The One Where I Fake Incredulous

Yesterday, my oldest friend in the world (not that of all my friends she is literally the oldest, but our friendship is the oldest) left me a voicemail announcing that she is having a baby girl; I will be having a niece at the end of August.  She and her husband have gone through a lot to have this baby.  And I’m thrilled for them, and to once again be an aunty.

But there’s a part of me that just can’t believe it.  This is the same girl who bounced over to my group of friends at the first dance at our new high school.  We came from the tiny parochial school and knew hardly anyone.  She came from the big public junior high, and somehow had met my friends.  As high school progressed, I was pulled away from the Catholic school kids, but she and I quickly became, and stayed, best friends.

So when I think of her, I can’t help but see the girl who bounced over that September and the following Monday, in science class said “I’m Erin, by the way.”  This is the same girl I had sleepovers with, where we watched cheesey movies and ate junk.  This is the same girl I wrote notes to, which we’d exchange in the halls in between classes, and read as our teachers droned on.  This is the girl who had permanent shotgun in my car, and a regular ride to school.  The girl I shared a locker with for two years and who I only ever got into one fight with, just because someone else was instigating it.

But that was more than 10 years ago.  And since then, we stood up together in our other friend Erica’s wedding, we laughed a lot, she came to the hospital when my dad died, I went to her wedding, I offered my shoulder as she and her husband tried, and tried, and tried to have a baby–the one thing she always wanted, the one thing that, in those 14 years of friendship never, ever changed.

When I was home in April, I saw my nephew.  He’s Erica’s son.  He will be two in July, and I sat there and watched him run around and try to tell me…something, I couldn’t believe how much he’d grown.  Or how much his mom and I have grown.  She, along with Erin, is one of my oldest friends.  We met in ninth grade, economics class where I thought she was too cool to want to be my friend; I later found out she thought I was too smart to want to be hers.  Lessons in first impressions and judgements learned.

We became closer at the end of school.  But it once it started to happen, it happened quickly.  When Erin and I stood up at her wedding, I was the maid of honor.  It was my job to guard the rings all morning “Cheryl do you have the rings?”  “Yes, they’re in my bag where they were five minutes ago.  See?” I’d proclaim as I held two blue, velvet jewelry boxes up in the air.  I can’t help thinking of her as that young bride.  Or of us giggling in her bed room, gossiping and watching movies.  I still see her, at 14, writing “Funky Chicken” on my yearbook and doodling silly doodles.  Dropping everything at work to come to the hospital when my dad died.  Taking road trips to Duluth, or Iowa to visit Erin. 

Yet, here she is, with an almost two-year old.  When did he get so old?  When did we get so old?  When did our lives shift from Algebra tests and cute boys, passing notes and high school dances to paying bills and raising kids and establishing careers? 

I love my life.  I love almost everything about what brought me here.  Because even the hard stuff–the horrible first college, my dad dying, losing friendships–made me who I am today.  Sometimes though, I just like to pause for a moment and maybe even go back, just for a bit, to the giggling carefree us.

The One Where I Shop and Pack, and Pack and Shop

So, how was everyone’s weekend? I bet you can’t guess what I did…

As everyone knows by now, I’m moving. I’m also going to New York on Thursday to meet up with the fabulous Kendra for a visit with the amazing Marissa. So this weekend has entailed shopping for apartment stuff, New York stuff, apartment packing and New York packing.

Shopping for the apartment is fun. However, I am amassing a lot of stuff in a space where I’m still trying to live. Tricky. I am getting more and more excited to get my painting done and decorate and get settled in. I even headed up to my new neighborhood to shop for clothes for New York.

Shopping for the trip was much more of a challenge. Am I the only one this happens to? Every time I WANT to be shopping for clothes, it’s all ugly. When I don’t want clothes (usually cause of budgetary purposes), good stuff is everywhere. Dear stores: get cute. Seriously, as I texted Kendra, did all the women of the world tun box-shaped without me? Yuck.

I finally had some success with a shirt that was ripped (I asked for a discount) and required me to sew–me! And ultimate success, at my new favorite Chicago store–Tragically Hip. This item doesn’t even need fixin’.

I also finally bought my goodie bag stuff for the Pay it Forward winners. All I got to say is, it’s a good thing I’m not a mom. I didn’t handle the goodie bag thing as well as I could have liked. Also, going by my goodie bag, my kids would be hopped up on sugar. No really, I don’t intend to sugar my kids up. Mommies need some calm.

Oh, and it between all that, I also managed to sneak in a scary move called The Orphanage at Sixth Degree’s. She and her boyfriend just got a plasma screen TV. Guaranteed to make a scary movie even more chilling. Oh, and I got my haircut. I’d post a picture, but while I managed to keep my camera handy for my trip this week, I did pack the cord to connect it to the computer and download the pics. So, yeah. It is cute, but shorter than I expected. I have been assured it’s cute. I think it makes my face look fat. But really, if you check in with me in a few days, I think I’ll be used to it, and will heart my new ‘do.

What did you do this weekend?

The One Where I Root, Root, Root for the Cubbies

(Note: No, I don’t root, root, root for the White Sox. Unless I’m root, root, rooting for them to lose. I’d really rather die a painful death than root for them.)

Nothing will make you feel more like summer is truly on the way more than a good baseball game. Actually, a good baseball game in warm weather might. Alas, we don’t choose the weather, it chooses us. And last night cold and wind chose us. Someone also chose the seats in the 500 section in the second to the top row, which meant extra wind. But this is Chicago. We take our wind in stride.

Baseball lover that I am, my first game of 2008 deserves note. And it was a good game. I went with Bluebird, Sixth Degree and Sixth Degree’s Boyfriend because the Nameless Initialless One couldn’t go. When the Cubs scored six runs in the first inning, it was a sign of: a good, high-scoring game and a long one at that.

The Brewers had many fans there. Including one who, for some reason, felt the need to stand up every time he bought a beer from the vendor. I don’t really know if that’s how they do it in Wisconsin or what. Bluebird later informed me that the same Brewers fan seemed confounded on the whole ordering a hot dog process at the concession stand. Um, ok.

Another fan (maybe it was Cubs fan, I’m not sure) stood up in the top of the third inning and announced to her friend/mother/sister/whatever that she was going to go find a Miller Lite. To which Bluebird and I laughed. There is only one way to get a MIller Lite at Wrigley Field. Pay attention. Go down the the ground lever. Turn towards the gates. Walk out of them. Head to the corner of Addison and Clark. Cross one street, then the other. You are now standing in front of The Cubby Bear. Go inside. Order a Miller Lite. Do not return to the park. You can’t. Variations of this, of course would be to go to Sports Corner, Bar Louie, Harry Carray’s or any other bar in the Wrigleyville neighborhood. The girl in front of us returned two innings later, as the fifth inning was progressing, sans beer.

Golden moment of the night came when Sixth Degree’s Boyfriend say “I think Soto is overdue for a 3-run homer.” As he had hit one earlier in the game I said “Yeah, he hasn’t had one for like three innings!” At which point, Soto promptly (seriously, the words were barely out of my mouth) hit another 3-run homer. And Bluebird and I asked Sixth Degree’s Boyfriend to tell our fortunes.

The Cubs won. They ended April well. We’ll see what the season holds for them. Oh, and my beloved Twins won too. It was a good day for baseball all around. Wait…did the Yankees lose? Yes they did. Like I said, a good day all around

The One Where I “Start at Home”

Nilsa is moving. She has quite an awesome loft in the South Loop, if anyone is looking. I saw the pictures of her listing and asked her “Did you have to stage it?”

I am moving. I’m amassing furniture for my new place and decided that I would get a brown, leather storage ottoman at Target. “That way,” I tell anyone who will listen, “It can serve as a coffee table, extra seating and it has the storage. It’s multi-functional.”

Both of these lead me to the following conclusion: I have been watching way to much HGTV lately. Oh HGTV, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways:

House Hunters. I’ve been watching House Hunters on and off for quite a few years. In fact, I remember seeing it at Ethan’s Mom’s house, back when she still lived with her parents and we were just college students. Anyway, I love House Hunters, not just because I like to see the houses, but I love to try to guess which house the hunters will pick. Which is why I also find the commercial for it genius. I think everyone who watches the show inevitably debates which house they will pick. I personally add an “I would pick…but I think they will pick…”

Designed to Sell. The catty part of me loves to watch the real estate expert come into the house and declare the exact reason someone’s house is failing to seal the deal, so to speak. Could it be the hideous avacado appliances in the kitchen? Or the lack of dining table in the dining room? The orange shag carpet? The potbelly stove from the 1800’s? I think we all know, even if the clueless seller does not. Oh, and? It’s amazing what those designers can do with $2,000.

Property Virgins. This show, whose name is pretty self-explanatory, is a new discovery, which came about by (gasp) not changing the channel once. But I find it hilarious to see some property newbie wax poetic about the dream house he or she wants for $300,000, only to find that particular house is more like a million. This show is, quite clearly, filmed in Canada. And inevitably the house hunters will enter a room and say “Oh, this is a big room, ay?” or “There’s a lot of light in here, ay?” Plus , they say “house” with a Canadian accent. Anyway, I feel very well-rounded, learning about real estate in a different country. Which is probably why I also like the international version of House Hunters. Nothing is more fun that seeing a teeny-tiny Paris apartment that costs half a million euros. Or a big ol’ beach house in Mexico for very little dinero.

Hidden Potential. This show is awesome because house hunters see three houses, which are usually crap-tastic. Then a designer shows them 3-D renederings of how they will make the place fab after they gut it, make additions, or otherwise alter the crap-tasticness. The only thing I don’t particulary care for is that they don’t go back for an “after” shot once the work is done. Producers? Are you hearing me?

Spice Up My Kitchen. Wherein the designer takes some totally non-functional kitchen not updated since 1945, 1962 or 1977 and improves it with update-y goodness. I love, love, love a good kitchen.

And now you have way too much scary insight into my geekiness. Cause everyone’s a geek about something (or five).

The One With the Snip-Snip

I’m getting my haircut tomorrow.  The last time I got it cut was before my birthday.  My birthday was in October.  This is what I do: let my hair go for four or five months or so, start thinking about getting it cut, then finally unearth the salon’s number on a Monday, remember they aren’t open on Monday (is any salon open on Monday?) then get busy at work and call two weeks later, at which point it has now been at least six months since said last haircut.

And ususally at some point in the two month window of when I say “I should really get my hair cut” and I actually do get my haircut, I start to get really pissed off at my hair and entertain thoughts of chopping it off–pixie cuts or bobs.  But I remember I like ponytails.  Then I watch something like America’s Next Top Model makeover show and wonder about chopping it again.  And I think about how I have had this long hair for years and maybe it’s time for something new.  I get confused and don’t know what I want and just end up with a few inches off the bottom.  Last time we added a big side-sweep for “bangs.” 

So this time, I am readying myself and turning to you lovely internet folks.  I’ll leave it to you–what should I do to my hair.  Note: I’m not getting it colored.  If it takes me six months to get a haircut, you know I will suck at maintaining a coloring.  Well, I do anyway.  Pictures welcome.  As well as pop-culture references. 

The One Where I’m Speechless

I guess it’s kind of hard to be speechless on a blog. Either because of the fact that one doesn’t actually speak on a blog to start with, or because a blog is all about words, and if I didn’t have any words, how could I be making a post? Right? But pickiness about words aside (and really people, for me, that’s huge), my reasons for being speechless are twofold.

First is that, in true Chicago fashion, there is a lot of moving going on this weekend. And one of those movers was Sixth Degree. I just got home from helping her and her boyfriend move into a really nice new place. It was a bit tiring, but about as fun as moving can be.

Second is this. Angela at angelaboration has bestowed a little award upon me. The “You Make My Day.” Well, Angela, that totally made my day. Especially reading all the nice things you had to say about me and this little blog o’ mine. Also, I’m glad you like my Friends-inspired titles. I was just considering going back to my musically inspired titles. But maybe Friends will stay around longer.

Anyway, since I want to share the love, here are some recipients of this award who also make my day.

First, to Nilsa because she is a loyal reader and a gifted writer herself. I love to read her blog and Nilsa has also been there for me to offer me moving and all sorts of other advice. So, thank you Nilsa, you make my day.

And to Willikat, who is also a terrific writer. We actually went to the same high school, she was the year behind me and really good friends with a girl who lived down the street from me and that I’d grown up with. One day she discovered me through a mutual blogger, and while that day was awesome, so are other days hearing about her upcoming wedding and other anecdotes of life.

And Jenn, who is a regular reader and poster, and whose blog I look forward to reading each day. And who was uber-helpful figuring out the blech-ness of the new wordpress design. Yep, it meant that much to me.

And finally, to all of you. All of my readers make my day. I started this blog to write, and every writer just wants to be read. So thank you to all of you for helping that little dream of mine come true.

The One Where I Blow

Today I spent an hour and a half at the hospital. A few weeks ago, I noticed I was having some troubles breathing. It felt like I had to take as deep a breath as possible just to get enough air. My chest hurt and felt tight. The doctor gave me a “rescue” inhaler and ordered me a pulmonary test, which was today.

I was greeted by the technician who led me down a long corridor to a room. Inside was a lot of equipment, including a little glass booth with a chair inside and an apparatus in front of the chair with a few tubes and a mouthpiece. As I climbed inside, I couldn’t help but feeling like I was in a helicopter ride at Chuck E. Cheese or something.

For half an hour, the technician led me in a series of tests where, in various ways, we tested my lung capacity and my body’s ability to distribute the oxygen. I passed with flying colors. Then came the hard part.

She led me over to a machine called a nebulizer. She explained to me that I would be inhaling certain, increasing, doses of methacholine that might simulate an asthma attack. We’d use a control dose, measure my capacity then move onto the methacholine until we either finished all 5 doses with no response or my capcacity dropped 20%.

By the third dose, I felt a tickle in the back of my throat. When I told her that, she said maybe it was allergies, not asthma, having an effect on me. With the fourth dose, I began to cough. With the fifth, increased coughing and wheezing. And, my capacity dropped by 23%.

She gave me a “hit” off an inhaler and we sat and waited, doing more capacity tests. She couldn’t let me go until I was back to a 10% decrease or less. Finally, I was back to 9%. I also continued to have the tingle in my throat and a bit of lightheadedness.

So, I may be borderline asthmatic. We’ll know for sure in a few days. Personally, I blame my life-long allergies. And my constant colds. In the meantime, that test took a bit out of me. I need a nap.

The One With a Check-In

Pay-it-forward recipients, I must apologize.  Your goodie bags are coming, but it may be a while.  And that’s because of….the Really. Big. Update.

I found a place to live!  I’m signing the lease tonight and moving in the middle of May.  Which means much packing, purchasing and planning.  So, you’re getting your prizes, just a bit delayed.

Oh, and I had another 3:30 wake-up today, so I’m going to go take a nap.  Thank goodness for nice supervisors who let me leave early.  Anyway, that’s what new with me.