Ah, Spring

My boyfriend gives me a hard time about my habit of wearing a winter coat and scarf in WINTER even though it's 50 degrees outside. I was taught: "Coats and long pants until the weather is warm for a week straight". It drives me CRAZY when I see kids outside without coats on random warm days in winter. It's those same dumbass parents who then load their now sick kids up on fever reducers, send em to school, and allow them to spread their plagues to the four winds where their parents then pick it back up and bring it to work, whereupon I end up ill 3 times in a month and a half, then pass it on to my boyfriend who gets pissed because he's the only person I know who hates being sick more than me.

But I digress.

Yesterday was no exception...even though it scooted up into the 60's. And then...Spring's first Thunderstorm. It got me. Bringing with it it's scents of summer and warm and growing things. I was hoodwinked. Lulled into complacency, I woke up this morning and decided to wear a dress.

Well, it's cold. And Cloudy. And Goddamned Windy.

So, now lie in wait for Pneumonia to swoop down and encrust my lungs in it's loving lovely embrace.

Suck.

I Heart My Uterus.

And by that I mean I'd like to rip it out and throw it in Eve's face and say
"Thanks a lot bitch."

If There's Chocolate Around I Will Sniff it Out...Literally.

So round about 1982...I think... my Dad was living in Old Town. For the locals... in the highrise right across the street from the Treasure Island on Wells. It wasn't a big place... one bedroom, one bath, a smallish kitchen and a living room. It was an Easter Sunday..odd we were at my Dad's as my Mom usually vetoed any overnight visitations falling on Holidays...but, for some reason, we woke up Easter morning at Dad's. So, we got TWO Easters that year. Much like getting the 3 Christmases and 3 birthdays. He he, having divorced parents and doting grandparents had its rewards. Anyway, we woke up early. Baskets must be hunted for and then attacked like wild hyenas.

So, we set out on our search. Closets...no. Kitchen cabinets... no. Oven...nooo. Hmmm. Living room. Under the Dining room table...no. Behind the blinds...no. Under the chairs...no. Behind the stereo...no. God! Where the heck are these things?? Bathroom. Shower...no. Bathroom cabinets...no. Ok, this is ridiculous. This place isn't that freakin' big. We knew they weren't in the bedroom because we started there, and we couldn't go back in cuz Dad had already moved from the couch to the bed and closed the door. WAIT...REFRIGERATOR!! No. Jesus! Now we were panicking. What if Dad...excuse me... the Easter Bunny forgot?? But we knew better. Our Dad...excuse me The Easter Bunny... lovedmessing with us like this. IE:

"Hey Dad? Where are the scissors?"
"In the scissors-department"

And don't even get me started on the Hide and Seek games-in THAT small apartment, mind you-involving everyone...including hiders...staring into a lightbulb for 10 seconds...and the seeker plugging his/her ears and counting to 50. And then creeping around the apartment absolutely terrified because Dad was a master of hiding out in the open, essentially, using dark clothes and shadow to hide. Did he jump out at us? You bet your ass he did. HAHAHAHAHAHHA! That's awesome Dad.. Heart Attack at 8. Sweet.
Eh..we loved it..

Anyway, the point is, Dad didn't mess around when it came to shit like this. So, there we were seated at both ends of the dining room table. Our heads in our hands, staring at the sea-foam green table cloth..picking at the dried wax from last night's dinner candles...and then...I looked up and sniffed.
Me: I smell chocolate.
Bob: What?
Me: I'm serious... I smell chocolate...and it's close...
Bob: I don't smell anything you freak.
: LISTEN TO ME!!! I SMELL CHOCOLATE AND IT'S LIKE... RIGHT HERE!!!
Bob: Whatever.
I couldn't stand it ... I started sniffing and moving around the table like a dog.
Bob: Wait.. you're serious... where is it???
Me: I don't ..wait...it's lower...
I was on my hands an knees at this point. Not one of my prouder moments. I got close to one of the empty chairs at the table.
"IT'S THE CHAIR!!!"
I crawled underneath the table and gasped!
"OH MY GOD! I FOUND THEM!"
Our father had put the Easter Baskets on the seats of the two chairs we weren't sitting in, pushed them in, and then draped the table cloth over the handles. It took us over an hour to find those damn things. Dad walked into the living room.
"SO! How long it take you little monsters to find those baskets?"
Me: " An hour! Jeez Dad!"
Dad: "How'd you find em?"
Bob: "She SMELLED them Dad."
My father looked at me...stuffing chocolate in my face...and just bust out laughing.
"Way to go, LC."
Yes, way to go indeed, me. Way to go.

P.S. The Spell Checker doesn't like the word "freakin'" It suggests "Foreskin".
That is all.

In Loving Memory

A good friend passed away this weekend. He was 49 years old and he suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and stroke.

His name was Jeff. I knew him as my brother's best friend's Step-dad, and then as a coach in the seminars I used to be involved with a few years back.
He was the kind of guy who could help you laugh at yourself.
His mission in life was to help people.
A lot of people considered him a mentor.

I've never lost someone close to me before. It's such a strange feeling.

Anyway...nothing much more to say about it.
I'll miss him. He helped me through a bunch of rough stuff back in my early 20's.

I'll end with the quote he taught us all in one of the seminars... one that has stuck with me forever.

"We are the center of a circle whose circumference is determined by our own self-imposed imitations" ... or something like that. That's Gandhi.


Also,
Go hug your parents. If you can't, call them and tell them if you could, you would.

A Commuter Laments...

So, because the CTA sucks ass, I've had to go back to taking the EL to get to work on time.
The Red Line.
The Toilet Line.
I'm not kidding. It perpetually smells of pee. Why? Because there's an "element" on this line that likes drop trou and piss where they will. Ah, the Humanity!

The only solace is found in ganking a seat and getting lost in a book or a personal music device.
a PERSONAL music device, people. I think people really believe that just because the headphones are only applied to their ears, that no one else could possibly be able to hear what they're listening to.

This morning, I stood about a foot away from a well dressed, product wearing gentleman. He was listening to No Doubt. How do I know this? Because I could hear every. single. note. I wanted to tap him and say
"Hey, Helen? You wanna dial that down a little?"
And this isn't the first time this has happened. There have been Thrash mornings, Techno Mornings, and my personal favorite: Gangsta Rap mornings. What an uplifting start to the day.. Drugs, Drive-bys, and Bitches. GOOD MORNING!!!!

But, I pussed out. Why? Because well, who knows how loud I'VE played my walkman. I'm sure Mr. Floor Trader isn't too interested in listening to RiverDance all the way Downtown while he's trying to read the Journal.

But, you can bet your ass I'm gonna be more careful next time. Because when I'm NOT listening to music, I like it quiet.
QUIET DAMNIT!

I've sold out..

Dear Blog Readers...

As many of you know, I'm poor.
So, help a sistah out and click on the ads you see in the side bar thingy...
But please... only one click, per ad, per visit...otherwise, they think I'm "click spamming" and I won't get paid...

We'll see how effective this little experiment is...

Thanks for reading kids!!!

Slaite!

Ah, St. Patrick's Day.
You know, I used to be all down with this holiday, but something occurred to me today... it's kind of embarrassing. I came to this conclusion after viewing 4 of the fattest men imaginable decked out in all their "Irish Finery," shirtless, drunk, and dancing so as to accentuate how morbidly obese they were... on the news.

I was so proud.

Erin go Bragh!

This is Me.

BREAKING NEWS:


Main Entry:
blog
Part of Speech:
noun
Definition:
an online diary; a personal chronological log of thoughts published on a Web page; also called Weblog, Web log
Example:
Typically updated daily, blogs often reflect the personality of the author.
Etymology:
shortened form of Weblog
Usage:
blog, blogged, blogging v, blogger n
Source: Webster's New Millennium™ Dictionary of English, Preview Edition (v 0.9.5)Copyright © 2003, 2004 Lexico Publishing Group, LLC

So, that answers THAT question.

Ok, so I've been thinking lately. Well, I THINK all the time, and yes, sometimes I do hurt myself...but anyway. I was thinking that this would be a good time to kind of make an introduction of myself... for those of you whom I might take for granted knowing ...really...who you're dealing with...

I grew up in an upper-middle class family and suburb on the Northshore. Until my Senior year in highschool, I attended Catholic School. My parents are divorced, and I grew up around alcoholism and drug addiction. This sounds scarier than it actually was. My parents both loved me very much and for those playing along at home...I was 7 going on 8 when my mother was my age. 29. My dad was 31. I can't imagine having a 3rd and a 5th grader (my older brother) right now. I can barely take care of my cat. So, there's A LOT of forgiveness there for whatever mistakes they made...after a whole bunch of therapy.

Anyway, Had my first beer when I was 14. First time I puked while drunk, 15. First time I smoked pot, 14. First time I tripped on acid, 17 at my first Grateful Dead show. Said goodbye to my virginity when I was 17...a full year after I started dating my first serious boyfriend... remember waiting that long girls?? My Senior Year in High School saw me two B's away from straight A's. Those 2 B's were breaks I gave myself because I hated those classes.

Went to a Big 10 school for 2 years and then came home because I was lonely for my family and my friends. Graduated from a small local university with a 3.58 GPA.

My 20's have been my searching years. Trying to figure out who the hell I am. I've learned a couple of things. 1. I learned and continue to believe That I am a Powerful, Expressive, Courageous, and Limitless Woman and 2. That my purpose is to create a nurturing world where people communicate with, respect, and love one another. 3. Being a grown-up is fucking hard.
A -f'in-men.

I wonder what the next 30 years is gonna be like...

T minus 50 days til the big day!

The Past, the Present, and the Crue

Ok, Wow.

I take back everything bad I've ever said about anything Motley Crue.
I keep forgetting that listening to a CD is like watching a movie on Video. It's not the original medium, and therefore, not the way it is really intended to be experienced.

Case in Point:
A few years back, I had a friend who lived in a loft. And I think it was 1 Thursday a month, they would screen feature length films on a 35mm projector one of the roommates was given when he quit his job at the Village North Theatre. That's right a 35 mm Projector. And they had this bad ass 20 foot screen. And rows of sofas and ashtrays and people sat around being all artistic drinking wine and wearing their thrift store clothes... the required uniform of any film school student. Anyhoo, one week the film of record was Taxi Driver. Now. Before I move forward with this story, I have to move backwards.

Once upon a time, I was dating a boy in high school...my first boyfriend to be exact. And one night we cuddled in to watch Taxi Driver on video. We were very serious film watchers, having experienced A Clockwork Orange a couple weekends before. Hours were spent having IN DEPTH conversations about these films and their impact on the genre OF film. We never called them "movies". They were "Films", God!. We were 17. We were retarded.

Anyway, about a half hour before the movie ended, turn to my boyfriend and I say "Pause it." He looks at me and I say "Is this movie ever going to end???" Without missing a beat he completely agreed and we took 5 to collect ourselves and suffer through the ending moments. More concisely: The first time I saw Taxi Driver, it was on video and I hated it.

Meanwhile, back in the world of the original story. As the lights went down, I, and the other film savants settled in to experience what even I could admit was a real treat. And it was. It was a completely different film. I was rapt. And so was everyone else. So much so that the icky-ness of the Harvey Keitel/Jodi Ofster dancing scene was palpable. And I, in my MST3K way, mumbled under my breath "Well, THAT was creepy, Jeeesus." The room erupted in relieved laughter. It was amazing. I am a FIRM believer that if people didn't like a film and they've only seen it on video, that is largely the reason why.

Anyway, my point is, going to concerts and seeing bands live is a similar animal. You go and you experience the music the way it was supposed to be experienced. It makes the music make sense. It makes you say "OOhhh! I GET it now. THAT's what they meant."

And such was the experience of witnessing the spectacle that was and is Motley Crue.

and Nikki Sixx is friggin' hot.

Going to see the Crue...

Tomorrow is the big day. Motley Crue.
Why?

In all honesty, growing up, I always kind of looked down my nose at bands like Motley Crue, Bon Jovi, Poison. (Fucking Poison. I carpooled with this chick who played nothing but fucking Poison. I wanted to put cigarettes out in her eyes). I was raised on the Beatles for Christ's sake. I had no time for these make-up wearing, big haired freaks with their gay lyrics about smoking in the boys room. Jesus. What? Are these guys 12? (Yeah, I've since figured out what that song COULD actually mean.) Then I puberty, and suddenly the wonderful world of the Power-Ballad opened up and I was sucked right the fuck in. I found the lyrics were totally talking about MY life. Or, more accurately, talking about the kind of relationship drama that I was convinced I was right on the middle of. Heaven isn't too far away... no matter what your friends say. I know we're gonna find a way... When the children fuckin' cry....

But, that was really as far as it went for me. I bought the singles. I smoked as I listened to them. My heart aching for the love that died. Please. There was no love that died. The love that never was. But I KNEW that Cinderella was telling the truth when they said you don't know what you've got til it's gone. And Bad English really did know the Price of Love. I never bought whole albums.

Except for Damn Yankees. But we'll never speak of that again.

Then, The Roommate put a book into my hands that would change me forever.
"The Dirt" by Motley Crue.
Now, I've read a few rock and roll biographies. But nothing. I repeat, NOTHING I've read compares to this book. You want to talk about a complete paradigm shift? For a band that I thought was comprised of a bunch of cheezy pop-rockers, these guys partied way harder than any band I've ever read about. And now I'm hooked. And so damn curious as to what is actually going to go on at this show. Who are the fans? What do they look like?

This is going to be a very interesting sociological experience.
I will take notes in manner of Jane Goodall... but without the getting killed by poachers as I try to protect my newfound family of Crue Fans.

More to come...

What Can I Say?

I can say I'm damn ready for damn Spring.

Also, I can say that life marches on. We're moving ever farther away from childhood and the notion that "you can be anything you want when you grow up" and towards the reality that we are limited by the ablities we have in our posession now.

But, really, that's kind of ok. It kind of makes the "I should be better than this. And goddamnit I suck" messages a little less frequent. It makes it a lot easier to go out and learn something new so that those limitations are a little fewer.

In other news, there is nothing worse that feeling like you're going to get fired.
But there's nothing better than finding out that you're not.

Jesus. It's only 3:00.