World. Hey? What’s up?
Long story short: I don’t update my own links.
Short story long: Josh, my good talented friend does a lot of web stuff for me because, well, he loves me as much as I love him. This includes changing the look of my blog. Changing the colors. Changing the fonts. Adding section divisions. Updating things that I didn’t even know existed and of course placing new links. Anyway, if you’d like your blog/site put in to my links (because linking is totally like high five-ing in internet world) please put it in the comment section. Some people never ever ever comment and I didn’t even know half of you added me to your blog roll until I just for fun googled myself and found out that I was on tons of blog rolls which I love because AWESOME people are cool out there, but BOOOO because I didn’t have you on mine and I want to internet high five tons of people all the time. Internet high five-ing is the new black.
Anyway, I send him new links I need updated and then he updates them because he’s cool like that. But I feel bad that I keep sending him a new one when I find one and thought to myself: “Hey! Get a list!” So, you need to help make that list.
Long story that turned a short story long now turns short again: Leave me your link.
High five, World. High. Five.

This tiny Hispanic woman is at the coffee shop counter trying to sell Mary Kay perfumes to the cute girl behind the counter. I’m behind in line trying to eavesdrop on the woman, but her accent is super thick and super quiet and super, well, weird.
“I’m sorry… I’m not interested… thanks though.” The cute brunette behind the counter says to the tiny quiet talking lady.
“Swishfpoof pa afjs s” The woman whispers. (It totally sounded like that).
“I’m sorry… I can’t understand you, what?” The barista says confused and turning nervous.
“Poof pa shwish be?” The woman whispers a bit louder while shaking the colorful box of perfume in her hand.
“I’m sorry… I … I don’t know what you’re saying?”
“THIS WILL GET YOU BOOTY!” The small woman screams with her Spanish accent. This is loud enough that every table in the area turns around and people sitting at them start to giggle.
The woman gets frustrated and leaves the line.
“That was rude!” The girl behind the counter says to me typing in my order.
“Maybe she was talking about pirate booty… you know, like, treasure?” I say pulling out my debit card.
The girl didn’t laugh.
But I totally did.
A lot.
I’m still laughing right now.

if people are spray painting him on walls.

A few afternoons ago I dropped off a giant shopping bag of my dry cleaning. The guy there was a mid-twenties dark haired Paul Rudd look-a-like. I’d never seen working there before.
Dry Cleaning Guy: “So, wow, lot’s of dirty clothes.”
Me: “Yeah, well, I’ve been saving up and been working a lot… so haven’t had time to stop in.”
D.C.G: “Yeah, me too. I have two jobs. A day and night job”
Me: “Yikes! How do you have any fun in between that?”
D.C.G: “I go out on Fridays and Saturdays and just work here hung over. Who cares. I need the cash.”
Me: “Yeah, I can understand. I used to be a bartender. The extra cash can be handy.”
D.C.G: “Where did you bartend?”
Me: “Here in Boystown.”
D.C.G: (While smiling.) “Huh… what are you doing tonight?”
Me: “Um, nothing. Just hanging out.”
D.C.G: “Can I take you out for a drink?”
Me: “Oh… no… thank you… I have to be up early…”
D.C.G: Shrugs and shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’ll be missing. I’m a fun kinda guy.”
He hands me my slip and smiles. I nod and head out blushing. It was flattering. He was kind of cute. Nothing wrong with a little flirting, right? Until…
Me: Have a good night!”
D.C.G: “You, too. You know where I am tonight if you change your mind.”
Me: “Yup, here?”
D.C.G” “Uh, huh… here with alllllllll of your adorable little dirty clothes. Hope nothing goes missing!”
He picks up a few of my dress shirts, holds them in his arms, and winks.
You can ask a gay man out at a dry cleaners. You can tell him he’s going to miss out on a good time if he turns you down. But you can never threaten to kidnap his Club Monaco slim fitted stripped banker button up shirt. That, well that, is just playing dirty with laundry.

While leaving an overpriced body product store(ahem, Kiehl’s) in an overpriced neighborhood(ahem, Lincoln Park) with my overpriced lip balm(Pause. Lip balm, folks, is a fancy word for chapstick. See, you can call it lip balm when you pay a price that doesn’t involve a drug store. Paying this price for lip balm is something I tend to do because with winters this city can get and with single boy lips… well, I can get lip balm and not chapstick.) I was thinking how expensive it can get living in this city.
I mean, with rent and cabs and the variety of restaurants and then, of course, there’s that 10% sales tax. You know, we get totally raped by this city with buying things because they add that extra 10% and all the sudden that expensive lip balm is actually even MORE because the city says so and as you’re walking down the expensive streets of Chicago looking at your lip balm receipt and seeing how much they tacked on to that lip balm cost you start getting fired up. I mean, I did. I mean, lip balm. People. Should not cost the same as a nice lunch already, but add that extra percentage and it’s like lunch and tip! I start thinking about how all the rich people don’t even care about this and how all us people who want to be rich and aren’t yet do worry about this stuff and I start thinking about money and how scary it can be and with the economy and… and… and… !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And as I turn the corner in the quiet expensive neighborhood I say to myself: “What else will they start taxing!!!”
And then I quite literally at that moment stumbled upon this on the sidewalk:

An almost exact replica of a Monopoly game board spot.
In the game of life there are winners and losers and there are apparently randomly placed game board spots placed in the city to remind us… well, to remind us that we are just pawns(I’m the shoe!) in life and in order to win you have to have nice lip balm.

There’s this great line in the this bad movie called “Smart People”. Yes, I watched it for Sarah Jessica Parker. Yes, I thought it was going to be one of those independents that much to the like of Me and You and Everyone We know(POOP!) would be pure brilliance. But it ended up being one of those movies to the like of, well, a Vin Diesel movie.
Anyway, the line comes from one of the neuritic young republic characters who says this to her crazy out of mental normalcy uncle when she sees that his room is a mess and his bed is unmade: “You should always make your bed in the morning. It sets the tone of the day.”
This was the only good part of the movie.
Anyway again, when I watched that I was all: “Huh… I wonder if that’s true. I should try that!” Because, well, when I was fifteen I VOWED never to make my bed again unless I felt like or it or if I had company and seeing that I don’t feel like it that often and, well, my company has seen my unmade bed clearly these rules don’t work.
So since Friday I have been making my bed after I get up and I like it.
I just thought you’d all like to know: The tone of the day hasn’t changed, but I don’t nap as much.

For no reason. Just did. Best. Feeling. Ever.

Running HOT water is not overrated.
Stink bugs are not funny. NOT. FUNNY. Especially when one shows up in the shower with you. They are the alley rats of the woods.
Dark does not include street lamps. It includes stars as lamps.
Getting mud on your jeans along with marshmallows and tequila gives a whole new meaning to “distressed” style.
Time Travel is possible in the right places. See, cell phones don’t work here so it’s like being in the year 1995 where people can’t expect you to respond right away. And you don’t have to feel guilty about it.
Not hearing a cab honk its horn for two days is underrated.
You will see something like this and remember why it’s totally awesome to have eyes:

I want this to be known: One night a few months ago, I had a few too many glasses of wine and apparently couldn’t calculate my own strength and SNAP my key broke in my backdoor deadbolt. I also want this to be known: I am terrified of my Landlord.
He’s this Russian older dude that probably is the nicest guy in the world, but all I ever hear him do is yelling.
” On menya zaebel!” He screams outside of my window one morning about one of the tenants that always leaves his bike attached to the metal gate. (I only discovered how to spell that after I asked someone who heard him yell that another time what it meant. And it ain’t pretty).
He’s got a deep voice and the way Russians speak their words just seems like if he found out one of his more “scared of him to death) tenants just broke a key in his lock while being semi-intoxicated, well… that would be grounds for a full on screaming of “menya zaebel!”. I just never, uh, got around to asking for help.
So my back door had been permanently locked since June.
I’m not handy. I’ll admit this. Josh will totally back this up. If I need something done in my apartment that involves a screwdriver or, well, a hammer I will end up staring at the project for weeks before I attempt it myself and then screw it up or get frustrated and call Josh and say something like: “So, uh, I’ll buy you beer if you hang this shelf for me.” I’m not a big help guy. I don’t like asking for it. Call it the “Big Brother” thing where I was the one that wanted to prove I could do it with out anyone else needing to help me. Homework while growing up, I hated asking for teacher help. When I had a problem I just wanted to figure it out myself and, well, whenever I needed something from someone else… no matter if I was scared of them or not… I just found it easier to go it alone.
Anyway, this broken back door thing has been ridiculous. This door leads to my laundry room. So, for the last couple of weeks I have been having to carry a duffle bag of my dirty laundry down my block and around the corner to the back alley and coming to the laundry room that way. This back door is actually the easiest way to get out of the apartment to all the places I usually go in a day.
The other day I just got fed up with broken door and I don’t know if it was the super strong Americano I had that morning or if it was a whim of masculine spirits filling me from top to bottom, but I took out my screw driver and started attacking that lock. I had read online that most key breaks can be fixed with just taking apart the locks.
Within minutes pieces of screws and dead bolts and this hingy looking thing lay strewn on my floor. Finally I got the broken key. It was jammed in the lock and snapped off flush. I couldn’t get at it. As I stared at my mess I realized that that was just what I had made… a mess… of my lock and my life.
Asking for help is usually something I do after I make a mess. This is something I learned in age that is sort of a repeat problem with me. I screw holes in my wall thinking I don’t need anyone to see if they are straight and later realize the picture is crooked. If my toilet won’t flush I will try to take it a part only to realize that I don’t know how to put it back together. If I am feeling kind of frustrated with where my life is going in these recent months, I just dwell on it instead of trying to talk it out with people and let them know that I am going through a rough time with career and health and just other aspects of my life. That along with other things I’m just not a pro about… well, that needs to stop.
And instead of letting pieces just sit there, I need to ask for some smart people who know about these things to help put it together.
Mr. Johnson is my hardware guy. He owns a store on Broadway and when I came in with my bag of lock pieces and said: “Hi, um, I don’t know what I am doing anymore… can you help me?” He smiled and nodded and within seconds took the chunk of broken lock out and told me exactly how to put the lock back on the door. And it worked.
After I got home, I called Josh and told him about it. He, of course, was not as excited I was about being able to put a broken lock back together. I wasn’t expecting him to be.
But what I was really excited about was that I could open and close a door again. That just keeping it locked and ignoring it was making everything else not easy to handle. And all it took was asking for a little help.