daylight savings time

I hate time. And therefore I hate Daylight Savings Time. (I know, I know: you're not supposed to hate. So, I take that back. I strongly, strongly dislike Daylight Savings Time.)

Now don't get me wrong. I don't have anything against days and hours and years and what not. In fact, there's actually something nice about the individual units of time. An hour is always going to be 60 minutes long. A year is always going to be 365 days (unless, of course, it's a leap year ... but I'll let that slide). And the clock's always going to rest at 5 o'clock twice a day. I like that consistency. That dependability. You always know where you stand.

But I have big (HUGE!) problems with time when it starts to get all screwy. Time travel. Teleporting. Time Zones. Daylight Savings Time. They all have the tendency to make my head start to spaz out. I can't seem to make sense of it all... I get the basics. I get that Fort Wayne is an hour ahead of us. I get that when it's 9pm here, it's 10pm there (and probably too late to call my parents). But what happens when I drive from Chicago back home? Do I lose an hour or do a gain an hour? And where exactly does that take place?

It probably goes without saying that I didn't make it past the 4th chapter of The Time Traveler's Wife, I could barely even watch the preview for the movie "Jumper" and I become a complete imbecile whenever Brooke tries to explain the "The Lake House" to me. (I mean why couldn't Keanu just tell Sandra where he was 2 years ago so they would run into other!? Ahhh, I just don't get it!) It's like I wasn't built with the part of my brain responsible for the understanding of temporal relations. (Or the part responsible for phonics either, but that's an entirely different issue for a different day.)

Maybe it's because I grew up in Indiana. Up until a few years ago the state had only a few weirdo counties that practiced Daylight Savings Time. Luckily mine wasn't one of them. So I thought it was completely normal to sometimes be on time with my grandma in Cleveland and the rest of the year with my grandparents in St. Louis. I got used to TGIF coming on at 8 o'clock for half of the year and 7 o'clock for the other. Because 2am was always 2am in Fort Wayne. And because I? I was always on the same time. Time made sense and life was good.

But then I moved to Chicago and everything changed. Now I have to deal with Daylight Savings Time. Now I have to change my clocks twice a year. Now I have to "spring forward" and "fall back". And actually grasp what those clever reminders are telling me to do! (I still don't know what exactly happens. Does 2am become 1am? Or does 2am become 3am?)

And what's worse; everyone acts like it's no big deal! It's like all of a sudden DST is here and everyone just knows what to do. Everyone, that is, except for me. I'm waiting for the news flash. The public service announcement letting me know it's coming and walking me through, step by step, what exactly I'll need to do. I'm waiting for someone (anyone!) to acknowledge that this is the most bizarre thing in the world.

Geesh.

Wish me and my poor clocks luck this weekend as we fall behind. Whatever that means...

preview to a post

This g-chat conversation only helps prove the point I'm about to make in my next post ....

me: what was the tv show that always used to be so hard for me to understand (because it was about time) or maybe it was a movie?

Brooke: the lakehouse hahahahahahahha

me: ohhhh yes!!!! that darn movie

Brooke: that movie was a total mess for you

me: hahaha

Brooke: haha what made you think of that?

me: writing a post about daylight savings time

Brooke: oooh my.... this should be interesting hahahahahaha

Brooke: how can you write about something you dont get? hahaha

me: honestly, i'm sort of getting work up about it just writing it
Brooke: hahahahahaha

I rest my case before I even post.

fashionista

I always get a kick out of it when technology has recommendations for me based on what it thinks it knows about me, my purchases, my on-site browsing, etc. For instance, when iTunes recommends Kanye West, the soundtrack from Shrek the Musical, Frank Sinatra and Carrie Underwood in the same sentence. I mean, what kind of sporadic person would listen to all of that? Oh, wait, let me check my iPod. Ehhh. Looks like iTunes may know me better than I thought.

So maybe sometimes they know what they're doing.

But then sometimes I log into ebay and am greeted by these recommendations:


I don't know what's worse. The fact that they think I may be in the market for some old school Air Force Ones. That they think I would wear a shirt that features a bride and groom with the slogan "Game Over". That I would rock a Kenny Powers jersey. Or that they have made these recommendations based on my past "fashion purchases". Ouch.

Now I'll admit may have purchased a pair of soccer cleats and a vintage Indianapolis Colts t-shirt in the past month or so. But the fact that ebay thinks this means my fashion sense is in line with an orange tuxedo t-shirt is just unsettling.

I sure hope I have a better sense of style than ebay thinks I do. Or else, I think I may have discovered the reason I'm still single.

geography lesson

I had an interview last week. At another advertising agency. In Boston.

It's a great opportunity. It's a promotion. It's for a great client... And it's in Boston. (Which, even for me - a birdbrain when it comes to geography - is clearly not Chicago.)

Now I tend to talk a big game about being willing to take risks. About not being afraid to try something new, even when success isn't promised. About jumping and hoping the net will appear... Blah, blah, blah. But when push comes to shove, I'm not really living it.

The interview went really well. The opportunity seems really exciting. And yet I emailed them first thing Monday morning to tell them that while I appreciate the consideration, I just don't think I'm at a point where I'm ready to leave Chicago. The timing's just not right.

Oh, I justify it to myself by saving that I love this city. That I absolutely love the group of friends I have here. I love knowing that every spring and fall, the flag football team will come together again. And that every Thursday night, some conglomeration of us will be at Durkin's. That every summer we'll inevitably have a fair share of bbqs and Saturdays in Wrigley and weekends at the beach. That every fall, we'll plan a couple Sunday Fundays to cheer on our respective teams. I love knowing that I can walk less than half a mile in any direction and end up at the door of someone I know. That any time I want to go out - be it Tuesday or Saturday - I won't have any trouble finding someone to join. And that the same can be said any time I want to stay in with a cheesy movie and a glass (or, let's be honest, bottle) of wine on a Friday night.

I couldn't be happier. Really.

There's a comfort in knowing these things. In being surrounded by the familiar. And yet, part of me yearns for the unknown. Wonders if I could make it in another city. If I could start over again. If I'd be able to reconstruct a life just as great as I think this one is. If there's something out there that may be better for me. If there's something I'm missing.

But when it comes down to it and an opportunity presents itself, I clam up. I get, well, scared. Scared about the unknown? Maybe a little. Scared about leaving what I have here in Chicago? You betcha. So scared. I know eventually more and more people will start moving on and moving away and it won't be the same here. But for the moment, I'm trying to keep this going as long as I can. And I guess I don't want to be the one to make it end for myself. At least not right now.

So, I'm not 'jumping' quite yet. But I don't think that'll stop my wondering about what it would be like if I did.

and guest

After being single for the better part (and by the better part, I mean all) of my 27 years, there are a couple things I've come to appreciate:

• being approached by that really good looking guy at the bar
  
• finding out that the aforementioned guy actually has a personality and a sense of humor
  
• the excitement of a first date and .... maybe, just maybe, a first kiss
  
• the way your heart gets to fluttering when your "crush" is around
• actually being able to have things like crushes, even if your married/dating friends tend to role their eyes at you like you're a 14-year-old girl when you use that phrase
  
• not having to worry about compromising your plans for some guy (okay, maybe that's me being plain old just selfish)
  

But there are few things that have a tendency to stop me in my "I love being single" tracks like:

• realizing 10 minutes into a date that I'm never going to like this guy and having to put on my best smile and politely laugh at his stories for the next hour
• constantly having to answer the question "are you dating anyone?" every time you run into someone you haven't seen in a while
• and the grand-daddy of them all, the "and guest" invitation
  

You know, after a certain amount of time, you become accustomed to replying sans guest, the mash-up singles table, the awkward let's-point-out-all-the-single-girls bouquet toss and the embarrassment of finding yourself alone in the center of the dance floor while all the couples pair up as the DJ switches from "Baby Got Back" to "Wonderful Tonight". Thanks, Mr. Clapton, but I'm not exactly feeling all that wonderful right now.

And it's at that very moment (even more so than during the actual wedding itself) when I usually feel the thumping in my heart that tells me as great as being single is, it would be awfully nice to always know who you're going to slow dance with. To not have to worry ever again about being the cheese, standing out there alone.

So, yeah, having an "and guest" might be kind of nice.

But I think I may have found the absolute next best thing. It's not just having one guest, it's having two of them! It's 3 single friends (okay, make that 2 single and 1 friend with an MIA boyfriend) having the absolute greatest time, dancing and singing and just being a little nuts. It's couples and singles and everyone in between interlocking arms in a giant circle, belting out every word to "American Girl". And no one feeling left out. No one feeling like they're missing a plus one. It's being able to turn in any direction and find the hand of a guy friend to spin you around. And no one standing stranded on the dance floor as "Unchained Melody" oozes out the speakers. It's remembering, again, another reason why being single is so great: you get to have a handful of significant others in the form of your closest friends. You're not just tied to one!

So from here on out, I welcome the "and guest". Because maybe one day I'll actually have a guest to invite. Or maybe I'll get lucky again and end up with another "plus two" like this weekend. And if not? Well then there's always the chance of a hot groomsman. Or usher. Or cousin. Right?

Editors Note: This revelation is only possible because of this weekend's nuptials of one of the greatest couples I'm lucky enough to know. As a perpetually single gal, sometimes it's easy to get down on love and think that maybe, just maybe, this notion of soul mates and true love and falling is just a thing of fairytales and Hollywood movies. And then I look at a couple like Dana and Jon and I can't help but believe in it all. So, thank you.

sigh, the potatoes

Email from Jules. 10:50am:

gals - i have bad news - like, REALLY bad news

I just called Dunlays - and they do NOT serve the POTATOES on fridays :( only on the wekeends - can you believe it!?!?!?

they do still have some of the items he said, like the fried egg sandwich.......

Reply from Shawnee. 11:18am:

so after experiencing the 4 stages of grief:

1) denial: scoured the online menu for some indication that the dunlay's host julie talked to is an idiot and simply mistaken

2) anger: why would they EVER think its ok to only offer brunch and those potatoes (SIGH, THE POTATOES) TWO DAYS A WEEK?!!?!?!?

3) depression: oh how my stomach cried

4) and finally, acceptance: fine. i'll believe it.

julie and i gchatted and decided alas, we'll just have to take our business elsewhere!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! below are some options:

1) nookies: always a fave!!!

2) wishbone: delish!!!

3) elly's pancake house: this place at north and clark that serves brunch 24/7 (DUNLAY'S, PLEASE REFER TO THEM FOR ADVICE) that is also really yummy!!!!!!!!!

thoughts on these options LADIES!?!?!!?!?!??!??!?!?

File this under why I love my friends and think they're the absolute best in the whole entire world. Granted, I'm partial. But if you met them, I think you'd agree.

a bugs life

I pinky-promise that this is the last post that will have anything to do with my new apartment. Because a) I want you to have believe that I may indeed have a life outside of moving, organizing and my new apartment and b) let's face it, in about 2 weeks we'll be a month into our lease and I don't even think it can be classified as "new" anymore after that. But for today, humor me by allowing me to tell one more story, deal? Deal.

So there's two things I may or may not have mentioned about the new place: 1) It has this great exposed brick wall that runs from the living room into my bedroom and 2) it's an "English garden unit". (Note: this is apparently the term for a garden unit that isn't actually underground, but I'm convinced it's just the fancy pants Realtor way of saying bottom level.) Both of these things are quite all right with me. The former adds a ton of charm and character and the latter made it a whole lot easier to get my over-sized couch actually in our living room vs. left in our backyard. However ..... I'm starting to think that the combination of these two things makes for some unwelcome visitors of the creepy crawler kind. Now, don't get me wrong. I can handle a spider here or there. And I have no problem swatting at the occasional bug. But when I encounter two (two!) in one morning, even I, the aforementioned almighty bug-slayer have had enough!

The first encounter happen while I was in the shower this morning, minding my own business. As I squirted a healthy amount of body wash on my loofah and got ready to suds up, I noticed a peeping Tom, in the form of a little centipede-like creature, staring up at me from the loofah-top. Excuse me, buddy! Please keep your eyes to yourself! After throwing the loofah to the ground I stomped on it and thoroughly drenched it with the faucet. Score? Me:1 Bugs: 0.

But then as I walked back into my bedroom, I saw a grand-daddy centipede like this:

crawling around on my white bed sheets right where my head had been not 15 minutes earlier! This I am not okay with at all. So I grabbed my nearest flip-flop and went into full on attack mode, chasing this pesky guy around the head of my bed. When I finally had a decent angle, I took a home-run worthy crack at him and sighed with relief... Only to lift up the flip-flop and find a couple crippled legs where a full bug body should have been. What!? I pulled out the bed. Searched the sheets. Torn the space apart. And still I could not find the rightful owner of those disguarded legs. Now, coming from someone who spent the entire summer with only half of her legs available, I know it's not ideal. But if I could figure out how to get around quickly on one leg, I have no doubt that this guy certainly can manage on the ten he has left! Score? Me: 1 Bugs: 1. Ugh.

And now all I can think about is this still-living centipede making himself comfortable in my sheets. I'm having visions of waking up to him just hanging out on my nose. To him crawling over my legs in the middle of the night. Ewwww. Major heebie jeebies.

So I guess this is as good a reason as any to take a couple shots at the bar after flag football tonight so that I come home and carelessly pass out instead of flinching every 7 seconds as I try to fall asleep because I think I feel something crawling on me.

Wish me luck.

p.s. I've decided that while I'd like to keep my title as the almighty bug-slayer against all things crawling or flying around the house, I would be more than happy to never encounter another centipede (and their scurrying little legs) again. Ever. But don't worry, in an attempt to calm my fears, good ol' Wikipedia let me know that they are "non-aggressive, and are generally considered harmless to humans. In fact, in Japan they are considered a useful species, as they prey on a number of disease-carrying and destructive insects." As if this makes me feel remotely better about them!? I don't care how harmless they are to humans, I do not want them snuggling with me in bed. No sirree Bob.

news flash

An email from my mom last night:

Re: News Flash

There's a big party planned tonight for the trapped miners in Chile. When they get out, there will be lots of food and music and friends, but no alcohol...

Why? .....

Wait for it .....

Because they can't serve miners! :)

You know what they say; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

new apartment resolutions

I love New Year's resolutions. I mean really love love 'em. It's really a shame that they only come around once a year. . . but then I wondered why does that have to be the rule? Isn't it more about a starting over anyway? January 1st just seems like the best time to do this. But I, for one, am looking for any excuse to make a list of things to try. Things to be better at. Things to accomplish. So I? I am making my New Apartment Resolutions. Because now seems like as good a time as any. And, basically, because I can. Here we go.

I'm going to be more responsible with my money. I will put down that adorable sweater at The Gap that I "just can't live without" and I will walk away. I repeat. I will walk away. Even if it's on sale.

I'm going to travel more. (Which I realize may fly a bit in the face of my aforementioned resolution, but I'd argue that a trip to Greece - or even to visit Lynnie in D.C - is a much more responsible decision than a shopping spree at Niketown. Even if I think those new kicks will increase my mile time by a couple seconds.)

I'm going to learn how to make coffee in a real, live coffee pot. I'm determined to. I wish this was a joke, but unfortunately it's not. I'm 27 and don't know how to make coffee. (I guess this means I was one of the lucky ones who actually learned something during their summer internship beyond making photocopies and cleaning out the coffee pot.)

I'm going to plan a little less. Live in the moment a little more. (Deep breath.) I'm looking at you, to-do list.

I'm going to floss everyday. Every. Single. Day. I'm always so good for the first couples weeks after visiting the dentist, but somewhere it becomes less and less of a daily occurrence. Which, let's face it, is just plain icky.

I'm going to learn how to golf. Now, granted, this has been on this resolution list before, but a pesky little spiral fracture got in the way of my lessons. And after a somewhat embarrassing 18 holes at a work event in August, I'm even more determined.

I'm going to stop picking every single scab on my body. (Gross, I know, but I can't help it!) I tend to fall more than the average person. Which leads to a more than average number of scabs and, eventually, scars. As I've said before, healing is a pretty amazing process. That is, if you actually let it happen.

I'm going to allow myself to not have it all figured out. To fail. To not have the answer. Instead of always beating myself up about it. I think this is one of the worst parts about me. Having perfectionist tendencies does a person well when it comes to things like resumes and job interviews. But it's not practical for the real world. Failure is not something to be feared. It's something to be learned from. Now, I've just got to convince myself to believe that.

So, that's it for now. New apartment. New Apartment resolutions. (Hopefully) a new-and-improved me in the near future.

Now if my new kitchen table would just be delivered, I'd be all set.