The yellow brick road has been repaved in pink

Just over two years ago I moved to Chicago, with among other things the one and only pink shirt I owned. It's a hot pink wife beater style tank top with rhinestones around the collar. I would wear it with my "going out" jeans when I went dancing. That was it.

Today I am going out for coffee in pink capri pants.

With my nails (professionally done!) hot pink.

Oh, how far I've come.

Thanks L.

3 percent taken care of

He's gone. Not a surprise I guess, but still somewhat of a shock. A few days ago I filled the world (and by world I mean my half a dozen or so readers out there) in on this unfolding story. And today when I logged into the Good Reads account he was gone. My tiny little friend list had dwindled down to one less. The message I sent deleted from my outbox. Like it never even happened. If I hadn't blogged it, I might even believe that it didn't exist. And now I sit here and I can feel that damned 3 percent from before swell within me. It expands to fill me from top to bottom, it's leaking out my fingertips as I type. Why? Why do I care, what did I do, why can I know not stop thinking about it? Where does this feeling like I am 13 years old and just got laughed at as I stand in the corner of the spring dance come from god damn it?

Well at least now my friends that I know were worried that the 3 percent from before would overrule any good sense I had can be assured that I will make no mistakes down that road anymore. I think I'm going to go smoke now.

Two stops does not equal express

Once again I found myself on an "express" train this morning which got me thinking about the definition of express. Now usually the Chicago El only runs express because somewhere, earlier along the line it got delayed. This morning's express lasted from Armitage to Merch Mart, which means it skipped all of two stops. This is not my idea of express. One of these days I want to be on the train home and hear the conductor say at Clark and Lake that the train will be running express to Montrose. Now that would be a true express experience. (For those of you not familiar with either Chicago or the Brown line specifically here is a link to the trian schedules.)

Belated Happy Birthday to Me

I love my friends. Not such a huge fan of UPS that took a 4 day delivery hiatus with my birthday flowers (they were set to arrive at my house on the actual day, last Friday, and I finally got them to work on Tuesday). Major props to 1-800-flowers for packaging them well enough that I wasn't greeted with a box of dead roses when they finally arrived. But mostly, love my friends. Thanks D.

Lousy 3 percent

A few months ago, I think April to be exact, I met a guy. I had heard about this guy from a mutual friend who thought we would hit it off and she really wanted to hook us up. Catch was, he was just getting out of a long term relationship and it was an ugly break up. I briefly interacted with him at a party that our mutual friend was hosting and quickly made clear to all my friends that I was not interested. While he did show up with gin, and was not horribly unattractive, the guy was just in too dark a place for me to even begin to get involved in. Plus, there were a few extra complications that just made the whole situation icky.

Fast forward to about a month later. Early May and we run into each other again at earlier mentioned mutual friends A Capella concert. Apparently by that time all my misgivings had dissipated because I began to eyeball the guy as a possibility. Play the night on high speed and by the end I had made my move. A brief make out session on a street corner, a quick invite with the rules laid out (I wouldn't sleep with him), and we were soon in a cab on the way to my apartment.

What followed was what I could only presume to be a good time had by all. We left with no exchange of info and had an awkward/slightly cute exchange between mutual friend to set up plans again. Within the week we hung out again, again at my place, and again he spent the night (same rules as night #1 - I do have some standards).

The rest is pretty simple and slightly painful so I am making the executive decision not to go into gory details. Basically after date #2 - nothing. A few feeble attempts at email exchange and then bam! off the grid he went. It took me awhile to get him off my mind, wondering what I did wrong, what move I should or should not have made, but eventually he dissipated from my thoughts.

And then out of nowhere he pops up again. But not in any kind of actual form of communication, oh no that would be way, way to simple. No, I randomly got a friend request a few weeks ago through a book site I am a part of called Good Reads. No message, no warning, just a "Hey, So-and-so wants to be your friend!" standard message. Being the fool I am I thought, what the hell, I'll accept it, maybe I can get some good book recommendations off the kid. Turns out, he doesn't even have any freaking books listed. WTF?

So we have sat in this stasis for a few weeks, where I have no idea what the hell he wants or if he even realizes who I am that he has invited to be friends with. Turning 28 this weekend kicked my ass into gear apparently because I decided this was 7th grade BS and I sent him a quick and basic message asking if he had a particular reason for friending me, or was it one of those add all your friends from your email address book kind of things.

And now I wait. I wait to see if he replies. I wait to see if he has anything to say for himself. And as I wait, I find myself in the most unsettling of situations. 97% of me is pretty ticked off. I finally got this guy off my internal radar, and wham he jumps back on with no explanation at all. 97% of me is filled with a fuck you attitude that says unless you've been trapped in a damn coal mine for 3 months I've got nothing to say to you. 97% of me knows I am better than this, knows I kick ass and take names, and has no time for folks with no decency to have a conversation with someone if they aren't interested, but instead just leaves them hanging. But 3% of me, the 3% that lives somewhere down in my big toe, the part that is crushed into my high heeled, muscle cramp causing shoes for work, 3 fucking percent of me knows that if he emailed and said sorry, want to get coffee? I would say "okay". 3 bloody percent.

Garage sale success

I wish I had something more awe inspiring or craftily worded for you all out there today, but it's just not in the cards. Instead I will share with you my fantastic new furniture additions (a sneak preview for any party goers this weekend).

First up, the bar. I love this thing. It's exactly what I needed to add some much desired shelving to my kitchen, and to be honest, it's just freaking cool.

And the coolest feature? It opens.

I then added a nice little coffee table to the living room. While not as spiffy, it does allow me to stop using TV trays as my main form of counter space.

The place is finally coming together, of course right in line with my waivering belief that I want to stay in Chicago, but oh well. Now I just have to get the rest of the house clean for the upcoming festivities this weekend.

What I should and should not be...

I should not be wearing long sleeves and pants, in Chicago, in August, and be cold.

I should not be judgmental of other women downtown about the way they smoke their cigarettes.

I should not be surprised by the men doing the up and down look that settles around the ass area of the size two women in skirts in the loop.

I should not continue to stare at the men that never even notice me, let alone look twice.

I should not spend time at work blogging.

And since lists should not contain all "should not" statements....

I should be surprised that after 28 years my father called me last night to tell me that he was worried about the distance between us, did not want our relationship to be this way, and would it be okay if he called me more often. Wow. Welcome to the conversation pops.

Keeping my imagination alive, one commute at a time

Every once in a while when I am waiting for the southbound train in the morning the northbound brown line will come through. I stare at the doors as they open, invitingly, and listen to the pre-recorded announcements that it is a "Brown Line to Kimball, Brown Line to Kimball". And every once in awhile I wonder what it would be like to slip through the doors and head in the opposite direction of my life. In reality Kimball is only 3, maybe 4, stops north of my own, but something about those doors sliding open at 7:15 a.m. makes me believe that it is actually a portal into a whole new world. A tempting world of unknown destinations and new surprises. I'm not sure if the desire to head in opposite directions is more strong on Friday's when I'm outfitted in my jeans and sneakers, ready to explore or Monday-Thursday when I am adorned in my pseudo corporate casual clothing feeling like an alien attempting to impersonate a productive member of society.

This morning, Friday, in my jeans and slip on sneakers, the northbound train rolled in as I waited with my coffee. The doors slid open and for a moment that felt like a millennium long second I thought about stepping through. I imagined what it would be like to step through and head the other way, I fantasized about the doors closing and magically being transported on to an Amtrak train out of this city, this state, this time zone. I dreamed of new worlds and landscapes, mountains and salty, ocean air. And just as the imagery was starting to crystallize around the edges, just as it was starting to become a tangible idea that I could grasp and make real, the ding of the doors closing shot through and dissolved the whole thing. As I slowly turned away I could hear the train starting back up again, could hear it heading towards its familiar home of Kimball, just to turn around and head back again in a continuous loop to become someone elses southbound adventure. With it went my dreams of sandy beaches and snow capped mountain vistas. But only for today. For I know that once again, next week, or the one after, I will be standing on my platform waiting for my life to start that day and a northbound train will come with its inviting doors and promises of new things. And maybe if I wait long enough, it really will turn into a train out of this town.