I can bring home the bacon...

Mon, 04 Jan 2010 17:32:40 GMT

Happy 2010, y'all! I can't decide if I want to commit myself to saying "twenty-ten" or "two thousand ten". I suppose I really don't need to COMMIT to either as I don't plan on marrying either. It would only be a year long marriage, after all.

I'm back at school for winter quarter. NEWSFLASH: School sucks. Yes, I am a ten year old boy. Apparently I was supposed to start my reading before classes were even back in session (can they ("they") do that? It should be illegal!). Anyway, it should go without saying that I didn't do any reading (duh) so now I'm buried in papers. PEWIS papers. I'm in a class called PEWIS. Pepe le PEWIS. Political Economy for Weakly Institutionalized Settings. What does that mean? What am I doing? I just want to ride polar bears and hug trees for chrissakes. Oh well.

Yesterday I made a "new" blog. I put new in inappropriately used quotation marks because it's not going to be anything different than what I write here, and no, I'm not quitting this here journal here. I've been here for going on a decade and I don't plan on abandoning ship. That being said, I've been here for, like I said, almost a decade, and therefore have a treasure trove of teenage angst hiding deep in the Russian servers of Live Journal. Probably in Siberia or something. So, yeah, people are starting to ask me about my blog! Why don't I have one! I should totes have one! To post pictures of my dog and stuff! And then I smile and mumble something incoherent. Blah blah blah, I decided to start another one that will pretty much be identical to everything I write here but without the possibility of my mother reading about my binge drinking. Also, I used to swear a lot. In an unironical (not a word) way. What I'm trying to say is that I am trying to expand my internet celebrity (not) to all possible mediums (LJ, facebook, myspace, flickr, tumblr (I hate tumblr), friendster (actually, I think I deleted this), twitter) and decided that blogspot is next. So, if you find yourself around that neck of the cyber woods, you can find me at www.tasteslikechickenramen.blogspot.com. The end.

In other news, I'm drinking a "throwback" Mountain Dew. It's made with REAL sugar and it's available for a limited time only! I hate to say it, but I miss my high fructose corn syrup. It tastes better. And it's made with corn, which is a vegetable, so it's a health food. There is, however and to my delight, a cartoon of a mountain man with a jug! Ya-hooo! I think they changed him up though... he looks a little less... haggard than I remember him being. Appalachian residents are cleaning up! Mr. Mountain Dew is improving with age! I also found this on the internets. PARTY JUG. This is hilarious and great to me.

Less hilarious and great, I'm addicted to playing Boggle online. Seriously, go to wordtwist.org and play. Oh, and be prepared to feel like an idiot! I RARELY get an "average" score. I've never been on the right hand side of the bell curve. Saaaad Annnnnaaaa (think "saaaad paaaaandaaaa"). Go on, play! I DARE YOU. Watch, everyone but me is a Boggle wordsmith.

Wed, 30 Dec 2009 17:57:06 GMT

Hi internet! I'm back from Florida! With some semblance of a tan! :D Miniature sized tan, but better than nothing. I managed to catch a cold on the plane ride home, so now I'm like every other sniffling asshole on public transportation. Awesome. Oh, and a dog got loose and took a crap (a LIQUID crap) in the galley of the airplane yesterday. My mom blamed the smell on me. THANKS, MOM. Anyway, speaking of animals, I was a regular Dr. Doolittle at some roadside place in the Everglades.

BABY ALLIGATOR

BABY ALLIGATOR THAT I WANT TO HUG AND KISS.

ANACONDA! And, okay, despite the fact that I look Cleopatra-esque in this photo, I was totally creeped out. Bleghhh.

Me and Patches! Patches loved me and chose me as his mate. Or something.

Anyway, I have a billion and a half more animal pictures on my flickr. Anna + baby gator. Alex + baby gator. Mom + baby gator. Cousin + baby gator. etc etc etc!!! Other Florida pictures I feel like posting:

Blue Heron at the beach on Captiva Island.

Pelican Beach! Did you know that the white pelican has a wingspan of 9 feet? The second largest wingspan of a US bird, second only to the California condor? Also, they're 5'2"!!! This statistic annoys me, because, dude, it's not THAT tall. But I guess if they stretched or something and tipped their ginormous beak back. Or something.

Looking mighty sexy on a boatride. Also, guess where I went to college?!

Here's my bro in a movie theater. We went to see Avatar in IMAX 3-D one night and holy cow, it was awesome! Who knew I'd like a science fiction movie about blue cat people!? Also, I ate alligator for dinner beforehand. It's like, a lighter, bouncier chicken.

And, finally,

TINY POST OFFICE! I took this on Sunday, so it was closed (wah). I wish I could have seen a little miniature postman inside his little miniature post office selling little miniature stamps.

I hope everyone has a safe and happy New Year's Eve! Katie and I are having people over, which is both a relief (don't need to leave!) and annoying (I have to cook/clean AND possibly put real-life pants on). Apparently there is something about a blue moon happening, so I hope it's not like, blizzarding and I can get outside and take a picture. Happy 2010! :D

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 13:41:09 GMT

Sup, y'all! Merry Christmas Eve! I'm in Florida! Flo-Rida! It's warm and nice but not as sunny as I would like. I mean, come on, Florida, I want to get my tan on! I want to rub my bronzed nose in the faces of my fellow Northerners when I get back to Chicago. Because I'm a jerk.

Here are a few pictures from my trip so far:

Anyway, I hope everyone has a very happy Christmas celebration and that you manage to get wherever you need to go, through sleet and snow or whatever wintry mix mother nature throws in your direction. And eat an extra helping or two of roast beast. After all, it is the holidays.

PS! Christmas is my NINE YEAR livejournal anniversary! I guess I'll go out and buy livejournal some pottery and willow. Neat.

copycat

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 21:07:27 GMT

So, I'm pretty much directly copying Aja and making a "fave photos" of 2009 post. I recently got my 2008: 365(+1) (goooo leap year!) book back from the printer (um, a little bit of procrastination on my part!) and it made me really sad that I failed miserably in 2009. Well, miserably might be an exaggeration. I was chugging along until June, when I busted my leg, had surgery, was drugged up, in a wheelchair... etc. etc. etc.!!! Amazingly, it wasn't then that I stopped taking photos (though the ones I did take were ridiculously stupid and mostly things within an arm's reach of the couch I was bedridden to), but my heart wasn't in it anymore and I stopped sometime in the summer. ANYWAY, I miss having it and will be starting over in 2010. Thrilling, I know.

Here are some of my favorites from 2009:

BYOB thai food with Josh.

Inaugeration Day. Symbolism! :D

2009: My love affair with googly eyes is still going strong.

Flowers from Katie after a particularly hard week for me. <3

I love this one of Carol on her birthday. Maybe it's because she's holding the best bobblehead ever.

Katie, my little Irish princess, cooking St. Patrick's Day brunch for our guests. Green pancakes, green eggs, green sangria.

Ok, probably not the safest.

Josh and I drove to DC in March to see Sweeneyface and Stacie. I loved every minute of that trip.

Turns out West Virginia is purdy.

Tourist in my own city.

I was at times narcissistic.

I wasn't driving.

I tore every tendon imaginable at Jenny's bachelorette party. This is about an hour beforehand.

I met a gay dog.

4th of July out on Lake Michigan.

The Tipster.

Bryce and I went to the state fair.

I realized I want a pet llama.

A little blurry, but still one of my favorites from 2009.

That time I almost poo'd my pants at the beach.

Tippy hating her Speedo.

--
Overall, I'm disappointed with the photos I took in 2009 (and even more disappointed in the photos I didn't take in 2009), but here's looking to 2010!

In other news, on January 5th I will be doing my annual unveiling of the Top 86 Men I Would Marry Before Jake Gyllenhaal.
In case you've missed it in the past:
Installment #1
Installment #2
Installment #3

This year I'll be up to 255 men I'd rather marry than Jake Gyllenhaal. Phew.

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 20:05:48 GMT

So, I'm on break now so I have all the time in the world to troll the internet and write long posts. Except I seem to have lost my ability to write something about doing nothing, and that's a big bummer. Anyway, I'm going to try.

My first quarter (ugh, the quarter system... I can't decide if we have a love or a hate relationship. This will mostly depend on what my grades were, except I have no idea how to go about finding out what they are. I mean, you wouldn't think it would be difficult, that they'd be posted some obvious place online, by student ID, or something, but I've looked and um, nothing. And I don't want to email the dean because then I just look like a big dope or one of those annoying people who only care about grades. You know, an Ivy Leaguer. The ones who don't talk to me, or if they do, treat me like a retard because I went to public school. Ahhhh the joys of graduate school!) is over and I'm one sixth of the way closer to having people call me Master and have it really mean something. I'm supposed to be using break to "replenish my spirit", as our dean of students wrote to us in an email, but all I've been doing is sleeping until 1pm and perfecting my pancake flip (guys, I made a pancake with an 11 inch diameter yesterday!) before sitting/lying on the couch watching Law & Order for six hours. If only I was exaggerating.

Yesterday I decided to make my annual Christmas card (read: Christmas fun-time with Photoshop). I wasn't going to do it this year, mostly because I can't afford it. It seems silly, but printing/assembling/MAILING (Christ, remember when stamps were 25 cents?) fifty Christmas cards gets expensive, especially when you get like, five in return. And blah blah blah it's about giving not receiving (does this old adage hold for mail?), but whatever, it's annoying to spend upwards of a hundred bones to only get back a few drug-store brand cards without so much as a a few sentences written inside, ESPECIALLY when I'm a poor and jobless student. But then people starting asking about my card this year and blah blah blah I decided I could still make it but instead of mailing them I would send out them out ELECTRONICALLY. This sort of annoys me, mostly because I think e-cards are lame and real mail is cool, but whatever, mama is broke and everyone else is cheap, too.

Speaking of the Christ child, Katie was dating this guy last year who wore this freaking ginormous crucifix around his neck. I wasn't the biggest fan of this dude, mostly because he argued about abortion really loudly in my living room last year when I was having my Drinks from Around the World Olympics party. Anyway, long story short, Katie and this dude are "talking" again, and I'm trying to be non-judgmental. Laura is having a holiday party this weekend and Katie's ex-bf will be in attendance, which, naturally, is making Katie uneasy. Mostly because we think the ex-bf is bringing someone. Someone of the opposite sex, to be more specific. I told Katie she should bring the crucifix dude along as a date, mostly because Jesus is appropriate to wear this time of year. And then I had an amazing idea! Why don't people wear the swaddled baby Jesus around their neck? Why only crucified Jesus? Why only commemorate his death, why not his miracle birth? Swaddled babe could be Christmas wear, crucifix could be Easter wear. IT IS BRILLIANT. I need to get myself to a metals shop and start casting babies. Investors? Anyone? I've already got an Etsy shop...

with mouths wide open (and vomit flying out)

Tue, 08 Dec 2009 23:27:45 GMT

We all know how much I love Creed (haaaa) and I had to pass this on after cadette emailed this to me:

The comments on the tumblr I swiped the photo from made me loll (aside, when reading "LOL" I pronounce it so that it rhymes with "doll". Anyone else? Anyone?):
I think the most disturbing thing about this is that the wife’s shirt looks like it is not entirely on… and also that that baby looks like it was given a terrible hair bleaching job..

I mean, seriously, what is up with the baby's hair? Yeah, yeah, I'm making fun of a baby, a baby on a Christmas card, no less, but what gives? Also, why didn't they make that greasy little kid looking off into the distance take a shower? And why is Mr. Stapp sitting like a woman? Do you think he sent a card to Kid Rock?

In other, less exciting news, I have a econ final tomorrow and I'm pretty sure it's going to slaughter me. So send happy, positive thoughts my way tomorrow morning, por favor.

turkey, tongues and car troubles x2

Wed, 02 Dec 2009 05:25:25 GMT

'sup. It's finals week next week. You know what that means?! It means putzing around on the internet instead of studying!

A couple weeks ago, Bryce and I went to the Wisconsin vs. Northwestern football game. I made Bryce wear my Wisconsin sweatshirt (which was too small and looked stupid, but that's not the point) and be a Badger for the day, even though he's a grad student at Northwestern. But whatever, he doesn't like them, anyway. The Badgers lost and that was super annoying, though it could have been worse. It was a good game (33-31) and it was 54 degrees outside, which is pretty amazing for November in Chicago (er, Evanston). But still, ugh.

Sad Badgers.

Parking was a royal pain in the rear for the game, but I thought I parked far enough away from the stadium/NU campus to avoid any mishaps. Alas, I was mistaken and when I went to my car the next morning it had been scratched up on the back. Amazingly, the lady left a note. I KNOW, RIGHT?! WHO IS EVER LUCKY ENOUGH TO GET A NOTE?! So, even though it's super annoying to have to deal with, I'm super happy the lady was honest and nice and awesome and blah blah blah. And because I'm busy and spoiled (and, let's be honest, clueless), I drove my car to the suburbs the next day and traded for my mom's car so my parents could take my car in for estimates. $1200 and $2400. Nice discrepancy, right? I need to email the lady and hope she gives me cash because that seems a helluva lot easier than dealing with insurance.

Thanksgiving was good. Bryce came since his fam lives out of town and met my entire mom's side of the family. He didn't run away screaming, so that's a good thing. He described my family as "one of those quirky families from the movies... you guys talk about anything, like, inappropriate things". So true.

On Sunday I was driving down to the SOUTH SIDE to go to school and be smart and talk about indifference curves and other economic delights when all the sudden I heard this roaring noise and my car started shaking. I was so confused...What's going on? Why is this road so bumpy? I'm on the highway... a highway I take a lot and it wasn't bumpy yesterday... Oh... OH! My tire has exploded. MY TIRE HAS EXPLODED?! And I'm going 70mph and I'm in the like, middle lane of traffic on the highway and I'm about to take a ramp to get on ANOTHER highway so there aren't any shoulders to pull into. So I'm like wracking my brain, trying to think of what I'm supposed to do without killing myself or others. So I put my hazards on and COAST to a safe spot to pull over. And, dudes, let me tell you, you hear (mostly from jerky Wisconsinites) that Chicago drivers are the worst, but GUYS, they were awesome. I mean, they didn't help me (bitch, please), but they didn't honk! They patiently drove in a HUGE LINE behind me as I went like, 20 until there was a shoulder to pull over on. Which I did. And then I started sobbing.

Oh yeah, it was also raining. So I got out of the car to look at it and it's like SHREDDED and I proceed to cry harder. Why? I don't know, it just seemed like the appropriate thing to do. So I got back in the car and called my parents (to (1) cry (2)beg my dad to come help me and (3) yell at them because I was in my mom's car and I blame my ordeal on it) but they weren't home. And both their cell phones were off. Then I called Bryce. Didn't answer. Then I called roomie Katie. Didn't answer. I started to cry again (I had stopped at this point). I re-try Bryce like, 15 times. He calls me back thinking I wanted to continue a heated discussion we were having about Kimora Lee Simmons on g-chat an hour before this all happened (basically, he thinks she's hot and I think she looks like a dirty whore). Anyway, he looks up some Firestone Tire (and all I could think about was Andrew Firestone from The Bachelor and how he was a dick) that's nearby and I call them and ask them to come save me. Except they don't send out people to save damsels in distress. BUT Firestone Man says this guy named Richard unlocks cars/gives jumps/changes tires in the Loop, but I'm south of the Loop and he doesn't go that far south. So I started to cry (again) and Firestone Man ends up giving me Richard's number. Richard answers and agrees to come save me after figuring out where I was. This took a few minutes since I wasn't entirely sure what road I was on (actually, I'm still not. It's like, the highway between 90/94 and LSD heading south... what is that little strip of highway?) only that the closest exit was MLK Jr. Drive (a great neighborhood, obviously). It didn't help that Richard's command of the English language wasn't the best. Or he was drunk. And high. And toothless. Basically, I was putting my livelihood in the hands of a man you'd step over on a subway platform.

So, I hung up with Richard and called Bryce back to tell him that if he didn't hear from me, some toothless man named Richard had stolen me. Around the same time I realized I was cold, so I went to turn the car back on so I could turn the heat on. OH, BUT WAIT! THE BATTERY DIED, TOO. Tears. Again. I call Richard back and ask him if he can jump me, too. Before he kidnaps me. Fast forward to when Richard comes. The ghetto, toothless substance abuser? Was a 60 year old Asian man with dyed brown hair in the Javier Bardem's No Country for Old Men hairstyle. And he had all his teeth. But he still sounded a washed up rapper. So bizarre, but he was awesome! Fixed my tire and jumped the battery and didn't complain once that it was pouring. RICHARD IS MY HERO! Nevermind the fact it cost me 85 bucks and I don't have a job. Blah blah.

Unrelated, Katie and I dog-sat for this dude for ten days:

His name is Jefferson and his tongue doesn't fit in his mouth. Seriously, it's gross. He leaves it hanging out and it gets all dried out and hard. Poor guy, I know it's not his fault and it's like, weird breeding, but ick. He also licks his feet really loudly. Like, slurping. OH, and his poo is nasty. I mean, no poo is AWESOME but his is mushy and comes in vast amounts. More than is normal for a dog his size. I like dogs a lot, but I was sorta relieved when Jefferson's parents came to pick him up. And I gave Tippy extra huggles when I saw her on Thanksgiving because I realized how perfect she is: a tongue that doesn't stain my couch, no slurping habits and poo that is small, relatively hard and the fact you can set a watch by her bowel movements. Timely poo. That, my friends, is what I'm thankful for.

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 14:44:40 GMT

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.

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 14:38:28 GMT

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.

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 21:49:29 GMT

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

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 13:22:35 GMT

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.

26.

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 17:39:28 GMT

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!

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 11:55:30 GMT

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.

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 18:27:55 GMT

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.

wherein I talk about poop. again.

Tue, 18 Aug 2009 14:44:29 GMT

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.

Mon, 17 Aug 2009 16:27:56 GMT

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

Generated by im2html.

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.

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 15:44:31 GMT

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):

love that chicken.

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 17:01:43 GMT

I think my HEALING is going well. I'm supposed to be using one crutch but I'd been walking around crutchless for the majority of the weekend and have been relatively pain-free. I did, however, bring a crutch to work because I want my special treatment to continue. :D

Heidi's bachelorette party is this weekend and we're all supposed to prance around in black dresses while Heidi rocks an all white outfit a la Puff Daddy. Or something. I don't think I'm going to be able to strut in the 4 inch stilettos quite yet, so I went to the mall yesterday to find some cute flats that still put me in a sassy mood. Yes, shoes dictate my mood. I ended up getting these, which I'm going to pair with my black shirt dress with a lime colored tank underneath. Black dress with citrus accents! Hip hip!

I also bought a printed wrap dress with 3/4 length sleeves. I don't really have an occasion to wear it YET, seeing as it's like, 95 degrees outside, but I figure I might have some SOCIAL EVENT THINGS once grad school starts next month or even MY BIRTHDAY. But anyway, I have this cute dress on and I'm like, "Dude, MOM (who was there with me because she's the only person who tells me when things look truly awful and I don't get offended) this dress smells like ground beef and hot onions." And then I made her smell the armpit of the dress and then she almost puked. It was totally obvious that someone had purchased the dress (evident by that little sticker Nordstrom puts on the tag when you buy something), tucked the tags in and wore it and then returned it. So fucking nasty, seriously. So then the saleslady came to the dressing room to see how things were going and my mom is like, "Um, you need to SMELL this dress, someone has worn it, blah blah blah this is the only one you have and it's a great dress but it reeks of body odor. SMELL IT." The lady refused to smell the dress (hahaha, probably the correct decision) but is adamantly against letting me buy it at half price as I offered (hey, nothing a cleaner couldn't take care of I HOPE. Unless it was like, rocket fuel strength body odor) because she wasn't allowed to and that it was going to be sent to the furnace. Um, really, the GIANT CLOTHES BURNING FURNACE in the basement of Nordstrom's? Anyway, they found one in Oregon and they're shipping it to me. Here's hoping that this one doesn't smell like that grody Philosophy Cinnamon Buns body wash. Barf.

Speaking of barf, I think it would be in my best interest to become bulimic. I'M KIDDING, obviously, but really, I need to stop eating so much shit seeing as how my "exercise" is limited to me hobbling to and from my car and lifting up my laundry basket (a recent accomplishment). Last week Bryce came over around 9pm and I was whining about being hungry and to appease me he asked if I could have anything in the whole wide world to eat, what would it be? And I was all MASHED POTATOES, MASHED POTATOES. So what did we do? We went to Popeye's (the first trip for both of us) and I ate a large tub of mashed potatoes and cajun gravy (thumbs up) and a small tub of coleslaw (thumbs down... there are pickles in it. Um, no thanks.) and Bryce ate a bunch of Lousiana chicken tenders (the SPICY ones), which he proclaimed to be the best chicken tenders he's had in his entire life. Basically we were the happiest people at 10pm on a Thursday night in all the land. The end. Except not. On Saturday I hiked (hobbled) to Jewel in the 98 degree heat + 100% humidity to get the fixin's to make a dirt cake. For myself. And I had some for breakfast today and will have some more for dinner tonight. Calcium and antioxidants, right? RIGHT.

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 15:29:50 GMT

This morning on my way to work I realized I was starving (not that this is different from any other time of the day) so I made a quick stop at NYC Bagel. The following exchange happened between me and the bagel dude:

Anna: Good morning!
Bagel Dude: Hola! Buenas dias! Good to see you again!
Anna: Thanks, um, can I have a poppy seed bagel with light cream cheese please?
Bagel Dude: What kind of bagel?
Anna: Poppy.
Bagel Dude: What did you just call me?

Speaking of poppy/papi, last week I went to the Cubs/Astros game with my family in celebration of my aunt's birthday. My mom's company is one of the Cubs' sponsors so she got us fantastic seats. Fantastic seats right in front of Alfonso Soriano's [very loud and annoying] family. I'm such a sleuth. Not that it was all that difficult. First of all, his children look EXACTLY like him. Secondly, they were speaking Spanish the entire time. Thirdly, they would scream PAPI PAPI PAPI at the top of their lungs whenever Soriano came up to bat. Fourthly, I heard on the radio that morning that his family was in town. Fifthly, he waved at them a few times. The first time my brother was convinced Soriano was waving at him. Not so much. Anyway, they were really loud and Soriano's baby #4 was obsessed with petting my hair.

Unrelated to poppy/papi:
1. I really miss working out. Wah.
2. I have nine hundred thousand photos to upload. And subsequently post here. Get excited. Or not.
3. Katie leaves tomorrow for Brazil for 10 days. Naked cooking and television watching is on the horizon. Please knock before entering if you happen to come over.
4. I have peeling calluses on my hands from crutching. I am sexy. Dead sexy.
5. My birthday is in 1 month and 15 days and I have yet to plan anything. This is hightly unusual. I will make myself a dirt cake. I know that much.

I think I would use Turner and Hooch era Hanks.

Thu, 30 Jul 2009 16:41:16 GMT

anna: let's go around and do this to countless garbage cans
brian: hahaha i love it
anna: me too!
anna: it's like, the best thing ever
brian: but how many of those just say 'thanks'
anna: hmm
anna: i bet a decent amount
anna: i want to carry around a sharpie and a stash of tom hanks photos in case the opportunity arises
brian: what would you use as adhesive?
anna: double stick tape
brian: nice
anna: or perhaps some rubber cement.
anna: mostly because i like the smell.
brian: and taste
anna: i like to paint it on my hands and peel it off like fake skin
brian: currently?
anna: ok, fine, it's been a few years.
brian: busted

Generated by im2html.

Mon, 27 Jul 2009 17:54:30 GMT

I'm in a bit of a funk lately and just need to keep staring at pictures of baby wallabies to make me feel better. Right after my surgery I was optimistic and just happy it was over and that I was on the road to recovery. Now I'm so ridiculously sick of crutches and not being able to do much of anything besides sit on the couch. It's the middle of summer and I'm turning down invitations to go to street fests because crutches and wandering around drinking definitely do not go hand in hand. I'm pretty good on the crutches, Bryce jokes that I could win various Olympic medals in crutching events, but my entire upper body aches after a few blocks of "walking" and I'm completely exhausted. I hate that getting up to get a Diet Coke from the refrigerator is a giant ordeal, and I hate that I managed to make myself an entire dinner one night only to realize I had no way to carry my plate to the table to actually eat. I went to the [first place!] Cubs game on Friday with my dad and seriously thought I was going to die crutching up the never-ending ramps up to our [extremely shitty] seats. I conquered the ramps only to be greeted by the steepest stairs known to man, and with no railing. I'm sick of not being over to bend over and shave the lower half of my legs (because really, who really cares about shaving the tops of their legs?). I want to go to the beach without worrying about whether my scar is allowed to be in the sun (I'm assuming no) and a bar without fearing a drunk person knocking me over. I'm whiny and helpless and so completely sick of this summer. Oh, and all the muscles in my left leg are completely atrophying from not using them in over a month. Neat.

Blah blah blah.

In other news, Bryce and I are planning on going to the Illinois State Fair at the end of August! I've never been to a state (or county) fair and he thinks this is totally idiotic, so we're road-tripping to Springfield to see a cow made of butter and to eat about seven dozen ears of corn on the cob. Oh, and he is insisting on winning me a giant stuffed animal playing shooting games. I'm dating a preppy carny, apparenty.

BABY WALLABIES BABY WALLABIES BABY WALLABIES

hold me, baby wallabies, hold me.

Tue, 21 Jul 2009 16:24:35 GMT

I'm alive! And repaired! I had my hamstring sewn to my pelvic bone two weeks ago on July 7th and have been lying on the couch for the past two weeks, getting up only to "use the facilities", which was, I have to say, quite horrifying seeing as my bandage ended about a half inch into my butt crack and I was terrified of getting poo on it. Hi, I'm Anna and I have no filter. :D

Anyway, everything went as planned. Actually, better than planned! They decided in surgery to make the incision horizontal instead of vertical as they originally planned, so it's pretty well hidden in my butt crease. So, that's pretty neat. I stayed at my parent's house so I'd have someone to cook for me and wash my hair in the sink (today was my first shower in two weeks! Best shower of my life!) and catch me if I went tumbling down the stairs (I didn't/haven't yet). I didn't do a whole lot of anything those two weeks other than sleep and pet the dog. And take a lot of pain killers. Oh, I flew to DC over the weekend (in a wheelchair) to see the Cubs/Nationals series. FYI, being in a wheelchair totally sucks. I have a new respect for people who are always in wheelchairs... it's super hard and super inconvenient to get around the majority of places. Props to DC for having completely wheelchair accessible Metro stations, because that's so not the case here in Chicago, but it still totally blows. Totally. Blows. Anyway, the games were fun. Cubs won. Brian came to the game on Friday and snuck into seats by ours. It was good to see him, even if he IS turning into a total hipster. ;)

Today is my first day back to work. It's weird being here. I want to go home and take some pills and a nap after I watch Maury. Bad news, right? HAHA.

Oh, and for those keeping score at home, I'm still seeing the Cheerios at 2am dude. His name is Bryce and he even carries my purse when I'm gimping around on my crutches. Quite excellent.

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 15:35:09 GMT

Alright, so, where did I leave off? With the creepy assistant at the doctor's office iodine-ing my butt in order to prep me for a shot of novocaine to the rump to numb everything up to see if I had any ability to move my leg after the pain subsided? And I still couldn't do it? Yeah, that sounds about right. So, I went back to the doctor the following day to have him let me know the results of my MRI. It was just as he suspected. I've managed to tear my three hamstrings tendons (the semitendinosus, the semimembranosus and the biceps femoris) off of my pelvic bone where they come together and are anchored right under my butt. Diagram below:

So, basically, I don't have any working muscle on the back of my left leg. I went to an orthopaedic surgeon yesterday and he confirmed what the 1985 National Spelling Bee Champion saw on the MRI: a big mass of fluid and detached muscle (ughhh), which obviously isn't just going to reconnect itself. I could let it scar over and then have physical therapy to regain some range of motion or I could have surgery to reconnect the tendons to my pelvis, which is what I'm opting for. I'm not entirely sure how this happens, something with roughening up the bone (UGHHH) and sutures and dissolvable screws. And a 3-4 inch scar from my butt down. And then 4-6 weeks of crutching around and then a buttload (get it?! BUTTload?!) of physical therapy. All in all, incredibly sexy. This should all be going down a week from today if they can secure an operating room. I don't think it's really set in that I'm going to be heavily drugged and cut into and am having a fairly major operation of a "pretty rare" injury. I just want it to be fixed. Seriously, I just want to be able to move normally and not have to put my underwear on like an old person and dance to bad remixes at over-crowded bars and be able to dodge speeding cabs while crossing the street. Anyway, send me some good thoughts (and puppies and candy) because I'm going to be really loopy and out of it and probably crying because of both the general anesthesia (it makes me emo) and the fact that I quite literally have a pain in the ass.

In other news, I'm dating a cool dude and we eat Cheerios in bed at two in the morning and I'm happy. Let's see if he can survive post-surgery Anna. Fingers crossed.

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 20:58:40 GMT

Things I've done today: gotten a shot of novocaine in my butt, had a mri, eaten a canister of pringles.

I went to the doctor this morning. You know, to see the 1985 National Spelling Bee Champion. He's a really cool dude and I like him a lot (well, until he tells me they need to amputate), so I'm glad my google searching led me to him. He has this like, assistant person? I thought he was a nurse, but now I think he might be a medical student or an intern or something because the doctor would ask him things like "So what do you think we should do next?", quizzing him and stuff. Anyway, he (assistant person) was really friendly with me, flirty-ish friendly, which was nice (though sort of uncomfortable because I was so not attracted to him) because it made me not so nervous about the fact that my ass muscles might be completely detached from the bone, but also weird because then they had to give me a shot of novocaine in the ass (to numb me up to see if the reason I can't move my leg is because I'm in too much pain, which would be rectified by the novocaine) and he had to like, prep my butt with iodine. So he like, moves my underwear to my crack (ughhh) and then starts like, cleaning my butt cheek with iodine. As Stacie said, "Only you, Anna, only you." So then they gave me about 5 giant shots and HOLY SHIT I had no idea shots in your butt hurt so much!! Anyway, I still couldn't move my leg in the way they wanted me to, which is a bad sign. Then I had a MRI. Longest 20 minutes of my life. It's like, here, lie in this tube and we're going to have a bunch of loud magnets that sound like a bad techno remix bang around your body. I mean, that's annoying in itself, but whatever. I've had an MRI before, but that was when I was a poor college student and let people look at my brain and shit for money and free food. This time was awful because I had to lie perfectly still on my broken butt muscles while they're twitching and aching and throbbing. Hot, I know.

Anyway, I go back to El Doctor tomorrow afternoon and they'll tell me how bad it is. He says it's rare that I'll need surgery, but I'm already thinking the worst. I was supposed to go back on Tuesday and they just called me to tell me to come in tomorrow instead, so I'm automatically assuming it's because my butt is being held together by Pringles fat and iodine stained granny panties alone and they need to get me on an operating table STAT. Oh, and I start physical therapy tomorrow.

Long story short: I'm an idiot.

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 16:18:43 GMT

Ugh, so, Jenny's bachelorette party was on Saturday and it was surprisingly fun! The scrapbooking portion of the night was kept to a minimum and the fun was at a maximum. I busted out some Whitney Houston at the Karaoke Kid and came in second place in a fishbowl race (not my proudest moment). But then we went back to the house we were all staying at and we started having a dance party and I decided it was time to do a kick line. So I'm doing my high kicks and decided it would be really great to go into the splits from a high kick like I used to do. You know, like I used to do OVER A DECADE AGO. Jesus Christ. Anyway, I did some serious damage to... something. Upper hamstring? Gluteus maximus? Minimus? Medius? Everyone has a different opinion. All I know is that I can't walk. I just drag my leg behind me like something out of a horror movie. This dragging gimpish motion, in turn, has screwed up my back and my other leg by trying to compensate. Basically, I'm a giant mess. Oh, and I dread peeing because the toilet seat is really hard (the ONLY time I would ever be an advocate of those gross squishy toilet seats is if you broke your butt like me) and I need to lower myself like an old woman, wincing the entire time. I can't get into see a doctor until Thursday morning so until then I'm coming dangerously close to overdosing on ibuprofen and giving my ass frostbite. But, in really exciting news, the sports medicine doctor I'm seeing is the 1985 National Spelling Bee champion. So even if he can't fix my butt he'll be able to spell my diagnosis and the muscles involved correctly and enthusiastically. I just hope he doesn't ask me the origin of the word or air-spell it on his palm.

I went to Kuma's Corner for the first time yesterday with Brian, in town from DC. He's a big metalhead and a big carnivore so I decided it would be the perfect place to go. I had the Judas Priest burger (bacon, bleu cheese dressing with apples, walnuts and dried cranberries = seriously delicious) and Brian had the Iron Maiden (avocado, cherry peppers, pepper jack, chipotle mayo), half of which is in my fridge and I get to eat it for dinner. Definitely going back there. It was also nice that we got there right after it opened and we didn't have to wait for two hours in the sweltering heat.

My butt hurts. Bad.