1. A couple of weeks ago I was tipsily shopping at 7-11. A couple of police officers were in there, chilling behind the counter with the owner eating grody hot dogs and such. I gave them my polite smile that I reserve for policemen and firemen, and went along my merry way. I got the items I wanted, paid and left and was then approached by one of the police officers outside the store. "Excuse me, miss?" he called after me as I turned the corner back to my apartment. My mind was flooded with thoughts as to why a police officer would be talking to me. Did he smell the booze on my breath and was he going to arrest me for WUI (walking under the influence)? Was he going to warn me and tell me to be careful since there was a rape in the area? Was he going to arrest me for trying all of the Slurpee flavors before settling on a decision (cherry)? No, no and no. He was going to tell me I was very beautiful and then ask me for my phone number. I was shocked. Like, what? Is this allowed? An on-duty police officer can approach women and ask them on a date? This seems odd to me. Also, he was a good half a foot shorter than me and all I could look at was the embroidered CPD on his turtleneck. Anyway, I turned him down. And then he handcuffed me and threw me in the back on the squad car. Kidding.

2. Last week Bryce told me that my eyes twinkle. Like Santa. This might be the best thing anyone has ever told me.

3. I'm on book five of the Harry Potter series and guess what? I'm actually enjoying them. Bryce thinks this is the most amazing thing ever and is seriously tickled whenever I say things like "The bus driver looks like Hagrid."

4. I still enjoy taking pictures in Millennium Park. Seriously, I'm such a tourist.



5. I've had a cough for going on three weeks and the only thing the doctor has suggested in Claritin. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die in the next week or so, if not from lack of oxygen, but from exhaustion. I haven't slept more than 4 hours in the past week. Neat.

6. Under my mini-wheat costume I wore a pair of $5 leggings I got from Target. Before I bought these leggings, I thought everyone who wore them was an idiot. But, um, guys? LEGGINGS ARE AWESOME. No wonder I wore them all the time when I was a little girl! Seriously, I've had these leggings for like, what? Three weeks now? That's twenty-one days. I think I've worn them at least fifteen times. Today I'm not wearing them with underwear underneath (tmi) and just went to Walgreens. And my shirt doesn't cover my ass. I'm pretty sure I was almost naked in Walgreens.

7. I went to Walgreens to buy a pint of ice cream. Yes, I eat ice cream by the pint and wear leggings. Help me.

8. My fam is headed to Florida this Christmas and I hope to re-create this photo from a Florida vacation many moons ago:



9. I've been reading all these posts on what to do with Thanksgiving leftovers. Guys, is my family the only family in which leftovers don't exist? We make like, three turkeys and a billion and a half pounds of potatoes and a metric ton of stuffing, only to have it gone in under an hour. Mmmm stuffing. My mom's having Thanksgiving this year. I think I will go there early to help and force her (ask nicely) to make three times the amount of stuffing. And maybe I'll whip up a bacon apple pie for the occasion.

10. I dog-sat Tippy last month and she had been bitten in the crotch by some other dog at this like, Jack Russell Terrier convention (don't ask) and so I had to put this doggie vagina ointment on her and then put on this Speedo so she woudn't like it off. Seriously, this was my brother's Speedo when he was like, three. Tippy didn't enjoy wearing them, to say the least.

Dudes, I never post. What gives. I have things to say but then look at my pile of homework and I end up burrowing into a heap of [college ruled] papers scrawled with variance formulas and GAME THEORY matrices. And then I look at my bed see a pile of blankets and I burrow deep into them and it's all over.

First things first... here are a couple pictures from Halloween:


Happy Halloween from your favorite cereal characters.


Me and Tony, er, Bryce. I want Bryce to wear blue eyeshadow on his nose everyday. Seriously.


"What are you? Some sort of hairy face?"

Last week (I think?) I had my three month post-op doctor's appointment with my surgeon. He's given me the go ahead on working out again, which is totally awesome. Not awesome? The fact that I have a wicked cough that is not responding to Mucinex. The pills go in but the little green men don't come out. So, I haven't been able to head back to the gym to lose the poundage I've accumulated by sitting on my damaged butt for the past three months. This is scary, since, among other dietary indiscretions, I've eaten two bags of Halloween candy in two days. Seriously, I wasn't even expecting trick or treaters but I bought a giant variety pack. Neat. Okay, in the spirit of midterms, let's review: no workouts for three months + bags of chocolate + ramen noodles (mama is poor) + Christmastime trip to the great state of Florida + bathing suit = Horrifying sight from which you need to shield your eyes.

Oh, so the other day I was thinking about my retarded injury and how much crap it's put me through (also, how much it's cost me) and I realized that I never wrote about the actual surgery. It's not particularly interesting in general, but there are a few things I think are hilarious so I need to write them down for posterity. Or something.

My surgery was scheduled for 7am in a "same day surgery center" downtown Chicago. This really freaked my mom out, because, yeah, it's sorta weird to park your car in some sketchy parking lot under the El tracks and walk into some unlabeled building across the street from Macy's and take a few elevators up and suddenly appear in a surgery ward. Also, I felt like a homeless person. I was wearing the baggiest, scrubbiest clothes possible, no makeup and my glasses and walking downtown Chicago amongst throngs of people on their way to work. So, they administer a second pregnancy test (in case I got knocked up in three days I guess) and give me a gown, hairnet thing and booties to put on. Then they send in a billion and a half different nurses and doctors, who each ask me which leg I'm having repaired to make sure they do the right one. The surgeon writes a big ole YES on my left leg in purple marker. I came to know that YES well, seeing as I wasn't able to bathe for two weeks post surgery.

The anesthesiologist came in and totally freaked me out by going over his laundry list of things that could go wrong, the most frightening being KNOCKING OUT MY TEETH (this is my biggest fear in the world. 2nd? butterflies, moths and dragonflies.) from intubating me. Wah. Anyway, I'm suddenly really nervous and my dad looks like he's going to cry and my mom is trying to talk about things that don't involve me dying or bleeding to death or losing the use of my limbs. The finally wheel me away and drug me and apparently tape my eyelids shut because I was picking adhesive out of my lashes later in the day. The surgery takes two hours or something (I don't know, even though I was apparently there) and afterward the surgeon goes to the waiting room (where my parents are watching the only available channel, Home Shopping Network, or reading Highlights magazine) dressed in the most ridiculous outfit to tell my parents the surgery went well and blah blah blah all my dad seemed to be able to relay to me was that he was dressed in a surgeon's cap and a pair of knee high rubber boots. Like he expected to be wading in a pond of blood or something.

I woke up sometime after that (duh) and was so freaking cold. I was shaking and shivering and cracking up (which was an improvement from the last time I was put under for wisdom teeth, when I was crying uncontrollably). The nurse was piling blankets on top of me and I was still shaking and my teeth were chattering so they put this plastic thing on me that would blow hot air on me. It was awesome and I wonder if they sell them for home use. The first thing I asked my mom was if I still had all my teeth (yes, I do). And then I asked for a ginger ale. And then I peered at my mom with wide eyes and whispered "where are my underwear?" because, dudes, I totally wore underwear in and totally didn't wear underwear out. I mean, I specifically asked the nurse if I should take them off (since they were operating on my butt crease) but she said no. And if a medical professional tells you to leave your knickers on, you leave your knickers on. But now they were gone. My mom found them inside a rubber glove... like someone grabbed my underwear and then turned the glove inside out around them. And then stuck the underwear (and glove) in a biohazard bag. My underpants are biohazardous material! But seriously, can you imagine? I'm totally asleep, my eyes are taped closed, I have a tube in my mouth and they are fumbling with my underwear. Neat.

After they monitored me for a while they taught me how to use crutches properly (Wait, maybe they did this before surgery? Hmm, that would make more sense...) and then put me in a wheelchair and sent me back the hot summer sidewalks of Chicago where my dad was double parked and being yelled at by a cabbie. I lived on my parents' couch for two weeks, not really able to sit up, washing my hair in the kitchen sink and watching a lot of Maury. Part of me misses those two weeks, which is probably super weird... longing for the days when I had a gaping wound and a minor addiction to pain pills. But really, those two weeks were before the days of problem sets and standard deviations and Cobb-Douglass demand functions... life was simpler then. And I had someone (a few someones, actually) waiting on me hand and foot. Now I have Diet Coke cans littering my room and a minor addiction to jalapeno potato chips instead of vicodin. OH, and it didn't get dark at like, 3pm. Daylight savings sucks.

I guess I watch too much Law and Order: SVU because this commercial weirds me out.

Hello, internet. Again, my sudden influx of real life things (namely, school) has had a negative effect on my internet persona. Not so much internet presence... I still creep around my usual online haunts between classes (on the super slow, crappy computers in the computer lab blaaahhh) but never have enough time to actually post anything. Not that I have anything to post. Not even pictures. I am so behind in uploading pictures. Ridiculous and daunting. It is now October. I think I'm in June. Ughhh. But, again, not that any of the pictures would be interesting. I've gone on only one interesting photo excursion in recent memory, and the memory is a horrible one. I was driving home from Bryce's house on morning last week and it was beautiful outside and the lake was all shimmery and the beach was empty and the lifeguard chairs were chained up for the season. So I parked my car a few blocks away and took a stroll to the water to take some photos. Except, gurgle gurgle, my stomach starts going crazy and, no, not in the "I'M SO HUNGRY" way. So I start running (well, lame-running. My leg is still a hindrance.) to the bathrooms, only the bathrooms are closed for the season. Guys, I almost poo'd on the beach. I almost had to drop trou' in public. Except I made it to my car. And then I almost poo'd in my car. But then I made it so a ghetto gas station, where after I used their facilities I bought a grape pop to make up for it.

Yesterday was School Picture Day. Like, what? I was hoping they'd be handing out those cheap black combs beforehand to make ourselves look presentable. Do they still do that in elementary schools? I always thought it was weird, because it's not like a girl is going to comb out her giant head of hair with a tiny fine-toothed comb and the boys all have like, gelled spikes or buzz cuts. No poindexter parts in this neck of the woods, anyway. So, yeah, it was picture day so I actually got up and did my hair and wore a sorta business-y (well, as business-y as BCBG gets) shirt (we're supposed to attach these photos to our resumes... again, weird) and got in line to have my picture taken. The photographer was nice but taking her job way too seriously. I assumed it would be a typical Sears' portrait studio set up or whatever with a stationary camera. Um, no. This woman was getting all up in my business glamour shot style. She was nice and took a decent amount of pictures and let me see them to give approval, which was appreciated. Except I'm not really sure this woman knew how to use her camera because I was totally washed out and I wanted to be like, bitch give me your fancy camera and let me change the settings. And I think she could tell I didn't like it because she'd be like "OH THIS IS GOOD" and she'd show me and I'd be like "Yeahhh it is..." except I have an inability to hide my feelings on my face (much to my mother's chagrin) so then she'd look all crestfallen. I eventually did a decent job of convincing her it was a good picture when she really should have put that sucker on manual and called it a day.

I'm reading Harry Potter (the first one) like, a decade after everyone else. Not because I really want to, but because I'm trying to be a good girlfriend. Bryce loves Harry Potter and Star Wars and pretty much everything else that I hate in terms of books and movies so I decided to give in on this one. Blah blah sorcerers and magic blah blah.

In other news, did you know that GAME THEORY (one of my classes this quarter) does not involve sitting in a circle and playing Scrabble and Candyland? Total bummer.

Text from my mom last night: "I am pretending I have a back ache just like 26 years ago. I just had some fish sticks, too. xoxo."

I just won a three month membership to Club Pogo. Too bad I don't know what Club Pogo is. Whatever, happy birthday to me!

It's funny how much easier it is to update this here thing here when it's on someone else's time. Namely, my employer's. But now that I don't have an employer, I'm finding it hard to sit down at my computer and actually type. I'd like to say that I also find it hard to sit on the internet in general, that I'm just so full of zest and an energy for life to waste away the precious hours of my time here on Earth lounging in my underwear, my thighs lightly warmed by my laptop battery. Sadly, this is not the case, and I am, in fact, doing exactly that. I have not been spending my days foraging a new frontier, I'm here, in a supine position, on my brown microfibre couch from the hours of 2pm-6pm, watching television and playing on the internet. Or napping. I've been doing a lot of that lately. I've been waking up at 6:30am, hiking it to Hyde Park on the #56 and #6 buses, making friends with homeless people and learning algebra and calculus for the first time in 10+ years. Did you know it's possible to be better at algebra than calculus? It is, and I am proof. I failed my first crack at the algebra math exam last week (neat), so I need to retake that along with the calc test for the first time around next week (the Monday after my birthday, no less) and pray that I pass. Otherwise, helllllooo fall quarter non-credit math class. Again, neat.

GRAD SCHOOL has been interesting so far. It was weird, the day before the first day of MATH CAMP I got super nervous. Not because I was scared I won't do well, or that I'll get lost in the south side ghetto, but because I didn't know what to wear. Seriously, I was annoyed with myself for not going back to school shopping. Then I remembered that the massive amount of money I'm borrowing is for getting schooled and not a new wardrobe, though I think it wouldn't be too difficult to spend $100k on new fall jackets and leather boots. I also came close to having a grad school induced panic attack in Walgreens. More specifically, aisle seven of Walgreens, the school supplies aisle. Dudes, I haven't purchased notebooks or pencils or pens or Post-It notes in so long, I was overcome with emotion. I was mostly really upset that they only had pencils with 0.7mm lead instead of my preference, 0.5mm. And then I couldn't decide what color math camp should be. I stood there for approximately fifteen minutes debating whether red (hellish) or blue (sad) was more in tune with my feelings about attending a three week "camp" devoted to the study of variables and Cartesian planes. I went with the red.

The people are pretty decent. Seemingly normal. There are a handful of giant douchebags, though, who insist on attempting to prove how smart they are buy saying things like "I prefer to graph things logarithmically, as it helps me visualize the fluidity." Huh? What the fuck does that even mean? Why are you even at math camp? A lot of the people are trying really hard to make friends and for the first time in my life I feel sort of... reclusive? I mean, I'm being friendly and nice to people, but since I'm from here, I'm less... desperate... or something, though that sounds awful. It's just I live in the place where I pretty much grew up and I'm lucky enough to be surrounded by people that I love. People I've known for months or years or decades, and who don't talk about log paper and the fluidity of functions. I am trying though, to meet new people, it's just I'm so annoyed at people's attempts to make friends by talking about their Ivy League education or their time feeding homeless feral dogs in Peru. I just want to meet some people who laugh at my jokes and who admit they aren't perfect and aren't necessarily striving to be. And be down with cheap beer, because homies? Mama is broke.

Heidi and Mike joined the married ranks a couple of weeks ago, making her yet another one of my friends who will be remain in my phone as Heidi (maiden name). It's not that I think it's wrong or bad or sexist to change your name, it's more a combination of my laziness and the fact that my brain has a really hard time switching that sort of stuff over in my head. Plus, it's just sort of odd to me: You go by one name your entire life and then BAM, everyone has to piddle around changing things on their phones as they drink a few beers between the church service and the reception? Basically, my cell phone is a time capsule. It's where maiden names go to die. ANYWAY, it was a great wedding, despite it being slightly foiled by the wacky weather. August in the midwest is supposed to be sweltering, and I was concerned about sweating profusely through my fancy schmancy duds since it was an outdoor wedding. Only it turned out to be maybe sixty degrees and raining and I wore a coat for the better part of the evening. Still, it was held in this seriously ENORMOUS tent next to a lake. Seriously, this tent! Huge! Likely rented from Mr. P.T. Barnum. I was waiting for a trapeze artist to fly in at any moment. Aside from the much appreciated open bar, and the school bus that shuttled as to and from the hotel to the lake/circus tent, there were peanuts and a popcorn machine and a great band and DUDES, all the cheese you could ever wish for to put atop a hamburger. Meaning I ate roughly thirteen pounds of bleu cheese. On a 1/3 pound beef patty. Delicious.


He flies through the air with the greatest of ease...


My gentleman caller/wedding date.

Other than math camp and the wedding, my life recently has pretty much consisted of trying to convince myself that it's really not fall yet and that I didn't waste my entire summer being a gimp with a bum leg. And, for all interested parties, it's getting better. Slowly but surely. I still can't workout, which has resulted in me becoming a fatso, but I'm hoping to get back to the gym the beginning of next month. I had a goal to be skinny for my birthday, but seeing as the Big Day is on Saturday, that is not very likely. I also had a goal of being going against everything I stand for when it comes to ridiculous holidays and traditions and wearing something somewhat revealing on Halloween. But again, not happening. But that's okay. I'm going as a Frosted Mini Wheat. Yes, seriously. Costume construction will commence on September 26th.



So, for those of you playing along at home, or at least skimming this entry, my birthday is this week. If you want, you can send me puppies and blank checks. Or, at the very least, Subway Scrabble codes. I mean, think about it! You get to buy yourself a sandwich in honor of my birthday! It's like buying yourself a present. A delicious present of deli meats and giardiniera. Oh, and a pop. That's actually the important part. The codes are on the cups, not the bread. Which is actually pretty silly, when you think about it.

SPEAKING OF SILLY, is this totally gross? I mean, I think salmon are always gross: alive, dead, being eaten by a bear in a creek, being eaten by a a Japanese man in a sushi joint, raw or cooked. But canned? CANNED SALMON? Grody. To the max.


Bryce had a Jessica Simpson moment and was convinced it was chicken made to taste like salmon. Mostly because he was more disturbed to think that salmon comes in a can than chicken could be made to taste like fish.

The opposite of grody, though, is my new hat. It is my new favorite thing in the whole entire world:


Sup, bitches?

Unrelated to everything (not like everything else I've written was ever so carefully woven together), my car was broken into last week and it makes me want to cut someone. I'm not sure if I left a door unlocked or if they jimmied the lock, but on Friday morning I walked to my car to grab a granola bar before hopping on the bus to school (my car is a great place to keep granola bars) when I noticed that everything from my glove box had been tossed out of the glove box. They were unlucky in that I don't keep anything of value in my car (they didn't take my Van Morrison or Corrs cds... weird.), but they were lucky in that I had a giant knife in my car and they stole that. Why, Anna, did you have a giant knife in your car, you ask? Well, inquisitive minds, I'm not entirely sure. I flew to Florida to take ownership of my grandpa's car when he was sick and going to die. In his car I've found numerous peculiar things. Aside from a giant knife, I've found a lot of flax seeds, a cassette tape on Christian Science (whut?), a bunch of pens from a crematorium, detailed maps of pretty much every city in Florida and some really ugly (read: awesome) old person sunglasses. And now some punk-ass wannabe thug stole my giant knife I never had a reason to use. But now, when I really want to cut someone, I can't. Figures.

Things have been going swimmingly in Anna Land lately. A few things of note:

1. I had my first state fair experience this weekend and it was glorious. More on that in a bit.

2. This is my last week of work so I'm trying to make myself appear busy. You know, like this is something new. I'm going out with work "colleagues" (this word has always sounded so mature to me. I am not mature. Does this mean I can't have colleagues?) Thursday after work for dollar beers. This likely means I will be hungover on my last day as a SCIENTIST. Guys, I'm kinda sad about this! About no longer being a scientist, not about being hungover. That's just a given. Anyway, on Friday my boss is taking me and the rest of my [hopefully] hungover LAB MATES out to lunch. I picked Flat Top Grill, as usual. That flat bread, it's calling my name.

3. MATH CAMP starts on Monday. I'm scared. What if the other kids don't like me? What if my mom packs me a bad lunch? What if a squirrel eats a hole in my backpack and steals my sandwich (true story)? What if I forget to wear my camp t-shirt on the field trip day?

4. I had my first physical therapy session this morning. It was sort of.. awkward? I didn't know physical therapists did ten minute scar rubdowns. What's that? They DON'T do ten minute scar rubdowns? Hmm. Did I mention that my scar is directly below my butt? In the butt crease? So, yeah, some dude rubbed that for a while while he talked to me about robots and the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

5. I'm collecting the Scrabble pieces from Subway. I want to win $100,000. I mean, yeah, everyone wouldn't mind an extra hundred Gs, but I NEED it. My tuition bill came yesterday. Have you ever had a bill for fifty THOUSAND dollars? It's nauseating. Especially nauseating when I know I'm going to get another one. Neat. What I'm getting at is if you happen to eat at Subway between now and the beginning of October, please send me the codes for the Scrabble letters. It would make me a really happy girl and I'll be your best friend.

--
Now. Back to the fair. Did you know that the McDonald's in Bolingbrook, IL is totally awesome? You don't have to talk to anyone! You just order at this touch screen kiosk! There are real flowers on the tables! Free refills! I drank 64 ounces of Diet Coke! I told Katie all about it and we're going to make a pilgrimage. Seriously, it's that cool.

After I ate my weight in hashbrowns and bacon egg and cheese biscuits, Bryce and I continued on our way to Springfield, IL. Turns out, the state fair is just a giant carnival. With barnyard animals and a cow made out of a butter. Really, it's huge. I think it weighs a ton? Oh, and it's not just a butter COW, but a butter SCENE. A cow eating grass while a young, beardless Abraham Lincoln, also made of butter, lounges with his butter hatchet. Or something. Bryce and I want to know what they do with the butter after the fair is over. I mean, they can't just get rid of it. It's in this rotating refrigerated case, so it's not like it goes bad. We think that they should break it off into pieces and then sell it. I'd totally buy Abe Lincoln's nose and spread it on some nice cinnamon raisin toast.

I've decided that I would like a pet llama. I could pet it and maybe ride it and sell its soft fur. Did you know that llamas don't have top teeth?


After looking at the cows (cows are really flippin' big, did you know that?), pigs (I do not want a pet one of these, thanks), sheep, horses and llamas (dude, the goats were gone the day we went. I was super sad. I LOVE goats. Especially pygmy goats. I want one of those, too. Seriously.), we ate a crapload of food. Corndogs, turkey legs (that was all Bryce, gross), fresh potato chips, funnel cake... so greasy and so delicious. Then we both lost the BB gun shooting game. I think it's rigged. Granted I didn't go Mango Salsa to train this year, but I think I'm a decent shot. Anyway, no giant neon stuffed animals came home with us. Probably for the best.



We also went to this thing called Conservation World. It was cool! It talked about Illinois' natural resources and there were booths about SCIENCE and stuff so it was neat. I hope little kids liked it. Probably not as much as they liked the Tilt-a-Whirl, but there were still some fun things to do. You know, like pretend you're a law enforcement officer.


I obviously went into the wrong profession.

All in all, the state fair is super fun! I enjoyed being a redneck a lot more than I thought I would. The fact that there was a whole barn dedicated to Illinois wineries helped. Wine tasting at the state fair! Who knew? It was also awesome that it was a PERFECT day on Saturday. Sunny with a few clouds, mid-70s, breezy. Made for a pretty sunset, too.



After a day full of llamas, corndogs, flashing lights, motion sickness and livestock made of butter, we bought a one way ticket on the sky tram out of the fair and drove off into the sunset. Well, away from the sunset. Whatever.



Oh, and when we got home (at midnight), I insisted we both shower because our feet were blackened with dirt, and likely manure, and I was convinced we smelled like carnies.

I was listening to my favorite morning show on the way into work today (Johnny B on The Loop in case anyone cares to know) and they were talking about a Dutch survey that came out a few days ago:

A Dutch survey purportedly found that folks there prefer a trip to the bathroom over anything else. A whopping 88 percent of 1,000 adults surveyed said going to the bathroom was "something they enjoy the most." Second place: chatting with friends. Third: Outdoor recreation.

Anyway, they had listeners call in and guess what a random Dutch person would say when posed with that question, and then they'd call some random phone number in Holland and ask them. I was dying. Because, dudes, I enjoying going to the bathroom was much as the next person (actually, probably more. Pooping is fantastic.), but it's not SOMETHING THAT I ENJOY THE MOST. I mean, wow. Sorry! I'm going to skip out on going to the beach, I feel like dropping a deuce. Nah, I don't want to go get a drink and catch up, I'd prefer to take a shit. Have hot sex (another option)? Nope, I want to take a leak instead.

Ohhhh The Netherlands. I need to go back.

Good start to the day: Dr. Surgeon Man Person cleared me to start riding a stationary bike (nevermind that stationary bikes are the worst/most boring things at the gym, I get to be somewhat physically active! Hip hip!) and I can start physical therapy (if I want to... which I think is weird. I have a choice if I want to go? I'll probably going to because I think it sounds sorta fun. And torturous, but that's okay.). I had yet another person palpitating my butt this morning, but they told me I'm healing nicely and that I should be proud of myself. Which feels good, until I remember that I'm the one who did this to myself in the first place.

Heidi's bachelorette party was on Saturday and, hoo boy, I'm so old it's not even funny. I had the worst hangover of my life yesterday and I'm still reaching for the ginger ale today. Three hours of all you can eat/drink Mexican, as it turns out, wreaks havoc on your organ systems. Yesterday morning (afternoon) I crawled out of bed to make sure I had my phone/wallet/dignity (as evidenced by photos on my camera) inside my purse and found:

-Two (2) penis maracas
-One (1) penis straw
-Two (2) beer bottle ponchos
-Three (3) flour tortillas, one (1) with bite marks in it.
-Approximately twelve (12) smashed tortilla chips wrapped in a parcel with one (1) stolen cloth napkin

We went to Fernando's for dinner and margaritas and then hopped into cabs and headed to the Viagra Triangle (Clark/Division area. Gross.), where Heidi danced on the bar and drank booze out of the bottle. Then we went to Carol's Pub in Uptown, where we had to pay cover (what?). I made some innocent named Shane take off his shirt, whoops. Then I decided I'd had enough and I hopped into a cab home. Seventeen dollars later the cabbie was telling me his credit card machine was broken (surprise surprise, haven't hard that one before) and I was yelling at him either to fix it or take seven dollars because that's all the cash I had. He took the seven dollars. I felt a little bad until I remembered that he was sorta a tool and had no idea where he was going and I had to tell him where he needed to be driving. Cab drivers. They are retarded.

Bryce is in CANCUN for work this week. His boss emailed him last week and was all "you need to come to my office" and of course Bryce is all wtf did I do blah blah blah BUT turns out his boss can't go to a conference in MEXICO and he sent Bryce in his place. So he's lounging on the beach with a cocktail for "work" and I'm sitting on the computer in humid-ass Chicago with a headache "working".

Bryce: so funny story
Bryce: the hotel has 2 restaurants
Bryce: both are pretty nice looking
Bryce: one's italian, one's seafood
Bryce: anyway, i checked out the menus
Bryce: and all the entrees were like $220
Anna: hahahah
Bryce: so i actually went up and asked a concierge
Bryce: ummm is the food really hundreds of dollars for an entree
Bryce: because i'm like yes this is a luxury hotel
Bryce: maybe even 5 stars
Bryce: but c'mon
Anna: hahaha i mean, seriously
Bryce: i actually started to panic
Bryce: because i was suuuuper hungry
Anna: is it in pesos or something
Bryce: YES
Bryce: hahaha that was it
Bryce: they use the fucking $ symbol though
Anna: hahaha
Bryce: so, actually divide by 12
Anna: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Bryce: i was horrifiiiiied
Anna: 220 dollars for cheese ravioli
Bryce: no that's what it said!
Anna: no big deal
Bryce: appetizers $80
Bryce: i was like
Bryce: bruschetta $80?!?!?
Anna: HAHAHAHAHA
Bryce: even if it had just said 80
Bryce:i might have thought about it
Bryce: but $$$$$$$$80

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Why do I find the above story so hilarious? I think it's just because I can totally see myself doing the same thing. TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN DOLLARS FOR BAKED LASAGNA? ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY FIVE DOLLARS FOR A CHICKEN CAESAR SALAD?!

Katie is back from RIO and BUENOS AIRES (can you tell I'm bitter about my lack of vacation?) so I have to start wearing pants in my apartment again. Thumbs down. She did bring me back a scarf though, so that was nice of her.

I'm not entirely sure if I've written about this or not (I know that I've told cadette all about it), but I love farting at work. Secretly. Crop dusting. I get a stupid kick out of it. Yes, I'm gross and you should be happy you don't work with me. Actually, that's not true. I'm fun to work with. I keep the party going. And I invite people on Field Trips to places like CVS and various lunch establishments and bring in delicious bagels from time to time. Totally makes up for the occasional toot. AND I limit myself to unpopulated areas or by people I hate if on some off chance the toot in question smells. Which it usually doesn't. I'm a woman with a plan.

Anyway, I haven't BROKE WIND in front of Bryce [yet] because he is like, a non-farter. What kind of dude doesn't fart? What kind of HUMAN doesn't fart? I think it has something to do with him being an only child. He never had to battle someone in burp blowing or have a brother sit on them and fart. Or pee on them in bed on vacation, but that's another story entirely. We've discussed the farting thing, he says that he doesn't care and I can fart to my heart's content, but that he probably won't. So of course I don't because I can't be the weird and gassy girlfriend. So I hold them in like a proper LADY. EXCEPT for a few days ago when Bryce was over and I was dozing off to sleep and I must have had that like, total muscle relaxation thing going on and one escaped and I was immediately startled awake. But he wasn't. My LADYLIKENESS has been preserved for the time being. Or something. Do most people fart in front of friends and loved ones? I do. My friends do. My family does. Exes have. Farts for all!

Unrelated, I made twice baked potatoes last night and I can't get enough. Cheesy, bacon-y, potato-y goodness. Quite possibly the world's most perfect food? Isn't that the catchphrase for some kind of food? Like bananas or maybe avocados? Am I making this up? I googled it and apparently it's the slogan for SQUEEZ BACON (gah) but God knows I'm not thinking of that. Anyway, I made them for dinner tonight since they take like, a hundred years to make (fine, an hour and a half) and I can't be bothered to do that tonight. But I had one for a snack last night and then breakfast this morning (and some cornbread... I was on a cooking kick last night) and then have one for lunch, too. And then I'll make CORNFLAKE chicken and a FIESTA salad and BISCUITS (since I can't stop thinking about them after POPEYE'S last week) and have ANOTHER potato. And then I'll unbutton my pants.

I hate the word chinos. CHINOS.

Also unrelated (well, hopefully):