Milk and why I now will buy only soy products

I don't usually keep milk in my house, but because I recently had a weekend guest and my ability to produce food at any given interval is decidedly lacking, I choose to cover up this fact with the option of cereal (which we also had to buy when she got here because apparently my personal choice of cheerios which I keep on hand to munch dry right out of the box on Saturday mornings was too much like "sawdust" for her - yeah I sent her home with her own half eaten box of lucky charms).

There are multiple reasons my fridge is usually sans milk. The top three are I never drink it fast enough so it always ends up spoiling, I'm not completely lactose intolerant but I get a little queasy when too many dairy products start entering my eating cycles and I choose to save that small section of my food choices for ice cream and sharp cheddar cheese, and finally that weird ass crust that forms around the edge of the milk jug. I have always bought my milk in plastic containers. Gallon, half gallon, or that weird two serving size at the gas station, it is always a plastic bottle. I have seen milk in bags back home but maybe that was just a Wisconsin thing because my local store here doesn't have them. Maybe if I didn't drink directly from the container this weird crust process wouldn't happen. But lets face it when you live alone, with no dishwasher save your own two hands, breaking the habit of swigging any product straight from the fridge is mighty hard to break.

The reason this crusty, hardened milk substance is so disturbing to me is two fold. One, it's creepy to drink any liquid and have unsuspecting solids touch any part of your mouth. I have an overall issue with food substance (which is why I never eat Jello regardless of the amount of liquor it may or may not hold) which may be why this one is so icky to my. The second one I figured out today. I came home and slugged down the remainder of this weekend's milk before it got out of date and as I proceeded to lean over the garbage and brush the milk flakes off my lips I watched them fall to the top of my garbage (which was admittedly close to me since it's about time to empty it). As I looked at them I thought "Wow, that substance looks familiar". And this is when it dawned on me. What they looked like was my sheets right before I washed them after a weekend in with a boyfriend. Do I really need to spell this one out? I am trying to keep this relatively family friendly here folks. What I will say is that I'm pretty sure every person who might read this is familiar with that wonderful white spot hidden under the duvet cover.

The really disturbing part was the realization that two years of basically single in the city, with a few random exceptions, meant the closest I was coming (mind out of the gutter people!) to the "wonderful white spot" was crusty milk flakes in my fridge. From now on it's soy products all the way.

I'm in Oregon!

Whenever I am on vacation I try and do at least a quick "hello" post. So here is my live from the West Coast Hello!

Flight was long but went well - other than the asshole in the O'Hare airport that decided when section two was called that he would breeze past the obviously formed line and take the lead, if it wasn't 7:30 in the morning I might have cared more. Got into Redmond 6 hours later to a brilliant blue sky and snow...yep I brought the devil with me from the midwest.

Got to see Bobby's photography hanging in the local coffee shop which was really fucking cool and then spent 2 hours digging through wedding dresses Friday night.

Now it's Saturday morning, we just had an amazing breakfast of the thickest bacon I've seen in ages and homemade crepes (God how I love friends that cook and cook well!), basketball is on in the background (Go Badgers!) and we are slowly getting ready to head back out to explore.

Hope everyone is having a great pre-patrick's day weekend.

Trusting Person

I am a relatively trusting individual...okay maybe not, but I have gotten out of the habit of double checking my order every time I get food to go. This past week however has taught me (twice!) to stop having faith in the food industry.

Episode I: Sunday evening, tired from a fun day outdoors in the beautiful weather, I stopped at the Daily for a burger. I placed my order with the friendly bartender (one I hadn't seen before) of a medium bacon cheeseburger with cheddar cheese and tater tots as my side (the ability to order tater tots as a side is one of the main reasons I frequent the Daily so much, that and it's two blocks down the street helps). He repeats my order to me and punches it into the computer. He even brings me a glass of water as I wait (with no request from me). The familiar site of a plastic bag tied up around the take out Styrofoam container shows up and he repeats my order again - burger, medium, cheddar, bacon, tater tots. Yup, I say, smile and head out the door. I get home and open my box of deliciousness to find a bacon cheeseburger and fries?! I am not a huge fan of fries (especially take out, since they get soggy pretty quick) but it's not worth hauling my ass back down to the bar so I dig into my burger instead. It might have been the rarest piece of meat I had ever eaten. Now I can dig a rare steak, but this was hamburger and there is nothing so unappealing as a cold, slightly gummy (as rare cow can get) burger. At this point I'm too tired and bummed out about my food to go back, so I just eat around the part still mooing in the center and nibble at a few of the less clammy fries.

Episode II: Wednesday morning, running late (my theme for this summer) I stop at the Dunkin Donuts in my El station. I get my standard coffee (medium with cream and sugar) and a plain cinnamon raisin bagel. Toss the bagel in my bag and head off to work. About two hours later I pull out the bagel, ready to eat and find that instead of a plain bagel I have a plain bagel, sliced and smothered in a mountain of plain cream cheese. Normally I like cream cheese, but I wasn't expecting it, and after two hours the bagel looked as though it had gotten sort of soggy (which is less than appealing). So I ended up chucking it in the trash and going to the DD by my work to try again.

Frustrating! But I guess now I know to double check all my food.

Post Script - When will I learn?! Episode III: Went to Cosi on Michigan for lunch and got a salad to go. Continued my walk south on Michigan to just next to the Art Institute where there is a nice, shaded fountain area. Opened bag...no fork.

Straight Men

About 90 percent of my good friends here in the Windy City (and across the country for that matter) are in some stage of a relationship. Some in the brand new, lovey-smiley phase, some in the first few years of marriage, and others in the long term-kids-house part. Because of this, and other random factors (such as I am not a huge drinker, I don't have a lot of extra spending money, and I am still working on going out alone at night in the city) I don't spend a lot of time in loud, smoky, Friday/Saturday night bars trying to pick up random objects of the opposite sex. Which is why last Saturday night's exploration into the late night city scene was hugely entertaining for me.


I celebrated my birthday this year by having a fantastic weekend full of events. To start it off there was a large tapas dinner that was loads of fun. Lots of food and even more sangria made the night highly entertaining. As dinner was winding down the group split into those that had to head home and those that felt up to a little more festivities. As I was knee deep in fuzzy sangria land I went along for the festivities ride with no idea where we were headed. A few of the more sober patriots of our entourage (mostly my designated driver and the other person who had lived here more than one year) packed us into the car and headed up to Delilahs. As we headed up to the door and I saw the row of young, posturing, single men I could barely contain my excitement.

Somehow we managed to snag a table near the back, we found a girl who had a whole table to herself and my more vocal party members asked if we could sit there. She happily obliged, and it turns out she was new to the city, out for the night and had no problem with us crashing her table. I stood with my back to the throngs of people pushing past to get to the bathrooms and the bar and proceeded to spend the rest of the evening jamming out and pseudo dancing (this is where one dances in a bar that is not specifically designed for dancing but plays decent enough music that anyone with any sort of rhythm can't help but at least bounce along). It was jukebox night, which meant we were up for anything, but it settled into a decent routine of 2-3 random punk type songs with a good jumpy beat and then some old school funk classics mixed in.

It was standing such as this, with my gin and sangria filled hips shaking along that I re-discovered what it was like to be in a bar on Saturday night. I was quickly able to tell who was behind me by the way they indicated their presence. Girls, when trying to squeeze behind other girls (this all presumes heterosexuality by the way) will lightly place their hand on your back. Kind of that "Hey, I'm back here, please don't step on me suddenly" gesture. Guys on the other hand, will slide their arm/hand around your waist to show you they are entering your personal space. At no point in time did I feel creeped out by this, in fact it was probably wise that they alerted me to their presence otherwise my gin filled dancing moves might have wrecked havoc on them. Instead I found highly entertaining. After months of spending my free time in either coffee shops or gay bars, it was fun to get back into the heterosexual Saturday night dating scene while safely ensconced in my group of friends who would make sure I didn't end up on top of the bar, making out with strangers (which has happened in various points in my life). While I would still rather meet a guy reading with a latte in my lap, I have to admit it was a great way to celebrate the next year of my life.

Lunch Hour

My partner in crime at work is out for the morning so I was forced to fend for myself during lunch. I headed down to Corner Bakery for my usual ham and swiss panini - I am horribly unoriginal with food once I find something I like. I decided to shake it up a little (small steps) and get the half sandwich half cup of soup -> Wednesday - Sunday is baked potato which might be one of my favorite types of soup.

Turns out there was a terrorist sabotage attack on Corner Bakery's cup supply and most of the customers walked away with leaking sodas (damn those terrorists!). I was one of the chosen few who had a perfectly fine cup (I think I might sell it on eBay later) so was entertained throughout my meal watching group after group get downstairs only to realize their diet cokes were leaking all over their "I'm on vacation from the burbs" outfits.

Eventually a manager type guy started making rounds in the basement dining area asking how everyones food was and offering up replacement cups to anyone who hadn't trotted back upstairs for a new one already. At this point I have realized that while my coke is happily staying inside my cup, I think there might be lettuce mixed in with my green onions on the top of my soup. As he heads toward me with that look of "how are you doing today" inquiry plastered across his face, I debated whether or not to point out this obvious mixing of vegetables. But as he hit my table, smiled and joked with me about my souvenir cup I lost the nerve, figuring the more vegetable life in my diet the better.

Done with my meal, I headed up and out to hide under the awning from the sprinkles of rain that were dusting the Chicago streets while I smoked my after dinner cigarette. To me this act is almost up there with ritual, and I enjoy it immensely. As I tried to cup my burning ember away from the crowd and kept my respectable distance from the revolving door (Hey I may be a smoker but I am not a total asshole) I watched as the same manager type guy had to head out and extricate a homeless man from their outdoor seating. I overheard the manager call the homeless man "buddy", doubting that in any universe, simulated or not, those two would ever be "buddies".

With the rain stopped and my cigarette done, I headed back to the office. Dealt with two groups of people walking the wrong way on the sidewalk*. They must be from Europe. And headed into Staples were I bought 3 bottles of Elmer's glue, 3 boxes of 24 count crayons, and 4 folders. Do I need these things? No. But when you can buy 12 oz. of glue, 72 crayons, and 8 places to hold paper with a single dollar and get 45 cents back, it's a crime not to.

*There are certain rules when one decides to present themselves in public. One is that you walk on the right side of the sidewalk (as opposed to left) this way traffic can flow smoothly much like on the roads. Second is that when on an escalator - standers stand on the right so walkers can pass on the left, again much like driving. It is on my list of great annoyances when others in the world do not recognize these rules.

What did Canada do?

Here is an extra special, extra Monday post...I had lunch at McDonalds today (no, that is not the extra special post, it's just the setup) and because it's McD's and there is nothing else to do (burgers are way to messy/greasy to try and read while eating) I read the back of the receipt. It appears that the company was having (like most companies these days) a survey that would enter you into a drawing for weekly prizes. In the fine print however it says this...

"Open only to legal residents of the US and Canada (other than the Province of Quebec), 15 years of age and older. In order to win, a Canadian resident must correctly answer a skill testing question"(emphasis theirs)

So my question is what did Canada (and specifically Quebec) do to get the all powerful Golden Arch's to require them to test in order to participate?