Blowing a Kiss to You

I have officially decided to end this blog.

I guess I am cheating because I said I would have an apartment and a full-time job. I decided to lift restrictions and go with my gut. Either way, I don't want to keep up anymore or have the urge to publish things on the internet. I am positive that I will come across things that will beg to be published here, but I shall refuse.

I only ask one thing as a closing...

If you read this on a regular basis, please let me know. Throughout the whole year, I have had about two people that actually left a comment. It would be nice to know if you actually read this, and what you thought. A whole year of writing without criticism makes me feel bubble-like, so anything you have to say I would love to hear. If you don't want to be known, that is fine too, at least say hi.

Lots of Love, Kisses and Hugs,

Christine

Strange Days

I spent the day alone in the office while my temporary co-workers had their summer BBQ. I remember going the summer before last and I was so hungover I sat in a lawn chair for five hours, eating chips and avoiding the conversation about why I was so tired. I did my job alone in the office, blasting Pandora from my boss's computer, finding myself staring out the window of the corner office. I did my work, but my mind was elsewhere. It's been elsewhere a lot lately.

After work headed to Clark and Lake for some drinks before the Sox game which was to include Elvis night. I was walking and there was a mid-20's torte obviously struggling in her heels...not so much a walk but more like a painful totter, with each step I could feel her blister getting bigger on those strappy three inch sandals. The Sox game was entertaining at least, sitting way up high with warm Miller Light, wishing I could eat more nachos without feeling the results. Ended up with a Kosher and some grilled onions, finally figuring out what that wonderful baseball park smell actually tasted like. Normally I avoid onions.

Behind me, a cusp mid-life crises man with a yachting tee-shirt in sky blue, air soled sandals and the worst toenails I have ever seen in my whole life. After some beers (or sober for that matter), this isn't what you want behind you, his foot in my face I ignored it and continued on faining interest in the game. After the Elvi flew per parachute and did their dance on the field, I headed home on the red line only to find myself behind the same girl from Clark Street, except in flats, and still smoking her Marlboro Menthols. I followed her to the El, fireworks in the background, couples standing on the side of the street acting romantic on 95th. I turned on the iPod, Jamiroquai, "Seven Days in Sunny June" and proceeded to daydream.

I turn to my left and Yachting Tee-Shirt had situated himself right next to me flexing his bald legs and toenail fungus. The act of brushing himself upon my side was less than appealing, I squish myself into the side of the train car. He's staring. I turn up the volume on "Hot Tequila Brown" willing my ride was over. The air, although air conditioned, was putrid, filled with the smell of stale beer and sweaty men over forty. My arm propped on the vent, taking the air intake selfishly so it spanned the whole of my arm - middle finger to shoulder. My other hand rested on my face, eyes closed and dreaming of a place that was not the El after a Sox game. Signs in Chinese passed by and soon I was underground again.

How is it in a city of 3.5 million I end up seeing the same two people in a span of six hours? Not only the same two people, but two people that I subconciously thought, "I hope I don't have to see these people ever again." I feel bad for even saying I don't want to see someone again, because no one is deserving of such a thought unless they really have done something that constitutes it. I am sitting home now, quiet with music and the now familiar Mac glow thinking, "I hope I see them again."

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I'll take the floral print...

If you ever indulge yourself in the guilty pleasure of Perez Hilton then you probably got a look at this.

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OMFG

I just spent six hours with my new Mac. I am pretty sure I want to marry it and have little silver babies that light up.

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Toys Are Fun

So my dad has this computer guy that didn't do his job very well and had my dad get a 17" MacBook Pro. Unfortunately, my dad has no idea how to use a Mac. He couldn't take it back because this person had messed with it too much and ruined the warranty. He got all the junk cleared off that this person had put on (read: trying to install windows on a Mac *+%$#!!!).

So now, I have a new toy. I feel like a total undeserving a** though, because I can't figure out how to use the damn thing either. I think it will just take some time...and lots of clicking. I like how shiny it is and the sound is awesome, I seriously feel like I am typing on a mini spaceship. Keeping my Dell laptop as a back-up computer (although I doubt I will need it) and there is a running joke now that it will be the "Guest Computer".

"Can I use your Mac?" - Guest
"No! Keep shiny! No use! No Mac for you!" - Me

Null and Void

I've spent the last two weeks trying to decide if I am adjusted to being back or not, and I am pretty sure that it's not the case. I find myself getting tired as the day draws to a close, not in the normal way but in the sense that my brain feels full and I don't really feel like talking much. My living situation doesn't exactly help me to move on in the way I would like, and not until August 20th will I really have a place to call home. It's nice to stay with my dad, given I haven't seen him for quite some time, but we are also two completely different people in a lot of respects. The main difference is in the way we keep house and no matter how much I straighten up, clean and keep my things in order - his apartment seems to explode with books and newspapers at every turn. I guess that is what happens when you live with a writer.

The couch is decent enough, and I have AC so I shouldn't and won't complain too much. It's just frustrating because I thought by this time I would be in my place, with my cats and my bed that I have missed so much. I feel like I am in such a standstill, waiting to move on but also not knowing what I am going to move on to. My whole life in Chicago has changed dramatically since I left, people and places I would normally visit don't seem to exist much anymore. There is a large void that when I thought I came back would be filled, but of course it hasn't.

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3/4 There

I finally found an apartment after a week and a half of looking, averaging about eight apartments per day using public transportation to get to each place. Well, I wanted to get a feel for the connections, lets say me and the CTA are very close now. I finally decided on a place in a great location with an excellent view, and very happy with it, glad I waited. My patience is golden. I move in the end of August. Well, that part of my life is taken care of for now.

I had the sad awakening today in regards to my grandmother. Tomorrow marks my second week back in the United States and there is suspect that she has had a second stroke (her first was about eight years ago). Since her first stroke, she has never been the same and it's always been sad. To be honest, before I left for Germay, I was pretty sure it was the "last goodbye". I received a phone call today from an aunt that I should "Come home as soon as possible." Given my complete lack of foresight, I waited for my father to call me back while I waited in the AIDS fundraiser event in Lakeview.

He called and talked to my aunts and I head out there tomorrow. Even thought I knew this was coming, it's still difficult.

My favorite memory of my grandma is being in her kitchen and going through her cards. She always had a ton of greeting cards send to her for various occations. We would go through them and make sure to reply. I would also help her to clean out her cupboards, while we would make a chocolate cake from scratch. What little piano I know is from her. I would spend hours in her garden, pulling weeds and painting the swingset. My job in the summers was to fill the birdbath, spending hours in her gardens hiding behind trees and pretending that I was in the Secret Garden, which was my favorite book at that time.

I brought my little brother over to her house once, and set him on the floor with pots and pans to keep him entertained. The noise was deafening, clanging pots being banged with a wooden spoon...my grandma did not blink an eye. She said, "Well, he looks happy." and continued on with her ironing and asking what we wanted for dinner.

My favorite story is from a date she went to in high school:

"I went on a date and he picked me up and was very friendly and nice. We went ice skating and I had to get my own skates. I saw the ice cream stand and I said that I would really like an ice cream cone. I looked at him and I repeated myself, an ice cream was about spending 50 cents in those days. He did not buy me an ice cream and I decided I couldn't marry him."

Yes, it seems shallow at first, but if you think about it you understand what she was trying to tell me. I guess I always knew what she taught me, and it wasn't just that one lesson. Throughout my years she has taught me so much that it would be insulting to even go into detail on an internet blog. I keep crying though, because she is a beautiful person and I was really proud to have had her in my life. I know she would tell me to stop crying and do something productive...probably involing the youth group at church!

I am on my dad's couch for the next three weeks. I think I will be okay...but right now is tough.

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1/4 There

I now have a part-time job, but no apartment (still).

Chicago, you exhaust me.

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