in front of Von. Slowly. She's the cute chubby blonde with the fantastic lavender purse.' In the quick jaunt from train car to escalator I was scentually accosted by a long list of bad. A short sampling: Old Spice. Love's Baby Soft. B.O. Garlic. Yesterday's booze comin' out of pores. Windsong. Jovan White Musk. Flatulence. B&B works Candy apple something-or-other. Bleh. The day is half over, and I STILL have a sinus headache from this morning's onslaught. A year ago my smokin' ass would have been blissfully unaware of these nasties. Not that I'm going to take up smoking again. The whole breathing and lower blood pressure thing is certainly key. I'd just like to make a deal with the devil or something for the return of the smoking me's sense (or lack of) smell. Until said deal is made, new memo to those same riders on that same Metra train: 'Stay out of Von's way with your stank. She will trip you. I'm not kidding. You, and your stupid little backpack on wheels.'

Why my neighbors think I'm crazy (this time)

My weekend began by finding out that my dog has pink eye. My dog. Has pink eye. Who even knew that dogs get pink eye? So, twice a day since Friday, I've been having to get the dog to sit still so I can smear nasty jelly antibiotics in his eye. I didn't think much of it until Saturday afternoon when I went outside to take out the garbage. There, in the middle of the yard was Charlie (my beagle). Sitting next to Charlie, apparently enjoying the mild temperature and the sunshine was The Rabbit. The Rabbit lives under my neighbors deck. Charlie and The Rabbit have somehow become friends. There is no chasing. There is no barking, more of a whining when The Rabbit leaves Charlie alone for too long. The Rabbit knows not to fear Charlie, so therefore does not fear the people of the building. The Rabbit is dirty and nasty, and I'm pretty sure gave Charlie fleas. Rumor has it that Charlie and The Rabbit have napped together in the yard, practically cuddling - hence the fleas. So, Saturday afternoon I put it all together and decided that The Rabbit was also responsible for giving Charlie pink eye. So, I shooed Charlie into the house, and went to have a chat with The Rabbit. I walked right up to it, and started telling it sternly to stop giving my dog diseases, and stay in it's own yard, and to go play with it's own kind. By this time Charlie was back in the yard, and both animals were looking at me with boredom and contempt. I ran at The Rabbit and was pratically on top of it when it decided it was time to go back to his own yard. Charlie and his pink eye went to the fence and whined. I then talked sternly to Charlie about hanging out with dirty rabbits. It was about this time that I realized that the next door neighbors' windows were wide open, and they had probably heard my entire conversation with a rabbit and a dog. And people wonder why I drink.

Random thoughts prompted by Vh1

I wasn't going to do it. I had told myself once was enough. I did it. I caved. I watched Rock of Love II with Brett Michaels. Hm. Ok. Yeah, it f-ing rocks. My friend told me I had to watch it. She couldn't believe I wasn't watching this season. Yes, I had gotten into season 1. Just to watch Brett get played by Jess, my pink haired home town hero who was more thorn than rose. I swore I wouldn't watch. But, this past Sunday evening it was cold, I had seen the Gangland on the History Channel. I was playing on the computer and needed some background noise. I found myself putting down the remote and actually watching the trainwreck that is Brett Michaels' quest for true love on VH1. I'll admit, the return of Heather, the supreme bad-ass second placer from season one was the hook. So, as I sat and watched 4 chicks vie for a chance to "stay in the house and rock Brett's world", an idea came to me. Season 3 - Rock of Love the Plus sized version. Call it version 16.0. See, none of these season 2 grrls are going to stick around after the cameras stop rolling, so I'm thinking next steps for Brett. So, Season 3, version 16.0, I am so going on that show, and winning. I too can get fantastic blondy blond hair extension, false eyelashes, and I already have the black clothes and nailpolish. Sure, seasons 1 &2 had pole dancing, we'll have go-go dancing, I can at least do the pony. Brett can strum his guitar while I play my bodhran. I can bitch brawl with the best of 'em. Now, don't be misled, I have no interest in dating Brett Michaels. I just want to lay around drinking margaritas at 10 am, go to Vegas on a private jet, ride a motorcycle, and have to do confessional-type talking to a camera man who's name I'll probably never know. My plan is to make Big John (Brett's bouncer for when the chickies get unruly) fall madly in love with me. We will trash the house, leave the other 16.0s to Brett. Perhaps then I'll have a ballad written for me,and who doesn't want that. Sigh.