To Ramona: March 2010

Hullo, I'm home.

Hello, folks! I am back in Chicago after my whirlwind weekend in Boston and, apparently, enviable train trip. You were all right, though, 24 hours on the Amtrak is not nearly as bad as I had imagined. I slept through the first 14 or so, ate a snack every 1.5 to curtail my boredom, listened to rock n roll for about a million, and eavesdropped on the colorful assortment of passengers. I had saved my census form as a trainride activity, but that took all of 1 minute to complete. I even considered counting my cats as roommates to waste a little more time in filling it out, but thought better.

The conference was lovely. My presentation was a Hit with a capital H-. I got to chit chat with all sorts of ESL characters from across the country, most of which have had zero training, zero collaboration with other teachers, and zero support from their districts, counties, states, or what-have-you. The focus of the workshop was on a bit of uncharted territory in my field, and it was super duper SUPER cool to get to gab with other folks doing the same things in different parts of the US. And, duuuuuh, my Mociun skirt was a BOMBASS success.

And AND AND, the BEST part of the weekend? I GOT MYSELF ON A FLIGHT FOR THE LEG HOME!!! The O'hare airport was vehement that my IDless ass was not stepping onto an airplane under their jurisdiction. However, in Boston, they were a whole lot less square. I showed up to the airport on Sunday afternoon, knees knocking, palms sweaty, fully prepared to be stranded in Boston for the rest of my life slash aggressively interrogated by ICE slash administered a messy, full cavity search. Instead, I was directed to a hunky Homeland Security supervisor (named something wholly non-Midwestern and very amusing, like Dabbs) wherein I was asked to present my expired passport. I giggled nervously as he fingered it and exclaimed, 'Oh! This is JUST expired. You're fiiiiine. Go on ahead.' WHAT?!? During the last 2 weeks of this identification debacle, NEVER have I heard that response. Not a once. From the social security administration representative to the dude at the DMV to the receptionist at Planned Parenthood to the ticket taker at Amtrak, I have gotten guff from every, single soul imaginable: 'Whoah Whoah WHOAH! WAIT A MINUTE!!! THIS IS AN EXPIRED PASSPORT. THIS ISN'T VALID!' It's like these people have expired-passport-radar. But, not Dabbs. Sweet, sweet Dabbs. I think I grinned for the entire flight home.

Oh yeah, and THANKS for being so KILLLLER about commenting on that last post of mine. I all got to Boston, checked my mail, and felt pretty, pretty positive about the situation I'd found myself. Especially since the whole thing had been giving me an ulcer for the 2 weeks prior. You internet-people sure are good at reducing one's stress level!

Lindsay's Weekend = A Wild Success

**I forgot to remove my camera from my suitcase for the entirety of the trip, so I've got very little to show. I did, however, list a couple new pairs of shoes in my teensy, tiny, nearly non-existant Etsy shop last night. Please note that this winter has been so long and my skin so white that I had to AIRBRUSH my ankles for the above shot.**

I need luck.

Ladies and germs, in T-2 hours I'm going to embark on a 24 hour Amtrak train ride to Boston. From Chicago. To Boston. From Chicago. 986 miles. On a train.

It's all a very long & dramatic story about my inability to renew identification and/or respect the value of vital life documents, but, essentially, I've got a plane ticket to Boston tonight that I can't use because I have only an expired passport to get me through O'hare security. It seems, at the moment, I am identity-less, without a birth certificate, social security card, state ID, and passport. However, on Saturday, I'm presenting at a SUPER BIG DEAL ESL conference, and my absence isn't really an option. Sooo, here I am, taking a train to Boston like a Victorian woman of the world, hoping that I won't die of boredom during my 20th hour on the rails tomorrow.

On the very bright side, though, I'm planning the debut of my Mociun moonwalker skirt for Saturday's big event (!!!), which, I have no doubt, will ensure that my workshop is out of this world. Think of me at 1 EST and hope that I'm knocking some teacher-socks off with my SUPER EXCITING and REVOLUTIONARY and EXOTIC new methods of instruction in the Adult Ed. ESL classroom.

Baby's First Purse!

Dudes. I have done IT. I have purchased a purse. Now, mind you, it is a grungy, old, ratty, worn, $1.80-from-the-Village-Discount Coach purse from probably a zillion years ago, with a knotted strap that I am afraid to un-tangle for fear of breakage. But, nonetheless, I love it. Things are about to get really adult up in this mother!

And And AND, the best part is that now I can now attach the shitty, old strap to this other dollfaced Coach pouch I acquired a few months ago. I've worn it exactly once, due to the fact that, strapless, my only option has been to string it around a belt and wear it about my waist, like a... fool?

!!!! High fives abound !!!!

Hello, Mr. Studball.

I really like some of the man-fash things that have been going on over at Mister Mort as of late.

Cook County Hospital Rules!!!

Rachel & I spent about 7 hours in the emergency room of the John H Stroger Jr Hospital yesterday, and boy was it fun! Seriously. It was.

Rachel tripped and fell on a length of chain Friday night, and the executive decision was made around noon Saturday to head on down to the ER. Since checking in to the hospital alone with a bum arm is the sucks, I escorted her. Cook County is the hospital for us low-income, insurance-less folk, and it's ten kinds of insanity. However, aside from having to deal with its maddening maze of dirty waiting room after waiting room after waiting room filled with a cacophony of colorful characters, we actually had sort of a good time. Mind you, I wasn't the one who, pain-medicine free, sat for over 14 hours with a fractured radial head while 8 different lab techs and nurses and helpers and secretaries and assorted other hospital staff instructed me to fill out forms with my non-dominant writing hand while about to pass out because someone had just accidentally knocked into my swollen elbow. Rachel kicked some serious broken-arm ass yesterday.

However, being at a hospital filled with certifiably insane folk is sort of awesome:

It's fun to be nosy and figure out why people are spending their entire Saturday afternoon in the waiting room of a random ER. My sleuthing skills deduced that most of the dudes in there seemed to have headaches and/or alcohol problems.

It's a nice reminder that, while my place of employment is one serious shitshow of humanity, there are places that are far, far, far shitshow-er-y.

Every single doctor, nurse, tech, secretary, janitor, etc etc yesterday was an angel. Seriously. They were the most professional, supportive, positive, kind, talkative group of overworked public servants I have ever had the pleasure of doing business with. All of that while being heinously understaffed, a dingy room full of about 100 odorous citizens, clutching their bags of garbage whilst talking to themselves, waiting to be seen. Rachel and I spent a good part of our visit speculating about what a swell doc that Lindsay Petty must be, based on the compassion of the staff at Cook County.

I got to help the doctor set Rachel's arm!!! IT WAS AWESOME!!!

A man shackled to his bed under the diligent watch of a DOJ correction's officer, who had gotten in a fight earlier in the day which had effectively crushed the delicate bones in his face, totally ogled us while Rachel was, 7 hours later, given her single Vicodin for the pain. I think we were probably the first chicks he had seen in some time.

Unexpected highlight of my week! Thanks for inviting me along, Rachel!

And, let's all take a moment to hope that when Rachel returns to Cook County on Tuesday for her follow-up appointment, she'll get to pick out a SWEET colored cast!

Dusen Packs are Tops!

This here post has got me ten kinds of itching for a Dusen Dusen addition to my drobe. Namely, of the backpack variety. I think the answer is the 'black mountains' design, although I am easily swayed. In fact, they're all pretttty bombassss.

I'm going to wear all of my oversized, plaid dudes' shirts like this from here on out.

Bodkin's Twister Tie Shirtdress

That is all.

SWOON

There're new Bonnie 'Prince' Billy & Frontier Ruckus seshs over at Daytrotter. Yesss.

I may or may not have watched the The Celebrity Apprentice last night.

I've noticed lately, on ambles through my hood, that the lights have been out at the Blagojevich abode down the street. A nosy neighbor, I like to keep an eye on my comrade Sunnysiders. After snooping a bit more, I further observed that a certain 1988 Volvo has been serially absent from its street spot out front. 'Something must be up!' I have exclaimed to myself on multiple occasions. As it were, it appears that a one Mr. Rod Blagojevich is currently traipsing the streets of New York starring in this season's Celebrity Apprentice, which premiered last night.

And, Lordy Lou! That Rod Blagojevich!

First, watch the above video. Then, imagine him pulling that shit on the sidewalks of Albany Park during an afternoon jog, criscossing the side-streets in order to hunt down and greet every possible constiuent, waving at whoever'll make eye contact with him, big hair flapping all the while. And then welcome to my life.

I want to be Stevie Nicks.

I had a total gasp-attack when Sophomore's Ballerina Dress showed up in my inbox via an email from Bona Drag a few days ago. Guuuuh. This is exactly what a girl needs to effectively metamorphosize into a 2010 Stevie Nicks this summer.

Howwwever, in pale pale pink? I think not. I'm a cool-tones kind of gal, and, according to Sophomore, each piece in the collection comes in faded black. So, my friends, the question becomes: How do I get my grubby Stevie-loving-mitts on the faded black number? Advise within.

Carey Mulligan is awesome.

I know that this is all old news, but Carey Mulligan looked KILLER at the Oscars in her badass Prada gown. For the past two weeks I've heard (internet) rumors that the bodice was covered in miniature, swinging forks and knives and scissors and other diminutive utensils. That, basically, makes me want to curl up in a ball on the floor and weep. Because I love life so much.

However, as a card carrying member of 'The Internet is Hard' club, I haven't been successful at finding a good picture of said dangling items of delight. Serendipitously, just this very morning Megan posted a comment here LINKING ME TO A CLOSER VIEW.

Omg! Yay! Glamor! Enchantment! Beguilement! It's a good Saturday morning!

(Top photo from here.)

Doll Parts

Thanks to Kate, I now:

A. have had Hole's 'Doll Parts' stuck in my head for the past 48 hours.

B. need these cutepants hand soaps (punny!!) by Foliage.

As the denture soaps have been such a big hit with bathroom-goers here on Sunnyside, it only follows that teensy little hands will be even more well-received.

Soooooomeday, you will ache like I ache.

Why'd I do it? Why'd I look?

I thought I could get out of browsing the new Rachel Comey unharmed, unscathed, and with my self-respect intact. Instead, all I know now is that I need a pair of $310 high waisted, silk shorts. Derrr, Linzo.

How do I not already own this?

For serious?!? This is the BOMB.

I need a mini golden tool kit around my neck!!

(Thanks goes to Megan for dangling the Lux Coronette carrot in front of my nose.)

GIRLS' NIGHT! PARTY TIME!

Rachel and I have some hardcore tie-dying-awards-show-watching-wine-guzzling lady plans tonight. My Achilles HEEL (!!!) a scoop-neck ballet top paired with a high-waisted, poofy skirt, I intend to try my darndest & recreate the above Shabd looks. How do we think this will take dye? Shittily? Or totally awesomely?

Good luck, self. Don't accidentally dye the bathroom towels!

SMOKING SUX.

However, these lighter-carrier necklaces emphatically do not. I totally want one, but what would I use it for? A chalk carryall for writing on the chalkboard at work? A cat-treat pouch for when the cats and I work on their circus tricks? A teensy tiny purse for my spare change?

The world is mine.