A Glimpse Into a Glamorous Life

I'm nestled snug in my bed as I type this, dreaming about the fruit and block of cheese I want to eat. I know I should just give in and go get it, cut off a few slices of the smoked cheddar, take a small bunch of grapes and select a nice peach. I'm not being stopped by food guilt or the knowledge that eating late makes for wicked indigestion. It's a wonder I only want cheese and fruit--my late night cravings usually call for dinner left overs or cooking up eggs and french toast. Really, I'm finding it hard to get up because I'm so damn tired. It just hit me like a wave. I am tired. Maybe my body isn't adjusted to the time difference yet. I think it's fair to assume that I am tired from the move and all the things that have come with it. I am tired from application portals that log me out without saving my work because I wasn't using the correct internet browser. I am tired from walking the length of Bucktown and back, only to choose the bar a block away from our apartment. I am tired from cleaning the kitchen every single time anything is cooked, prepared, or eaten because I have a small anxiety concerning food particles. I am tired from cable companies. Fuck the cable companies. But I am very happy and I am very comfortable so apologies in advance for my stream of consciousness. I think I'm sleep writing.

It is my deepest hope that "Everyday is an adventure!!!" does not become a theme of either this blog or my life. I am not trying to convince anyone, especially myself, that watching six hours of Netflix is an adventure. Then again, have you seen some of the stuff on there? Call me cynical or mundane or just plain old curmudgeony, but I understand that just because I live in Chicago now does not mean that my life is suddenly glamorous. I suppose an argument to this could be something a long the lines of "But it's your life! Make it glamorous! You are young and wild and free!" I mean. Sure. But glamorous is not how I would describe myself nor is it anything I have ever aspired to be. I think "hygienic"is easily my top priority, adjective wise of course. WAIT. Ready for a small rant? Talking about glamorous reminded me of my current social media pet peeve. I really take issue with anything that is hash tagged as "classy."Because. I just do. Now stick with me, I told you I was tired, I promise there's a justification behind this but all I can really come up with is the anger. Let me stew over that, come up with real words, and I'll get back to you. But know this: there is a certain classy lady Twitter account with 16k followers and it just tweeted something to the effect of The more money you spend on alcohol, the uglier you are!!! First of all, I don't know what that has to do with being classy. And second of all, I have spent an ungodly amount of money on alcohol in my lifetime and I have had more than one gentleman tell me I look like Sandra Bullock. I think I've proven my point.

What did I just say? Glamorous ≠ Me. #classy = all of the groans.

OH and someone is bound to be like "Why aren't you more grateful for your amazing life in Chicago? Don't you understand how lucky you are? EVERYDAY IS AN ADVENTURE!!!!" Yes, I know that. Read the last post, I ended it with a really sentimental closing paragraph that addresses those very concerns. #blessed #grateful #lucky #etc #etc

Here's a few tidbits from the last week. Think of it as your holiday newsletter from the Roomie and me.

[Note: Just fixed that fruit and cheese plate. Have you ever eaten a nice mild cheese with fresh jam on top? Oh, it is delightful.]

First and foremost, she and I are unbelievably pleased that we didn't stay super duper close over the past three years. Hold up. You know we were freshman year roommates, right? Well, we were, and we used to have the best pillow talk and we are actually the only roommate the other has ever had. Isn't that adorable? After freshman year we both had singles for the remainder of college and now, here we are, freshman in life roommates. Like I was saying, because we didn't constantly update each other for three years, we now have SO many pillow talk topics. In fact, we have spent nearly every night eating dinner for hours and just talking about pretty much everything that has happened to us in college. And tonight we admired our books and art and exclaimed "BOOKS AND ART!" and celebrated all of the culture in the living room. No, the cable is not hooked up yet but we do have a Nintendo 64.

After the Dreamboat Dave encounter, Roomie tried her hand at some more Craig's list ads. She picked up her dresser from a gorgeous doctor who is moving from Chicago to New Zealand where he is doing volunteer work for a year. Don't even bother with a dating service if you're in the Chi. Look for furniture ads written in man voices and go from there.

I'm afraid of our oven. I know that sounds crazy and irrational, but that's only because it is. I used it for the first time on Saturday night when I was baking cookies (PARTYSOHARD) and facing it was easily the bravest thing I've ever done. I don't love the click click click of the gas stove. At some point in my childhood, my brother totally convinced me that everything was going to blow up all the time: houses, cars, buildings, bikes, sandwiches, et cetera. I doubt that his argument was rooted in logic but all I know is it scared the hell out of me. To this day I get nervous when there is a repetitive sound that suddenly stops; that's when I think the explosion happens. Turning on this weird new oven was not ideal but I did it because I had all that cookie dough, you know? The oven was on and I needed a cookie sheet, which I keep in the warming drawer underneath the oven. I opened it up and right there in my face was this gnarly blue flame just waiting to jump out at me and light my kitchen on fire. I mean, am I exaggerating? You be the judge of that. But I grabbed three cookie sheets, cupcake molds, a bread pan and whatever else was in that stack of crap because I didn't want to sift through it while the flame was looking at me. You remember that episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark? where the kids are hanging out at the fire house? You know the one. Yeah, it was kind of like that.

The cookies turned out fine so I counted that as a point in my favor. When it came time to bake my chicken for dinner on Monday night, I got nervous about using the oven but knew that it would be totally lame if I ended up eating pasta for like, the fifth night since being there. I crept towards the oven and exchanged niceties. I smiled, tossled my hair, gave it a few winks. That oughtta do it. I twisted the oven nob, because it's a nobby oven without a fancy digital interface, and I didn't hear or feel anything happen. Obviously, that meant it was broken and I couldn't eat my chicken. Ho Hum. I gave myself a pep talk and frittered away on the internet before returning to the nob. I tried to twist it, but it didn't even move. I was growing concerned because I had constructed a scenario in which the oven was detecting airborne gas and not allowing me to turn it on as a safety precaution. I repeated the pep talk and internet act, probably sent a few dumb tweets and then returned to the oven. I attempted the nob one more time and, like magic, the oven began to heat. You know why? Because I actually pushed it in and turned it on. Seriously, though, believe me when I say it's just like that radiator in the basement of Home Alone. I swear it has teeth and everything.

Saturday was not only dominated by cookie baking. We explored the bars, too! After making drinks from our respective liquors (she's whiskey, I'm rum) we set off into the night. It had been pouring all night so I looked not glamorous but instead like I was walking across campus for a house party: Raincoat, boots, head to toe black but not in an I'm wearing black tonight kind of way. We were both aware of the bar just a block down from us and we knew we definitely wanted to check it out. But after much deliberation, we decided to walk to the collection of bars and night life we had heard about from other people who knew the area. It was a bit of a hike, but maybe it only felt that way because it had stopped raining and I was still dressed to go backpacking in a wind storm. I was feeling a little nervous when we only saw empty store fronts block after block, but eventually we came to a pretty lively area. It was actually quite late so a lot of people were already hailing cabs or defiantly telling their friends they could walk by themselves. We selected a bar that looked interesting but ultimately only used it to use the bathroom. Once inside it became apparent that everyone there was a real adult with a real job and a real haircut, two things I definitely do not have. It just wasn't my scene. Everybody knows that the only city I get dressed up for is Pittsburgh and I intend to keep it that way. So we left and walked and walked before eventually cutting up the street that our neighborhood lives on. We made our way in, decided it's definitely more our speed, and wondered if the bartender would come to know us as the Ohio Girls as we both have the pink licenses. I drank a Great Lakes Octoberfest-it was on draft! And then we walked across the street, more or less, and went to bed.

Oh, and yesterday my man friend and I were sitting next to each other on the couch and he was looking  at one LL Bean catalogue and I was looking at the other. Maybe every day IS an adventure!!!

Time to pack my bags and head to Wisconsin! Man friend and I are traveling north to escape the heat. We hate the heat. He has a lake house and it will take everything in my power to not constantly make references to the classic film, The Lake House starring one Sandra Bullock. (full circle?) Is it bad that the only reason I knew anything about Jane Austen's Persuasion is because of The Lake House and when I read Persuasion my senior year I had to promise myself not to tell my advisor how I was semi-familiar with the book? Not as sad as the fact that I only know the ending of Anna Kerenina because of an episode of Saved by the Bell. Woof.

Once this week is over, I've decided to start doing productive things with my life. I'll let you know how that works out.

*Note: Could you tell this post was written before I went to bed and then finished when I woke up the next morning? And try to count the neurotic Katie-isms; there's a couple!