My view from North Avenue Beach yesterday.
Summertime tip from a very white girl: When applying sunscreen, do not neglect your kneecaps. Both of mine are now a shade of red similar to the swim trunks of the dude with the itchy stomach above. I look like I’m wearing clown noses as knee pads.
BUT where there’s a sunburn, there’s sun. And warm weather. So I’m not complaining! 🙂
What’s my idea of the perfect Saturday night, you ask?
THIS:
Hanging out with fun people at a cute little bar in our neighborhood. This is the Chicago summer I’ve been waiting for!
Last Saturday, we went out to dinner at the legendary Twin Anchors, the mere mention of which makes Will immediately yell out, “Ribs! And keep ’em coming!”
No, Will doesn’t have Tourettes – this place is actually known for their ribs and *supposedly* (according to the historical facts section of the menu) that’s how Frank Sinatra ordered one time when he was hanging out there with all of his movie star/crooner/gangster friends.
I opted for the BBQ pork sandwich because ribs are too messy and I just hate to stain my white kid gloves. But everyone else confirmed that the ribs were really good.
After dinner, we headed down the street to a little Irish bar. We got a table outside and proceeded to order approximately nine different drinks, even though there were only six of us at the table. Shots of Jameson were involved, and Will wanted a mimosa with his gigantic PBR. I also got a mimosa. They were on special for $3, if that makes it seem a little less weird. I’d like to thank the server for going along with it and acting like this was a normal request at 7:30 on a Saturday night.
Later, after I was well on my way to drinking waaaaayyy more than I had planned, we headed inside to play giant Jenga and Connect Four.
Jenga! Connect Four! And they were giant!
Not pictured: Connect Four
I apologize for the blurriness of the photos. But I think they pretty accurately represent the way I was seeing things at that particular moment in time.
I’d also like to mention that this bar had free popcorn AND a jukebox. So we stayed there Lionel Ritchie style – All. Night. Long. (I can’t take credit for that – I think I just heard it on TV recently?)
The best thing is that this obscene amount of funness (I’m not going for a Pulitzer here) is all within a quick walk from our house!
I might just have to borrow my friend Dan’s shirt:
Date: May 10, 2011
Time: 12 p.m.
Weather conditions: 80 degrees and sunny
Me: Getting the HELL out of my office!
Yeah, I’m the creepy girl in Millennium Park taking pictures of herself and other people eating their lunch. So?
Yeah, I’m the creepy girl in Millennium Park taking pictures of herself and other people eating their lunch. So?
A few weeks ago, I doused by BlackBerry Pearl smartphone in gasoline, blow-torched it, hurled it against a brick wall, sent it through a trash compactor and drop-kicked it into Lake Michigan.
At least that’s what I wanted to do with it. I hated that thing so much. It was the Toby to my Michael Scott.
What actually happened was that I got a new phone (the HTC EVO – not an iPhone, but I’ll take it!), and I threw that stupid, stupid BlackBerry in my closet somewhere. That way I knew I’d never find it again.
Ever since that day, I’ve been able to receive phone calls and text messages, go on Facebook and do general things that all smartphones do (except for really dumb and ugly BlackBerry Pearls).
Also, I’ve become obsessed with taking retro-looking photos using the FxCamera app.
Recently, I went to my friend Renee’s bachelorette party at Lucky Strike bowling alley in River North and decided it would be the perfect event to document in blurry, saturated 1970’s fashion. (Ok, maybe the blurriness was just me not knowing how to hold my phone still, but I’m going to pretend it adds to the effect.)
About that scoreboard – “CARB” is me. And yes, I did knock down 146 pins that game. For the win. SKILLZ.
So the bachelorette party was a great time (congrats Renee and thanks to Kelly and Kim for planning!). And thanks to the pics from my sweet new phone, I’ll always have fake-retro memories that make me and my friends seem a little more hipster than we actually are (which is not at all).
Over 6 weeks ago, Will and I went to Las Vegas. Around that same time, I told you there would be a post about it coming soon. Relatively speaking, 6 weeks can be considered “soon.” So get off my back, Mom.
Ah Vegas…
We decided to go there because it was pretty much the best option when booking a last minute trip at the height of spring break season. We thought it would be a good place to relax by the pool and get some sun. I even brought a book.
We didn’t think it would be cloudy and 50 degrees the whole time. But, surprise! If I were a gambling woman, I would have lost money on that bet. And that would have been a real shame, since it would cancel out the $2.75 I won at the nickel slots while we were there (big money!).
But despite the weather, we still had a good time.
Here I am a few hours after we arrived somewhere in between the Bellagio and Caesar’s Palace. You know, just hanging out by a hand rail.
The suave gentleman in this photo is my husband getting ready to consume a delicious lunch of sliders and sweet potato fries. This was our only outdoor meal of the trip. <sad face>
The Mirage – serene and peaceful and the outside, scene of a gruesome tiger attack on the inside.
This is inside our hotel, the Bellagio. I liked hanging out in here. If I didn’t look up, I could pretend that we were actually outside and not freezing.
Here’s the pool area where we were planning on hanging out for most of the trip. Completely deserted. Except for one crazy family we saw walking by with towels. They must have been from Siberia or something.
Here’s Will peacefully skipping through a quiet garden. I don’t ask questions. I just let him do his thing. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
After all that skipping, Will felt like he needed to reclaim his manhood, so he made me stop and watch college basketball for a bit.
This is the casino at Aria. I liked the trippy, sleek Alice and Wonderland vibe.
Will was thrilled to come so close to his lifelong dream of draping himself in crystals.
Paris! Just like the real thing. Or at least maybe that’s what I’d say if I’d never actually been to Paris. But as far as plastic-y fake recreations of foreign cities go, it was pretty nice.
More Bellagio.
Num num!
Sun on our last day! (Accompanied by even colder temps.) I was so excited, I had to take a picture from our hotel room.
The streets of New York, New York. Will and I helped to make it even more authentic by mugging a few people.
And one last glamor shot.
So there you have it! Even without the warm weather, a good time was had by all. Viva Las Vegas. Baby.
If you had asked me last year what my “dream life” is, I probably would have said “living in Chicago and working in some sort of creative environment.”
Check. And check.
Hello, dream life!
But because the grass is always greener, yadda yadda yadda, and I have some sort of mental illness that keeps me constantly grasping for all the pretty shiny things that I don’t already have, I am still somewhat unfulfilled.
I guess it makes sense that since I’m now living my dream life, it can no longer be a “dream” life. It’s a “real life” life.
Don’t worry, this is not going to be a sappy post about achieving my goals, being grateful for what I have and living the dream. Please. I’m so much more shallow than that.
Basically, I have a new dream life now. It involves not working, lounging in a sun-drenched room with a glass of sauvignon blanc, perusing fashion and design blogs, writing when I feel like it and occasionally catching a few episodes of House Hunters and Ellen. And after a long day of all that business, it’s time to relax. All night. And probably go out for dinner. Also, I do all this while wearing super cute outfits. And my hair has a lots of volume.
I believe it would look something like this:
I think this kind of lifestyle might be called retirement. Is it me, or am I getting really close to retirement age? No?
Well, here’s to being relaxed and lazy…someday.
Now who wants to help me get one step closer to my dream and bring me a glass of sauvignon blanc?
Images from design*sponge, coco+kelley, A Cup of Jo, cupcakes and cashmere, MyRecipes.com
This morning, I was reading a recipe for Ginger, Coconut and Ricotta Pancakes. Because sometimes it’s fun to pretend that I’m a cultured, worldly woman with an eye for fashion and design who whips up gourmet dishes with more than five ingredients.
But, being that my experience with fashion and design is only through the blogs I read, and the only thing I tend to “whip up” is toaster waffles, I knew as soon as I saw the word “ginger” that I was never going to make these pancakes. In the kitchen, my motto is exotic ingredients = difficult recipe = DANGER! DANGER!
And I was right. One of the ingredients in this recipe is decimated coconut. To me, this means that I have to blow up a coconut using some forceful explosive device. Not safe.
When you don’t cook at all much, sometimes recipes sound like they’re written in a different language. Here are some examples:
Recipe: Cook bacon in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium heat, turning occasionally, until crisp. Drain on paper towels; discard drippings from skillet.
My interpretation: Find a skillet that seems pretty big and is hard to lift with one hand. Put bacon in it and turn on the burner so the heat coming out seems to be a medium amount (?). Flip bacon like pancakes whenever you feel like it. Touch bacon really quickly with finger – if it feels scratchy, stop cooking it. Wring out greasy bacon meat over paper towels. Wash skillet.
***
Recipe: Preheat broiler. Lightly oil a 17- by 12-inch shallow baking pan.
My interpretation: Pour oil (olive? vegetable? motor?) in a pan. Then dump most of it out. What’s a broiler?
***
Recipe: Toss together asparagus, oil, and a pinch of salt in a large bowl.
My interpretation: Put asparagus, oil (again, what kind of oil are we talking about here??) and several grains of salt in a bowl and kind of throw it around a little bit.
***
Recipe: Fluff couscous with a fork.
My interpretation: Stab couscous with a fork a few times. Check for fluffiness. This is stupid.
***
Basically, I have no patience for this lofty language of the kitchen. All I want to do is take something frozen and put it in the oven or microwave. And if I can skip that step? Even better.
Image from Houndstooth NY
So our trip to Vegas was fun and I actually took pictures, but I actually did not have time to upload them. So stay tuned for that.
This morning, I got to my bus stop just in time to see the #11 bus speeding by without hesitation. I’m pretty sure the driver’s foot wasn’t even hovering over the brake, and I think he/she blew a stop sign. In front of an elementary school. Lucky for everyone, this post is not about how I watched a kid die this morning. But it very well could have been! <sternly wagging finger>
I stood helplessly at the curb for a moment, inhaling the exhaust fumes from the blur of speeding metal that was supposed to be my ride to work and yelling “Eff you, bus!” inside my head. (Swearing comes very unnaturally to me. Apparently I don’t even feel comfortable swearing to myself. Doggone it, what the heck is wrong with me?) Then I decided to just take the train. Which meant I’d have to do more walking. And when I walk, I think.
So, since I haven’t posted a list of random thoughts in awhile, I thought I’d invite you into my head to see some of the things that crossed my mind as I hoofed through the city this morning.
1. When it’s cold and sunny out, the people walking the streets of Chicago look like an army of Unabombers. Everywhere you go, hoods are up, sunglasses are on. Everyone looks a little shifty. And everyone walks briskly and looks straight ahead as if to say “Don’t mess with me or I will straight up Unabomb you.”
2. Speaking of hoods, I have absolutely no peripheral vision when I have mine on. When I need to see something that’s not straight ahead of me, I have to turn my entire body. So I look like a Unabomber on a swivel stick.
3. One more thing about hoods – it’s spring, why am I still wearing one?? Oh yeah, I moved to Chicago. I’m pretty sure I did not even own a jacket with a hood the entire time I lived in St. Louis. But I lived in St. Louis…so I guess you win some, you lose some.
4. AAAGGHHH! EWWW! (This is what I thought when I got a piece of hair stuck to my lip gloss that was blonde and curly and NOT MINE. Thank God I breathe through my nose and my mouth was closed! I guess when you wear sticky lip gloss you are susceptible to attracting any small piece of matter floating in the wind. Lesson learned.)
5. What’s the difference between a latte and a cappuccino?
6. My Firefox browser on my home computer suddenly won’t let me hit the “back” button to go the site I was at previously. I’m not sure people can truly understand how annoying this is. I think it might be the biggest problem in my life right now. I don’t have a lot of problems right now.
7. I’m sleepy. I could really use some Boyz II Men Motown Philly up in here right now.
8. I prefer revolving doors to regular ones, but they can be awkward sometimes. Like when it’s moving and you can just barely squeeze into the section going by, do you go for it? Or just wait a second for the next section to come around?
And then I got to my desk and my thoughts became normal again.
Happy Friday!
Ok, the title of this post is completely untrue. I wish I wasn’t a liar.
But even though Will is a die-hard St. Louis Cardinals fan, he is now associated with all things Windy City, based merely on proximity.
What am I talking about?
Carlie Crashers, I have some exciting news:
I have a husband again! Who lives with me! In the same city! And the same apartment!
Yaaaaaaaaay! (After going out for St. Patrick’s Day on Saturday, I can’t read/hear the word “yay” without picturing it being said by a drunk girl sloppily hugging her best friend while spilling green beer on her shoulder because she agreed to share her lip gloss.)
So yeah, I have a live-in spouse again, which is much better than the long-distance version. And the best part is that he was finally able to move up to Chicago with me because he got a new job that sounds like it will be a fantastic opportunity. So everyone is WINNING. (Except the word “winning” itself, thanks to Charlie Sheen. It’s probably been the most over-used word in the English language over the past couple weeks. And I just contributed to that. Sorry.)
Of course with Will living here, I’ll probably have to do the laundry more than once every 3 weeks and actually make stuff for dinner instead of heating up leftover pizza from the weekend or throwing a handful of shredded cheese on a tortilla and calling it a quesadilla. And now I’ll have to run around after him straightening up all the time because I’m a hyperactive neat freak and he’s a normal person.
But I’m pretty sure it’s worth it to be reunited with my other half. I couldn’t even bring myself to update my “Current city” to Chicago on Facebook until Will was living here too, if that says anything.
And if Will moving to Chicago isn’t exciting enough, we also just booked a trip to Vegas for next weekend! We were hoping to get a last minute travel deal to a tropical beach where we could relax and sip mojitos for a couple days, but travel deals only exist when it’s not spring break season and airline ticket prices are not in the midst of skyrocketing. So Vegas it is.
Stay tuned for a post about our trip our next week! In the meantime, I’ll be frantically applying self tanner, running to stores like Forever 21 and H&M to stock up on cheap, sparkly Vegas clothes (when in Rome…) and glaring at Will every time my alarm goes off in the morning since he gets to sleep in all week.
About a week ago, Will and I drove to the Sweeney household in Woodstock, IL for their annual Groundhog Day party, two weeks after the actual occurrence of Groundhog Day. (When people lead busy lives, sometimes you have to improvise.)
A grand time was had by all. Drinks were imbibed. Roasted red pepper hummus was consumed. Beer pong was played. And the cinematic Bill Murray classic Groundhog Day (filmed in Woodstock!) was played. And re-played. And re-played again. (Fitting, right?)
Is it me, or does Bill Murray's face look kind of weird and photoshopped here?
Since boys smell bad and have cooties, the group became segregated. The men were relegated to the basement to grunt, scratch and watch sporting events and the women gathered upstairs around the wine and food.
In a group of about eight women, one was pregnant, one was a labor and delivery nurse, and one was pregnant and a labor and delivery nurse. So naturally, the conversation turned to mucus plugs.
What??
Yeah, that was my reaction too.
Or mine was more like, “EWWW!! Wait. What’s a mucus plug?”
Response from my (apparently more knowledgeable) friends:
“Haha Carlie you’re hilarious, the way you know absolutely nothing about anything medical or baby-related!”
“You’re going to be such a cute, clueless mom!”
“Your strong aversion to bodily fluids is precious!”
“It’s funny how you call yourself a woman and you don’t know about these things!”
“I’m concerned for your future children…”
Silence.
Ok, they weren’t that harsh. I’m friends with very nice people. But laughing and labeling me as “cute” was involved. Which I didn’t mind at all.
They also successfully avoided answering my question.
Seriously, what is a mucus plug? My own mother wouldn’t even tell me when I asked her the next day, since we were in “mixed company.” She needs to learn the earmuffs trick.
I know I could very easily Google the term and have an answer, but I think what’s stopping me is that I actually DO NOT want to know what a mucus plug is. I don’t like to think about mucus at all, let alone an excess of mucus so great as to necessitate a plug.
I’m sorry, is this post as painful for you to read as it is for me to write? Let’s bond in our suffering.
On a related note, Will and I came up with a fun and horrifying game the other day.
It started when I asked the question:
“What would be worse: getting brutally ravaged by machine gun fire like Sonny in The Godfather, or giving birth?”
“Easy,” replied my always practical, sometimes unsympathetic husband. “Giving birth would be worse. With the machine guns, it’s over so quickly, you probably don’t feel much pain. Birth goes on for a long time and you’re well aware of the intense pain and suffering you’re going through.”
Valid point.
This went on for a little while.
What would be worse:
It gives one a lot to think about…
(Namely – just how bad do we really want to have kids??)
Carlie Crash 
