Your vs. You're (The Online Edition)

And, to continue on last night's blog post tradition (can it be a tradition yet? Too soon?) of writing blog posts inspired by watching TV, here's a new one.

I was watching ABC's Castle last night, and the storyline was about a murder where the victim's face was covered with phrases that made the point the murderer was anxious to make.

The murderer wrote crazy short blurbs intended for the people that discovered the body. The police were left wondering. The author character, Rick Castle, who follows the NYPD around for research purposes, and to add just a dash of "sexy banter" to the show, was more perplexed by the improper and offensive use of grammar used in said blurbs.

At the crime scene, he even dropped the line, "The person that did this not only murdered our doc here, but he or she murdered the English language, too.

The victim's face read, "Your out of time."

ARGH.

I couldn't decide whether to nod in agreement, shake my head in disgust, or raise my fists to the TV.

I settled on all three, which led me to looking like a total crazy person on my couch, trying not to spill my wine.

I digress...

Castle, I feel your pain. Yes, your. Not "you're" because I quite like you and all your rugged handsomeness.

Readers, I cannot tell you how often this, well, issue, hits me in the face. I'm so tired of reading emails, cover letters, resumes, documents and online come-ons that have misused grammar in them. It is a downright atrocity how few grown adults know the proper use of the language. They've likely never even written a complete sentence, much less diagrammed one. Mrs. Rog would be so disappointed.

And, in this era of spellcheck, I know I've gone soft, but I can almost forgive a spelling error. But, I'm pretty sure not even the latest version of Vista or iLife comes with a program to tell you if you are bastardizing the English language.

I'm not embarrassed to admit that I've had an online dating profile out there. It's not pretty, but it does serve as some fodder for laughs, some time-killing distraction and some flattering come-ons.

But, in light of tonight's grammar-centric episode, I went in to my inbox to pull a few recent ones. And these are just from the last week!!

Hey you, just wondering if you would like enjoy a night on on the town before the snow buries us in. =( I would love to meet you, call me and let chat, -K

(Emoticons are in that grey area of male-speak. Ok? Annoying? Cutesy? You decide.)

Your really pretty and have a grate smile. Just thought you should know. Lets go out sometime? - D

(Two for the price of one!)

How long have you lived in Chicago? I grew up down south and I loved it their. -M

(So glad you moved up here to give Chicagoans a taste of what a "real" Southerner is capable! Thanks, buddy.)

You said you were tall and looking for someone to look up to. Thats me, in all cents of the word.

(I so wish I was inventing these, but alas, I'm not.)

I know, right?

Inexcusable.

Buried deep in my profile (you know, like 3 short paragraphs in, God forbid) is this sentence, which I believe should guide a man who wishes to contact me:

I am a sucker for a well-written email, and have to admit that I'm a stickler for proper grammar, too.

It hasn't helped.

I will remain single. Based on the supplied evidence, I do not hereby believe that the single men of Chicago know the difference between "your" and "you're" and "there" and "they're" and "their."

And, until they do, I'd prefer to just watch "Castle" and drink cheap wine on the couch by myself.

At least I know you're reading and rooting for me. Yes, you are. Get out there. See if your grammar can top theirs. I'm pretty sure it can't get worse. (See, now I'm just showing off).

He's at the Gym (A Vortex Tale)

Tonight I was watching CBS' How I Met Your Mother, and the storyline was about Ted going on a blind date, and only halfway through the date did he realize that he'd gone on a blind date with the same girl 7 years before. They both realize it, over their food, and laugh about how much they'd changed and what was different now.

At the end of the date, they shared a nice kiss, and he promised to call. And she froze.

She'd heard that line before. He had promised, as his 2002 self, to call her, and never did. He realized what had happened, and why they'd not continued seeing each other back then.

And she was mad.

He, awkwardly, eeked out, "I have been reaaaaally busy since then."

I laughed, not because the line was that funny, or the scene that well-written, but that it was just so damn familiar.

No, I haven't yet dated the entire circle of single men under 40 in Chicago, and therefore have not yet re-dated the same guy just yet. Not without consciously deciding to, at least.

More precisely, I recalled the story of the birth of the "Vortex." If you're unfamiliar with my Vortex theory, the quick story is that it is a place where guys "go" when they just up and fall off the planet. It involves all kinds of male treats, ranging from video games to 24/7 sports, to free beer and buffalo wings to sex all the time and no real jobs. You get the idea.

Anyway, my friends and I use the term to describe, or just to explain quickly, where a guy "went" when they stop calling randomly, out of the blue. My friend Meredith says that he "fell in the black hole." Same thing, different name.

So the year was 2001. It was late Fall, and I'd only lived here a year. I was in the throes of enjoying single life the way a 24-year old in the city does. Meaning, dating, going out a lot, having tons of fun and eating way too many meals from the rotating incubator grill at the 7-Eleven below my apartment.

I met a guy named Chris through a guy friend of mine. Chris was tall, ridiculously good looking (in fact, he "modeled" and turned out to be far more vain than I), funny and fun to be around. I'm pretty sure he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but we had a good time together.

We "dated" the way that 24-year olds do—in groups, in bars, at keg parties and with lots of other people for distractions. Only on a few occasions did I ever truly go on a "date" with Chris, but we did make it to Sunday mass a few times with dinner afterwards.

One Saturday, we went to lunch and then he dropped me off at my apartment. He said, as I got out of the car, "I'm going to go to the gym for a bit and then I'll call you. Wanna go see a movie tonight?" I replied that I'd love to, and that I'd see him in a few hours.

Saturday evening came and went. As did Sunday. And the next four years.

Needless to say, the poor fellow got sucked into the Vortex and I never heard from him.

Until one day, when I was on my lunch break downtown, and I saw him across the way. I sped up and walked over to him. Smiling, I approached him slowly.

"Uh, Chris?" I said, kindly. He said, "Colleen! How are you?" with a look that was a hybrid of embarrassment, surprise and, frankly, appraisal. I was definitely being 'assessed.'

I said, "I"m great - and so pleased you made it out of the gym! After all this time!" and walked on.

He didn't get my joke, or my insult, or whatever it was. I knew he wouldn't, but it felt so good to say. So, now, when I ever think about the Vortex, he's the first thing that comes to mind.

If I hadn't seen him that day, I'd just have had to assume he was still at the gym. In fact, most men that don't ever call, or stop calling all of a sudden, or just vanish into thin air, I assume have gone to the gym. Maybe it's the front door to the Vortex?

He didn't look as tired as I'd be if I'd spent nearly four years at the gym.

Maybe I'll make this Vortex Week 2009 and will dust off all the old Vortex stories for your reading pleasure. Whatcha think? Shall I put out a call for entries? Anyone?

Amended: maybe this week will have to be "how TV sitcoms and dramas remind Colleen of things in her real life." Also known as, someone get that girl off the couch during the week. Changed my mind. Stay tuned for the next TV-inspired post.

Invasion of the Laundry Snatchers

Invasion of the Body Snatchers
Has something small, non-crucial, tiny and not a big deal in the grand scheme of things ever really BURNED you up?

That would be where I am right now.

About three weeks ago, as I prepared to leave town for Atlanta, I did some laundry. Four or five loads, I think. I live in a high rise building, that has the debit-card-operated machines in a laundry room on the top floor. You put your things in, pay to start the machine, and go back down to your unit to wait the 35 minutes for wash, 45 minutes for dry.

The benefit to this system, which at times is a bit of a chore, is that you can successfully wash/dry up to five loads of laundry in an hour and a half. With folding time, you're at two hours - and you can watch a movie in the meantime.

I do my laundry pretty regularly. I travel a lot, so it is often unpacking, into the hamper, washing and re-packing. I know the drill.

I don't, however, sit upstairs and watch my clothes as they wash and dry. My first two years in Chicago, we had to lug our clothes to the laundromat five blocks away, and that was enough laundry-watching for anyone's taste.

(That reminds me, there was a hilarious laundry push-cart incident when Jill's cart met a cracked piece of sidewalk and her 5' little body got thrown over the top of the cart, leaving her upside down on Webster Avenue. I know I shouldn't laugh at the image of her body splayed out across her white metal 'granny cart,' but I just can't help it.)

I digress.

So, this laundry night a few weeks back. I didn't realize it at the time, but as I went to pack for a trip, and subsequently un-pack, I realized that I was missing a few things. A black cardigan and a pair of black Michael Kors jeans, to be specific. Trying to be thorough, I retraced my steps. Which led me to New Jersey, naturally. I called the hotel in Princeton to no avail. They went all the way back to June to assess if I had any "found items" attached to my hotel room records, and I did not.

I then scoured my closet. I'm a neat person and tend to put things back after they've been worn, so it was unlikely that I'd find them there. It's not like I've been sleeping over at anyone else's place lately, so where could they be?

Then I realized, as I dressed one night for bed, that I was missing a pair of black PJ shorts that match a set I have. Never mind, I'll reach for the grey pair. Also missing. Both coordinating tank tops were in my drawer, which is a hefty clue to the fact that the shorts were missing. I'd never pack/wear the mismatched set. (That fact likely sounds far more unusual than it is, I assure you).

Then what?

A few days later, I realized I was missing my grey leggings and a navy tank top, which also goes with PJ pants.

Now I was just annoyed. Ticked off to no end. I had now counted SIX items of clothing, all in the dark wash family, that were missing.

Without suspicion, I drafted a little "Missing Laundry" sign for the bulletin board in the laundry room. Promptly went up and tacked it there. Offered a reward, even. Gave a "no questions asked" line. Suggested several ways to get in touch with me, and ways to return the items for said reward. Come on, you ladies KNOW how hard it is to find pants you like - and these were Michael Kors jeans that fit me perfectly!!

Anyway. I just went up to the laundry room to put a few loads in while I wait in anticipation for the ABC fall shows to premier.

AND....my sign is gone.

Did the clothing thief realize that I was hot on their (his? her?) trail and take it down!? Who would do that, unless they feared getting caught? The sign removal isn't until the end of the month! And it's only the 23rd!

(And yes, I'm totally staring at every person that is even remotely close to my size who wears black jeans to see if they're sporting an MK on the butt pockets. Just don't ask me what I'll do if I DO spot them!)

I couldn't be more annoyed right now. I immediately grabbed a piece of paper, a Sharpie marker, and made a new sign, listing the items and once again offering a reward and return options. I'm taking it back up there in 17 minutes when my loads are finished washing.

Please don't tell me I'm going to have to watch condo channel 94, the one that spies on the laundry room, from now on when I put clothes in? To keep an eye on the machines, on a look-out for clothes-snatchers AND sign-stealers?!

That would bring my single-living to a whole new low.

Changing the channel now...

A Toast to Lauren & George

Photos by Tom Smarch of A Wedding Tale where noted.

As you likely saw awhile back, my sister Lauren and her lovely George were engaged to be married, and the big day finally has come and gone. The week at home was really wonderful, but man, was it a whirlwind of activity!

George is from Czech Republic, and his parents, brother and sister-in-law were in town to celebrate the wedding with us, and it was such a joy to meet and get to know them. I know now very clearly where George gets his good looks, kind heart, gentle nature and sharp sense of humor. I also more fully understand what people mean when they say that a wedding is a merging of families, not just two people. We are fortunate to be a part of this union.

It was an emotional whirlwind - we met the family, prepared the details, put together the floral bouquets (which is quite a feat, but clearly feasible with some patience and creativity!), bought the party supplies, set up the venue and got ready for the big day. Friday, September 11th was the date for the wedding, and it was incredibly fun, hectic and beautiful.

The weather held out and we were able to have the ceremony outside on the green grass of the golf course, and the blue sky was revealed right before we descended onto the lawn. I was strong and not emotional until the very last moment - when I walked down the aisle ahead of the flower girls and my sister, on the arm of my Dad, it was at that moment that the emotions hit me. I began to shake, and tears welled up in my eyes.

As I watched my sister, younger than I by three years, walk down the aisle looking radiant, happy, gorgeous and smiling, I could hardly keep it together. It was as if there was no one else there, just her, as she walked our way. Time had stood still. Thank goodness Jill had the forethought to give me a monogrammed hanky before I left town - I needed it more than ever. Gripping my lime green roses with one hand, I dabbed at the tears that tried to fight their way down my face, and snuck a glance at George. His grin was genuine, heartfelt and huge - which was all it took to send me into a happy cry.

The wedding ceremony was lovely, special and intimate. The party afterwards, held in the gorgeous ballroom that was graced with all of Lauren's special and thoughtful touches, was part fun and part a blur. You know that feeling when you are in a moment, but can't seem to slow it down enough to really notice all of the detail? That was how I felt. My Mom and I wish we could go back and rewind it all and attend as a guest - just to take part in it all again.

My toast was sincere, and I managed not to sob as I delivered it. I believe it states concisely (yet not fully) how it feels to watch your sister marry the man of her dreams - it is not enough to say that you love her. She is part of who I am, and I am happily, willingly, letting go enough to watch her walk into her new life with George. I am fuller now, with him in our family, and know that lifelong happiness is headed our way.

I reprint the toast here, to share it with my family again for posterity, but also to try to capture in writing how I felt at that moment. For those of you that don't know us personally, George is a very tall man and fits in nicely with my tall family - anchoring us if you will. You'll get more out of the below you if you know that up front.

I am so honored, proud and in love with my sister, and couldn't be happier to have been a part of the day celebrating her love with George.

Congratulations to you both! I love you so much.

--

I am pretty sure they call you the Maid of Honor to make you feel better about having to get up here and spill your guts to a large crowd of people. No, really, it IS an honor to be a part of this day celebrating Lauren and George.

Having a sister is a strange thing – and by the time I started to figure out how lucky I was to have one, I had moved away.

First to college, leaving her to take over my bedroom and drive my car (both of which kind of irked me at the time). Then, to an apartment downtown, while she was still in Athens living life and growing up. And finally, I moved 1,000 miles away to Chicago, and we became closer than ever.

Life is funny that way.

But for most of our lives, Lauren and I struggled to cherish how incredibly fortunate we were to have a built-in, God-given friend living under the same roof.

We fought, likely over who got to be in charge, bad 80s clothes, use of the phone, and mirror time curling our bangs and spraying them into something unrecognizable. It felt like we were either too far apart in age to have anything in common, or too close to want to admit it. We were clumsy as sisters, and I’m talking about more than just that time that I accidentally ran over her with the riding lawnmower.

Come on, the blade was turned off…

But then, it all changed. When I was in college and Lauren was in high school, she met a lot of the people who are here today, and I remember looking at her differently. She was not following my footsteps, she was forging her own. Then she joined me at Georgia and continued to grow up. (Not just taller). I liked her not only as a sister, but also as a person. Which was a far cry from trying to kick her out of the car on the way to high school for being grouchy in the morning.

Sorry ‘bout that one, kiddo.

It wasn’t really until I moved to Chicago, and found myself missing her point of view, or her stories, or her wide-mouthed belly laugh, that I realized that Lauren was my friend. As she got a new job, I filled with pride as I knew how impressed her bosses would be. When she bought a new condo, I was anxious to see how she’d decorated it (in under 2.5 hours flat). When she met a new guy, however …that was harder.

As the parents or older siblings in the room can attest – there is this instant feeling of panic. Not that she’d make the wrong decision, or do something stupid – more that she’d get lost in the moment and get hurt. I wanted to protect her, to teach her, to help her avoid the heartbreak that comes with dating. And it wasn’t like I’d had it down to a science. But Lauren, true to her personality, grew smarter and savvier, and pretty soon had it all figured out.

I’m still waiting for her to teach me….

When she met George, she talked about him in a way that suggested that she’d found a mate. Not just someone with whom she could see eye to eye (well, almost!), but also someone that could challenge, balance, teach and love her. Someone who could protect, advise, laugh with, and adventure with her.

Apparently, it was true.

I’ve always been inextricably linked to Lauren. I now realize that I was never fully me without her. And now I’m willingly letting go, just a little bit, to share her with George. I figure it’s a win-win. We needed another man around the house, and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a brother. Given the amount of legroom the five of us take up, though, it should be interesting just trying to GO ANYWHERE in the car together.

George, I couldn’t be happier to welcome you to the family, and know that you and I will become the best of friends – as well as family. You are a kind soul with a heart of gold and I know you will take care of my sister always. You probably won’t run her over with a lawnmower, either.

Lauren, I have never been more proud of you than I am today, and I have never been more certain about something than I am about you and George choosing each other. I have never been more thrilled to be included, and I have never been more honored to offer up this toast, to my beautiful sister, my friend.

I’m so lucky to have you in my life, and I know George feels the same way.

So let’s raise a glass to Lauren and George:

I wish you both a lifetime of lasting love, belly laughs, good health, smart kids...

and…extra legroom.

Na zdraví!
(Cheers in Czech)