Today was a good day, as unemployed days off in the middle of December with a huge storm forecast for tonight go.
I heard back from a company that I'm dying to work for, and while I wasn't quite right for the one position, they liked me so much that they want me to come and talk to some other people for another position on what sounds like an even more interesting account, and I'm going in tomorrow at 1 pm.
This is the part where I must admit that I jumped up and down in my bedroom (the only place in my apartment that doesn't currently drop every single call I make) and actually let out a "whoop" that would have scared small children if I were the type to keep small children hanging around in my apartment.
I realized I haven't shared with you the photos from my friends' Ugly Christmas Sweater Party last weekend, so here's the best. Brett and I were in the front of the "portrait" and clearly were going for "serious faces" while the back row went with "jazz hands." We're grown-ups, I swear.
Ok, now that that's done, back to today.
Much to my surprise (since when do eBay and UPS ever do you any favors?), the two long-awaited packages came that are the final two parts to a very complicated, but extremely thoughtful, gift for Brett's birthday this weekend. With not a minute wasted, I tore open the packing boxes, put the entire gift together, and wrapped it all up with shiny non-Christmas paper and matching ribbons. We Christmas-week birthdays get sortof ticked off when people do the "it's wrapped in Christmas paper but it is really a birthday gift, I promise" kind of thing. Trust me.
More to come on the sad state of affairs when your birthday is wedged in between Christmas and New Years next week.
Then I placed the gift under the tree (the Christmas/Birthday rule doesn't apply when it comes to placement of the gifts until the giving happens, especially when you want your tree not to get lonely), and I figured now would be as good as time as any to share the photo I took last week before my gifts were all shipped off. Here you go. My little tree, with the bright star on top that I cut off inadvertently. Not in real life, just in the photo, silly.
Finally, I ran to the store for the final ingredients (culinary and otherwise) to complete Brett's birthday surprise tomorrow night. We're having the party at one of my favorite bars, Matilda, and the owner is so cool that he's offered us 50 free drink tickets and I can bring my own food (hint, hint) so I will be stopping by there tomorrow if the snow will allow that.
So, I'm bought, wrapped, lists made and ready for tomorrow's culinary expedition, which will now come after my interview. Woohoo! Yep, there it goes again. That outward burst of excitement.
After the fun weekend we have planned, if I have any brain cells left, we're celebrating Christmas early here together, and then I will leave him to his holiday with his family in Michigan, and I will head south like a snowbird to my family in Atlanta. I'm looking so forward to time with them, and my mom's mini-cheesecakes, not necessarily in that order.
Can you tell my mood is significantly better today? I can barely type as fast as my little brain is going today, and it is all good news. Thank you, Interweb, for the kind words, support and good vibrations. It's working!
Even the 10" of snow we're expecting tonight can't dim my bulb. This was the view of the lake from my apartment on Tuesday, and it will be even whiter out there tomorrow, if what Tom Skilling says is true. And, isn't it always? (Chris, you are nodding, aren't you?)
And, as the final sign of my mental improvement, I haven't given dirty looks to any unlit holiday decorations* today, so I'm clearly on the up and up.
*See Tuesday's post if you have no idea what I'm talking about.
In an effort to share the highs and lows of blogging, as well as to momentarily travel back to the commuting theme, I present to you today a guest blogger. Yes, that pun was intended.
You know her from my previous posts. Elizabeth is one of The Posse, was part of the Costa Rica adventure, and has been featured many other times in blog posts, stories and references. She is a regular reader and a hilarious commenter. We've been friends since the 9th grade, despite the fact that at first, we were like oil and water. She quickly became one of my favorite people in the whole world, and I couldn't be happier that we're now in our 17th year of friendship.
So, I am proud to offer up today's post from Liz, in her words. My notes are in italics, because you know I can't keep quiet THIS LONG without saying at least a few things.
-- How to commute to Chicago...in a snow storm! By Elizabeth Norris
In August 2006, Colleen's friends in Chicago, Jill and Josh, began contacting her friends, family and coworkers about throwing a surprise 30th birthday for her in December. Four months before the party date, there were 15 out of towners who had booked plane tickets for the big surprise. The bulk of the party goers were traveling from Atlanta, LA and St. Louis. Needless to say, everyone was very excited and found it challenging to keep the secret from Colleen. She's quite the crafty, nosy, smart girl...whatever you want to call it.
I'd call it sly and brilliant, but that's just me.
The party was scheduled for a Friday night, the first weekend in December, so most guests had plane flights departing their respective cities early in the morning. The Thursday before the party, a massive snow storm decided to visit Chicago.
Slam into the city is more like it!
This created a huge mess for travelers all over the country. Four girls traveling from Atlanta (me ---> Liz, Mandi, Heather, Lauren) were lucky to get on the 8 AM flight to Midway. This was the ONLY Delta flight out of Atlanta heading to Chicago that was not canceled that day. Lauren was using a buddy pass and made it on the flight at the last minute and was forced to ride First Class with our world traveler and Delta Sky Mile collector, Heather. Rough life.
We were so excited to be on our way to Chicago because a great panic had set in that we may not make it. The flight was marvelous and the smells of poop filled the plane. It seemed a passenger had a "grumpy" in the bathroom and it circulated throughout the air system of the plane. It even made its way to the cockpit and the pilots were phoning the Flight Attendants in the cabin asking what the hell was going on out there.
The plane made it to Chicago and circled and circled and circled. And then..landed in Indianapolis! Yeah! This is where everything got interesting.
The flight crew informed the passengers that:
a) the plane was returning to Atlanta, and b) nobody was allowed to get off the plane.
Angry passengers began shouting and some finally just bailed past the flight attendants and left. One man, with carry-on luggage, kept saying that he'd rented an SUV and was driving to Chicago and demanded they let him off. He was quite attractive and was standing next to our first class passengers, Heather and Lauren.
In his frustration he began talking to Heather and explaining to her that he had a car and they could not hold him on the plane. Heather jokingly asks "well, can you take us to Chicago, too?" "No problem," he says, and pushes past the flight attendant and onto the jetway.
So long, Mr. Cute Man with the Rental Car.
At this point, it was clear that the crew could not hold us captive on the plane so we began crafting our getaway plan. We needed to know what would happen to our luggage if we got off in Indianapolis. Originally, Delta told us our luggage was going back to Atlanta—no questions asked. While this was not 100% appealing to us, we were ready to bail on our luggage and make-up for the entire weekend and hit the first H&M we saw. The excuse for a shopping spree was thrilling to us.
Side note: then, I broke the plane.
It was a very nice new plane but my booty broke it. I'm packin' some heat in the "trunk" for those of you that don't know me. Therefore, I plead genetic defect.
To sum it up, I was up in first class with Heather and Lauren, trying to feel superior and rich, leaning against the wall of the plane. I was leaning over with my hands on my knees, so I was applying a decent amount of pressure to the cabin wall. Next thing we heard was "POP" and the wall collapsed in a little. I have concaved the wall and separated a seam of the airplane wall. Freaking genius. I knew Delta was gonna make me clean out barf bags and pick up tiny peanuts 'til I paid for the damage. Luckily, I used my massive rear to conceal the damage from the crew.
Remember, this is Liz talking. My booty isn't quite this powerful.
At this time, 45 minutes had passed since we'd landed and Delta finally said that we could all get off the plane. They agreed to unload all our luggage and said they were trying to organize buses to Chicago. These buses were going to be there to pick us up who knows when (they were predicting 3+ hours). The plane was still going back to Atlanta for those who would like that option.
Poor Lauren, with her buddy pass status, knew that her chances of getting on a flight back to Atlanta from Chicago on Sunday were slim. She could have been stranded there 'til mid- week. So we waved good bye to our friend as she headed off to complete the most pointless plane trip of her life.
We exited the plane, celebrating our escape, but wondering how we were supposed to get to Chicago. As we left the jetway we saw a beam of light from the sky that created a glow around...Mr. Cute Man with the Rental Car!
The Hallelujah Chorus was heard in the background and we ran in slow motion toward him with our arms outstretched. Ok...not really, but that's how it felt when we saw him still waiting at the gate for us. He was with a flight attendant who had been riding as a passenger next to Heather and Lauren. She also needed a ride to Chicago. The two of them had waited on me, Mandi and Heather, and we could not believe our luck.
Doesn't hurt that I have attractive friends.
We grabbed our luggage and all piled into the mid-size SUV rental car. There was a snowstorm going on and we had a two-hour drive to Chicago. A two-hour ride with strangers is something I recommend everyone do. It was quite the experience. I learned that Indiana is flat...VERY flat. We talked a lot about Colleen's party and how we'd been friends for so long. We knew almost all flights into Chicago were canceled and were keeping our fingers crossed that all the other party guests were going to make it.
Throughout the ride, Rob (AKA Mr. Cute Man with the Rental Car) was getting a lot of business phone calls. We could tell he had an interesting job so we all began quietly trying and figure it out amongst ourselves. Even the flight attendant in the front seat was turned around whispering to us. It was very funny.
Finally, one of us just asked him what line of work he was in. He replied, "I'm a reporter for Dateline." THE Dateline we were all thinking? Yep...THE Dateline that, at the time, was on NBC two or more times a week. His name is Rob Stafford, and he lived in Chicago. He currently does the weekend news for NBC5 News in Chicago, and yes...he's pretty darn cute and charming.
We talked about some of the stories he'd covered. In Georgia, he did a special on the Bart Corbin trial and the Amy Yates investigation. He explained that his phone calls were with a P.I. he was working with trying to locate a suspect. They were plotting how they could approach him with cameras at his job and confront him about the murder of his girlfriend. Rob had worked for Dateline for ten years and knew Stone Phillips, Chris Hanson and Ann Curry quite well. He was a mini-celebrity who had saved us from Indianapolis and nicely driven us to Midway.
He dropped the four of us off and Midway and rode off into the sunset.
Considering that we had gotten about 12 inches of snow that morning, let's assume this is the proverbial sunset, ok?
Not sure if Rob even knows what his generosity meant to us that day. How many grown men would even volunteer for a long car ride with some giggly girls excited about a surprise party, drinking the night away and a cheap clothing store? Brave soul. I bet his wife is pretty cool...like us.
We shared a taxi to the city with the flight attendant and made our way to our friend Jenny's Dad's condo on LaSalle St. Jenny had arrived the day before and avoided Snow Storm '06.
Sadly, the four of us were the only out of town guests who made it. Colleen's parents and sister were stranded in the Atlanta airport for more than 13 hours, Aunts and cousins never left St. Louis, a friend didn't make it out of South Carolina, an Aunt and Uncle didn't make it from Michigan and old friends and more cousins never made it off the ground in LA.
What was going to be 15 strong had become only 4 visitors from out of town. But, three of us had managed to write our own version of planes, trains and automobiles. Quite the unexpected but memorable adventure!
Luckily, Colleen is blessed with a wonderful group of friends in Chicago. There was no shortage of people at the party and we had a great time. If Colleen is brave enough she'll post the video of her running in and seeing the four members of "The Posse" in the room. I highly recommend watching this bit of comedy. Judging by her reaction it's probably a good thing all 15 out of town guests weren't there. I'm not sure she could have taken it! --
Thanks, Liz! She's right. However, it was one of the best days of my life. What a surprise. And, what amazing friends I have! Somewhat embarrassingly begrudgingly, here's the video of my arrival. All my friends are tucked behind the camera-girl hiding behind the bar. Laugh away.
Yes. I'm prancing. That is some gen-u-wine emotion, people. And, my guest blogger Liz is the one in the black short sleeved blouse with the loud contagious laugh.
Today's news announced that in the last 61 days, it has snowed 43 of them in Chicago. Not all of that was big snows, but some traceable amounts have been recorded in 43 of 61 days. That's 70%.
And is it any wonder that people get a tad bit crabby around this time? It FEELS like it should be Spring, the calendar makes us THINK it is around the corner, and turning back the clocks made it even SEEM closer than ever.
But I think we're all fooling ourselves.
Pretty hard to believe that Lake Michigan ever gets warm enough to swim in it—if you're willing to dodge the garbage and ignore the E. Coli, that is.
Photo taken in Waveland Park yesterday. I resisted the urge to lick the posts.
Something pretty unusual is happening to me today.
I have nothing to say.
No stories to tell. No news to report. No funny online things to point out. No parallels or conclusions or assumptions to make.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Less than Zero.
I'm bone dry like the middle of the desert in August.
I feel like I'm letting you down. I feel like I'm disappointing myself. I feel like today is a black mark against my storytelling roots, and my tangent-filled narrative history.
Maybe there will be more excitement tomorrow. More likely, there will just be more snow. But we're all sick of hearing about that.
The weather forecasters predicted that we would get 6-12" of snow starting at 6 pm last night. They made a huge deal about how bad the commute would be last night, and again this morning.
They, once again, were wrong. Even Tom Skilling on WGN was all mixed up! Who can you trust?!
We awoke to find nothing more than some wet pavements, light sleet and heavy winds. Not the huge snowfall they'd promised (or scared us with).
It got me thinking. What other jobs can you be so bad at, and wrong so much of the time, and yet still get paid? I recall a story about the mayor in Moscow declaring that he was going to begin fining the weathermen if they were wrong, to raise funds for more weather data centers. A little harsh, but hey, it's Russia.
Seems like kindof a keen idea. Hold people accountable. I know that if I were completely unprepared and incorrect in fulfilling the entirety of my job description, I'd be looking elsewhere for employment.
And, while on the topic of jobs, employment and total failures, I was thinking about how strange it would be to be the current President of the United States. Politics aside (sortof), President Bush has been doing a job for a little over 7 years now. For the next 10 months he has to (or rather, gets to?) watch others battle ferociously for his job.
Wouldn't that be awkward in the typical office situation?
Sure, take my job. Battle that guy for it. Spend all your money doing it, and make a fool of yourself once or twice along the way. Heck, drag your entire families through the mud while you're at it. Don't sleep for nearly a year, and travel on huge busses, planes and trains to every small dinky little town in America, pretending you care (or know where the heck you are). Watch as your former classmates, lovers, roommates, and distant family members unveil your dirty little secrets and shed light on all of the skeletons in your closet. Pack all of your things, and just move right in. To my office, and my home. Kick me completely to the curb.
Just take my job. Please?
The "please" is how I assume President Bush must feel. At least the election takes the spotlight, and some of the pressure, off of him.
For now.
At least until his next live (candid or otherwise) speech.
I like to see the best in every situation, and sometimes it takes a bit of hard work to find it, and other times you just know.
This time was obvious.
Forget the wet jeans. Ignore the grey slush along every curb. Just disregard the salty roads and filthy cars. Totally let yourself get past the fridgid wind and horrid temperatures.
Enter: the optimist.
One reason to love huge snow storms, and the cold winters here in Chicago, is the simple fact that when hosting a party you can fit more in the fridge.
Why is that, you ask? Are the refrigerators bigger here? Nope.
Because there are front balconies* and back porches that keep your beer nice and cold. Throw a cooler out there filled with beer, and let the snow do its thing.
Although, to be honest, there have been a few frozen bottles when you forget about the poor beverages too long, but hey, a beer slushie never hurt anyone.
Maybe 7 Eleven should serve that flavor?
*Yes, that is an actual photo taken on the front balcony of a friend's apartment last night during the Super Bowl. Made the trips to the fridge a lot less frequent, and cut down on the chances that you'd lose your seat on the couch. I love snow.
Last night, I reached into the pocket of a lightweight coat I haven't worn in a while, and found the lip balm that I purchased while vacationing in the Mayan Riviera, Mexico, in early November.
It's a great, basic lip balm, with a solid 30 SPF, and I was glad to find it. It's a Mexican brand, and the words are all in Spanish, which lends it some "international coolness."
I immediately open the cap to put some on my sadly winterized chapped lips, only to realize something very bittersweet.
It was covered in sand.
Not pocket lint. Not dust. Not dirt.
Mexican beach sand.
Torture. As if I needed that, while the snow and temperatures continue to fall here in Chicago. All I could do was take that opportunity to daydream about how perfecto our trip was, and mentally plan my next warm weather vacation.
And, yes, I used it anyway. That's what thumbs are for.
A 36-inch, 100-year-old water main burst overnight, leaving a 15-foot-deep hole in Montrose Avenue that measures about 80 feet in diameter.
This could be blamed for some of today's horrendous traffic. Or, it could be that people took MLK day off, and somehow, over the course of the 3-day weekend, totally forgot how to drive?
Because it just couldn't be the not-even-2-inches of snow we got last night.
While riding home in a cab last night, skirting past the beaches along Lake Michigan, this thought occurred to me.
Snow doesn't look quite right on sand.
It almost looks like God got distracted while in the middle of that whole weather thing and mixed up his elements. As if he was busy with other tasks, and just forgot where he was. Might've even left the room for a bit only to return with a confused look on his face, and no idea where to start again. Kindof like when I burn the macaroni.
I know, I know, he's omniscient and shouldn't have these problems, but let's give the guy a break.
Now, if only the sand here (in January) felt as warm as sand is clearly, certainly, heavenly-dictated to feel between your toes...
My family lives in Atlanta, and I'm telling you, those southerners sure do know how to overreact.
I got a text message from her today that simply said, "We're getting snow, and the entire city is freaking out."
She's not kidding.
I, living in Chicago, of course got arrogant about how much snow we get, and how our city handles it, how I'm an old pro now after 8 winters, and how they're a bunch of wimps. She admitted that they were only getting about 1/4 of an inch, or a "dusting," if you will. She also said that the "amount" of snow depending on which tree you were looking at.
And then she said, I do hope the city is warming up THE snow plow!
Hilarious. It will likely be headline news for a week, and named (with a cheesy coordinating animated graphic, no doubt) "Winter Storm '08."
Atlanta readers—you better stop reading, go buy bread and toilet paper!
This just in...my sister's car! She probably had to dig it out using her bare hands. We feel your pain, sis!
With temperatures reaching above 60 yesterday and today, Chicago is experiencing a relative heat wave.
I even saw people wearing short sleeves and no coats today! Those crazies will milk 48 hours of warm weather if you give 'em a chance. This must be what Al Gore's been talking about?
Although, they're forecasting snow by the weekend.
On the way home today, the bus was crowded, even though it was only 3:15 pm. I raced to catch it, and sat at the front near an old man. He had a cane, and was neatly dressed.
As the traffic slowed on Lake Shore, heading north, he started to mumble under his breath. Then it grew louder. And louder.
Then it was full out talking to himself, or anyone who was within a mere 10 foot range.
But clearly he didn't want, or need, a response. Just an audience.
He was not pleased with the bus driver. He was disappointed in the sluggish traffic. He was not happy with the soggy falling snow. He was cranking about the woman to his left's perfume. He was not overjoyed with the salt truck weaving in our lane. He wasn't happy with the Bears' season. (ok, that was mine, but it seemed fitting)
I could really only make out every 5th word or so, but we all got the gist.
This guy was one grumpy old man.
My mom, sister and I made a pact over this holiday: we promised that if we ever got really sore and crabby and grumpy and crazy as we aged, that we'd just shoot each other. Get us (and, frankly, everyone else) out of the misery. Save us the trouble of ending up as that old person on the bus that everyone is glaring at, and that is oblivious to it all.
Did I mention he was wearing a clinical face mask?
And, yes, I was insane enough to venture there last weekend, with a headache, to try to find one last gift that I've been seeking.
Big mistake. Huge.
I push my oversized card through their oversized aisles, and am trying my best to remember that this is the holiday season, and that means good cheer and tidings to men and all that, but I was on the verge of a breakdown.
Too hot, too many people, too few registers open, too much to drink the night before, too loud, too hard to find a parking space, too crabby.
And then I hear it. Holiday music tinkling out above the rest of the din. I look around, and realize it is a a young boy, seated at the upright keyboard, and he was playing songs for the passersby. He couldn't have been more than 10, and he was playing brilliantly. Sweet look on his face, calm manner, just playing away.
He moved on from holiday numbers to assorted compositions you'd recognize (but that I can't name). It was beautiful.
I was moved, and momentarily forgot my distaste for the oversized giant of a headache-inducing place that is Costco on a Saturday in December.
I grabbed a case of beer, loaded the lumpy box into the cart, and made it to the checkout aisle. The bottom of the box was curiously weak, and somewhat damp, and I could only imagine what was hiding out on the bottom of my Stella Artois. But, it was the last case, and I had special friends coming in town that preferred the beer, so I went for it.
When I got home, and began to unload the beer into the fridge, I realize that not one, but TWO of the bottles were broken in their place, and the beer had clearly soaked through the box. Little dead soldiers still in their cardboard cells.
It was very sad. But, not worth driving back to Costco for, that's for sure. Tried to recall the sound of the music the boy played. I needed it to erase the sad sight of two broken bottles amidst all of the lovely green glass.
As a follow up to yesterday's post "Not So Magnificent," I just ran some last minute, lunch time errands on Michigan Avenue to finish my holiday shopping...
...brief celebration for THAT right here...
and realized that the melting snow/ice from the buildings is really gettin' serious out there.
It was like one giant game of Frogger—using real life tourists!
And, it is the best social analysis of the psychology of mob activity. If one person looks up, then everyone begins to look up.
Don't these people realize that if they look UP, then snow falling will hit them directly in the FACE?
I'd say keep your Frogger head down, and move quickly. When in doubt, carry a child on your shoulders for protection.
So I was just escaping the work grind for a short break at the food court at Nordstrom, just down the Magnificent Mile from my office. After a quick lunch, I walked toward the front doors only to realize that there were cops there, blocking all traffic from exiting. Not one to miss a moment of the action, I stuck around long enough to realize they were shuttling all holiday shoppers out other exits, but you absolutely were not able to use the Michigan Avenue-facing revolving doors.
Normally, a girl with an affinity for shopping would love the opportunity (or excuse!) to be stuck inside a sale-laden, holiday-decorated retail venue, but this time was just plain baffling. You mean I can't leave? Mustn't return to work?
They had roped off the outside entrance and there were huge shards of ice laying broken in pieces on the sidewalk, surrounded by crowds looking up.
Apparently the sun had warmed the ice on the roof just enough to send it crashing to the pavement down below. This happens a lot here, and there was even a death a few years ago when a woman was hit by a huge slice of ice from above.
Who knew shopping could be such an adventure sport?
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