A Bit Like the Hokey Pokey

Everyone knows what people say. That change is good. It makes life interesting. Keeps us guessing.

It was a Friday night, in June of 2000. I was at a wedding in St. Louis. My cousin Mike was getting married, and it was a fun O'Brien party—lots of laughs, dancing and, yes, wine.

After my second glass, I leaned over to Molly, my cousin who was a year behind me in school and had just graduated from KU, and asked her what she was planning to do now.

With a huge grin, she announced that she was moving to Chicago in August and couldn't wait to get to the big city. She'd been to Chicago many times before, and loved the energy and the opportunities there.

I sat quietly, and then, somewhat jokingly said, "Can I come?"

She thought I meant for a visit.

I meant to live there, too.

Laughing it off, as one would do to someone who'd made such a wild request, she said, "Of course!"

She was moving here to live with her high school friend Shannon and her college friend Jill. They were going to find an apartment, find jobs and find out who they really were, post-graduation.

At the time, I was working in Atlanta, had an apartment in Buckhead with two girls from college, and had a pretty good life. Tons of friends, a great social calendar, and the sort of familiar routine that comes with living in the city where you'd grown up. I knew that Trivia was on Tuesdays, where we'd be on Friday nights, that Athens for the Saturday games was just an hour away.

I was comfortable with my choices, but somehow just felt bored. Unfulfilled. Strangely, and unknowingly, dissatisfied that I'd done the expected. Moved to Atlanta after college. Ran with the same crowd, did the same activities and talked about the same things as everyone else whom I'd known for most of my life.

I was itching for a change.

Taking a long, slow sip of my wine, I leaned back over to Molly, and shouted over the band's lead singer, "No, I'm serious. What if I moved there with you?"

She looked at me like I was crazy. At first. Then a slow smile spread across her face. And, she told me to get another glass of wine. She didn't believe I was serious.

A few glasses later, I was that much more positive that a move from Atlanta was just what I needed to shake things up. By the following morning, the idea had done more than just plant a seed in my head—it had blossomed into a whole tree of possibility.

I asked her again what her plans were. Desperate for a few more specifics. She laughed—was I really serious? I'd never even been to Chicago.

By Sunday evening, when I was on the plane home with my parents and sister, I said to them, casually but loaded with meaning, "What would you guys say if I said I wanted to move to Chicago with Molly?"

They looked at me like I was crazy, or joking, and then realized I was dead serious. They said, almost together, that they'd support my decision. If I were serious.

Which, clearly I was. On Monday at work, I Googled Chicago. Perused through the images of the city, the parks, the lake, the surrounding areas. Checked it out on a map. Read reviews of the city, and checked out the comparisons to Atlanta—cost of living, demographics, population, etc.

When my phone rang later that day, and it was Molly, she asked me a pretty big question. She said, "On Wednesday, my Mom, Shannon and I are driving up to Chicago to look at apartments. Are we looking for a three bedroom or a four bedroom??"

I sat, covering the receiver with my hand, at my desk at work and answered the question that would change the course of the next decade, and likely the rest, of my life.

"A four bedroom. I'm in."

They called me from Chicago on Wednesday and told me about the apartments they'd seen. One especially great one on Clark Street in a place called Lincoln Park. It had four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a huge deck, a large overhead skylight and great views of the street down below. And, four guys living next door.

With my approval, and that of Jill's, who was home in Minnesota, they got a copy of the lease and read me the details over the phone. By Friday, I signed my portion of the lease and faxed it in to the management company. I'd been to the bank, gotten a certified check for the deposit, and it was a done deal. I bought a city book on Chicago, earmarked the pages, places and things I wanted to see, and began to search for jobs in my future town.

Seven days that completely changed my life.

My lease wasn't up in Atlanta until September, so I knew I had a few months to ride it out. Over the course of the next 60-75 days, I sold my car, gave notice at work and hired/trained my replacement, bought a new winter coat, applied for jobs, updated my resume and began packing up my life.

My friends held a great going-away party for me, and I cried as I said my goodbyes to those that I'd known for months, years and most of my life. As the taxi pulled away from the party, I didn't question my decision, but silently prayed I'd be happy. I cried all the way home.

When I landed in Chicago for a short "interview/get acquainted visit," I immediately loved the city. So much life! Energy! So many people! High-rises! Such a gorgeous lake, park, Navy Pier! As the cab rounded the curve at Oak Street Beach, I knew that I'd made the right decision.

I was 23, almost 24, and I just knew.

This change would do me good.

Nine+ years later, I have to admit. That decision paid off. Four jobs, three apartments, loads of old and new friends, many loves gained and lost, and lots of memories later, I am still here. I thought two years would be enough to "get it out of my system" but that's just it.

This change, this move to Chicago, was probably just what my system needed.

Apparently I don't do things halfway.

A bit like the Hokey Pokey, either I'm in or I'm out.

And, this time, the change was a little less overwhelming, and yet dramatic all the same.

Last weekend, I dyed my hair. DARK. I've always been the tall blonde. My hair, while gradually going darker over the years, has always been blonde. My eyebrows have always been darker than my hair (that's the O'Brien thing, I got it from my mom's side) and my stylist has been trying to convince me to do it for years.

So, I did.

And, you can see the proof of the process below.











I still give myself a bit of a start every time I look in the mirror, and I haven't recognized my reflection as I walked past a window just yet, but I think it's growing on me.

Change is good. It keeps thing interesting. And, if that last picture is any indication, I will grow to like the spunky new brunette me. Until I get used to it, I'll just fake it.

That's what I did in Chicago—while I loved it right away, I didn't feel like I fit in right away. It took time to get comfortable. I didn't call it home immediately, and now I can't imagine living anywhere else.

I guess that's what change is. A risk, a gamble and a giant step forward into the unknown.

With a bit of an attitude to boot.

Right?

Committed Relationship

As I sat in the salon chair today, sipping on hot coffee in a tiny little glass cup, something occurred to me.

My hair stylist, the dear and beautiful Kathy, is my longest Chicago relationship.

(besides my ex-roommate, Jill, of course)

I have been seeing her every eight weeks for the last eight and a half years. I knew that it was "right" from our first time together. Loyal to her and to her only, I have not cheated. I have paid dallying glances to cheaper "quick cut" spots when finances were tight, but rather than going elsewhere, I just went without. Okay, that's not entirely true. I did, just once, go somewhere else and get a cheapie haircut, and the hack job I received quickly proved me the fool. I went back to Kathy and sheepishly admitted my mistake. She forgave me at once.

I'm proud of my relationship with her. I tell other people about her and compliment her traits to anyone who will listen.

She doesn't change her mind about how she feels about me. She doesn't decide, after a lengthy commitment, that 'something is missing.' She doesn't talk about other clients and she doesn't compare me to anyone else. She tells me I'm beautiful, and leaves me looking better than when I first arrived.

We talk about our families, our friends, our jobs, our loves, our losses, our vacations, our clothes and our dreams. We hug hello, and hug goodbye. It is affectionate and charming, and I know that she really knows me when I come in. It isn't as if she has to check the book to see what my name is. We're "in."

I've grown up in that chair.

I've gone from the "Chicago virgin" in 2000, to "comfortable resident" in the years following, to "permanent gal" when I bought a condo here in 2005, to the present. I have had four different jobs, been through two layoffs, had three different addresses and four different haircuts while we've been together.

Of course, I will continue to see her. I'm proud to say that I've got an eight-and-a-half year relationship going.

With confirmed dates, complete with a hair wash and a head massage, every eight weeks.

I can't complain.

*Shameless plug on her behalf here: go to J. Gordon Designs in Lincoln Park and ask for Kathy. You won't be disappointed. Tell her I sent you!

You Drive the Wagon, I'll Ride Shotgun

With the non-stop coverage of the Olympics on television, and the water cooler talk everywhere focused on Michael Phelps Mania, it is hard not to at least be sensitive to, or tuned into, the madness and excitement that is the Olympics in Beijing.

Two weeks ago 90% of the American population probably couldn't name two swimmers, and now the whole country is signing up for swim team and hankering to own a Speedo. My red, bleary eyes are a dead giveaway that I've been staying up way too late to catch the action.

A moment of reflection is due, however, for all of the other bandwagons I've willingly climbed up on, and the few I've deftly managed to avoid.

Bandwagons I've Joined:

College Football - This is not one I'm ashamed of. Despite not having grown up a Dawgs fan (my parents weren't southern, and I only got turned onto it in high school), when you take one look at an SEC tailgate, with the Dawgs gear out in full glory, you fall instantly in love. I'm not apologizing for this one, and keep my Official Bandwagon Member Certification in my top drawer. Go Dawgs!

iPods - Embarrassingly, I still tote around the first generation iPod. It's vintage! And, it is by today's standards, enormous and weighs about 10 lbs. The battery won't hold a charge but it plays great if it is plugged into a dock or my car's adapter. And, what kind of commuter would I be without those clever little white earbud headphones?

The Cubs - I live 4 blocks from Wrigley Field and therefore it would be illegal not to like them, and all kidding aside, those Kosher hot dogs are just too damn delicious.

The Bears - Who doesn't like sitting outside in the wet snowy icy rain when it is 14 degrees outside? And talking smack about our own (lame) quarterback?

The Bulls - I tried. the games are pretty boring these days, and the United Center is just too hard to get home from. Raise your hand if you couldn't give a damn about a league of thugs who make too much money and act like idiots off the court? However, buy me a few $8 beers and spring for the ticket, and I'm in.

Gyms - Egad. I tried it for a few years here and realized that just paying the $60 monthly fee doesn't make you lose weight. If only. I'm pretty sure that my checkbook was the only thing getting any skinner during those long and torturous years of bandwagon-ness.

Sororities - I did it. So sue me. I also wore pearls and jean jackets, date party t-shirts and frat party sweatshirts. Forgive me for my sins, but it sure was one helluva way to meet people at a huge school. Sorority Rush was one giant sanctioned bandwagon, wasn't it?

Halloween - Despite looking hideous most years, I have dutifully concocted a silly costume and tromped all over town like an oversized (and overserved) child. It was much more fun than that a the time, but maybe that was the vodka talking?

Vintage Posters - You know the ones. Yes you do. Turn around in your living room and you'll likely see it, touting a wine or a European destination. They quickly became the rage in about 2000, and I have a huge one in my dining room. I love it, but it isn't that clever when everyone else has one, too.

Hair - Where do I begin? I permed it in elementary school (Lord help me). I teased and sprayed my bangs in middle school. I hot-rolled my hair every morning before high school, and wore it long because that's what the popular girls did. I got to college and in a pseudo-rebellious move, I cut it all off (oooh wasn't I brave?). Then, when I accidentally ended up with a mullet, I started growing it back out. then I moved to Chicago and realized I could use a shorter 'do to seem older in business meetings. Cut it to my chin. Then realized (and was told a former not-so-tactful colleague as much) that I looked better with it long. It's been long since. Should the trend swing back short, I sure hope I miss out. Because I'm clearly not ready (or in the station of life) for the Mom Haircut just yet.

Leather Pants - I think it is still too soon to discuss this one. I'm pretty emotionally scarred by the memories (and the photographic evidence), but at least I never had a Ross Gellar experience while wearing (or removing) them.

Politics - Not as much of a bandwagon-fan there, but inspired by what this election offers. Change is good, and needed, so I'm game. If the wagon makes young people vote, I'll drive.

Blackberry - I confess. Mine is not a Blackberry, but a Blackjack. Yet I'm addicted just the same.

Thongs - Yes. Underwear. I said it. And, I'm admitting it. I turned from a thong-hater, to a swears-by-it thong wearer. Too much information? I know. But, if you give the Hanky Panky brand a try, and can get a second mortgage to cover it, buy some. You'll thank me.

Oversized Shades - I feel a bit like Paris or Nicole, but in my huge sunglasses, I look cool.

Going Green - I recycle. Isn't that enough? No. I know. But I'm working on it. I have just been asked to participate in an interactive marketing program for the household brand method, so I'm gonna up my participation in the green movement. How globally conscious of me.

Facebook - Not afraid to announce that I love it. I'm not a creepy stalker, or a pedophile, or a mom with four gorgeous kids on display. Just your average user who likes to see how people are, who got married to whom, and where everyone lives. Ok, and stalk the occasional ex. Isn't that part of it?

Mac Revolution - Maybe "revolution" gives it too much credit, but I do love my Mac. And, I swear I'll never own a PC again. And the store? So fun and gadgety.

Harry Potter - While I wasn't the fan that was in the Border's Bookstore at midnight, I did read the first three or four, and actually was quite surprised at how much fun they were to read. Until I got publicly ridiculed by a mother to her six-year old on the bus one day for "reading a kid's book." I lost interest shortly thereafter. Coincidence?

Jewelry - Slap bracelets, jelly bracelets, chandelier earrings, chunky plastic necklaces, fake diamond studs, Swatch watches, braided ribbon barrettes, grosgrain ribbons in our hair, scarves in the summer, stone jewelry, turquoise jewelry, etc. I could keep going. I know that most of these are trends in fashion (brief, painful and fleeting) but they seem like a bandwagon at the time. I couldn't swing a cat outside on Michigan Avenue right now without knocking over at least a dozen sporting the latest jewelry or fashion bandwagons.

Weddings & Babies - I fully admit this isn't a bandwagon, but given the number of bridal showers, bachelorette parties, weddings, engagement parties and baby showers I've been to, and the sheer volume of announcements and invitations littering my stainless steel fridge, I'd have to say that something's in the water. I'm going thirsty for now.

Stainless Steel Appliances - Didn't occur to me until I wrote the above, but its true. I'm a convert and cringe a little when I think of the pre-renovation brown fridge and pink stove. Shudder.

Chicago - You'd think I was the president of the tourism office here, I love this place so much. I think that is a healthy addiction, no? I am pretty sure the city loves me back. Besides those few parking tickets...

Blogging - This one is clear. But you're here, aren't you? And still having fun? I'm good enough, smart enough and funny enough? And, gosh darnit, people like me? (Maybe add a comment here just to confirm my suspicions that someone other than my mom, sister and Jenny are reading me daily).


Bandwagons I've Avoided:

Footwear - Those Greek lace-up sandals look painful, cowboy boots and skirts just look ridiculous. Oh, and if you live in L.A.? UGGs aren't for you. Personally, I always thought they were hideous (and sortof still do), but then I tried on my friend Brenna's and dear God in heaven I have to own some. At least the weather here warrants the ugliness.

Jeans - Let's call a spade a spade. Those high-waisted things are atrocious - don't those girls own a mirror? I don't need anything accentuating my girl-pooch, or drawing attention to my crotch.

Alternative Medicine - Short of a pleasant massage, I've never been treated in anything resembling Eastern Medicine. I've not tried cupping (too vain), herbal supplements (too cheap), chiropractic care (too skeptical), acupuncture (too afraid) or those God-awful fish that eat the dead human flesh on your feet (too disgusted).

Tattoos - We've already covered how this is not my thing. I'm just ever so glad that I was strong enough not to cave in high school.

Belly button piercings - Short of almost getting dragged into it in Amsterdam (I blame Mandi and the 12 beers), I didn't succumb to the pressure. My stomach is so glad - I'd probably have to dig it out and have it surgically removed from the gentle rolls I'm gathering down there now, and that's not sexy one bit.

Hybrids - Mostly because I'm fond of my Jeep Liberty, and far too lazy to sell the thing. It's possible that I'll convert after this one is paid off, or when gas prices go to $10 a gallon. At that point I'll have no choice. (I do have a bike in case you're wondering, but I'm far too wimpy to bike to work).

What other bandwagons have you jumped aboard, or deftly avoided? That's all I can think of.

Maybe I'm a joiner, not a rebel?

I know, I know. Hide your surprise.