are you smarter than kellie pickler?

how absolutely mortifying. lucky for her, she doesn't even know the magnitude of her ignorance.

holiday spirit in a virtual box

though the holidays instill anxiety in so many, i am actually finding the christmas spirit is lessening the a sense of dread i usually feel as i draw closer and closer to the dance competition season. soon, my life will be filled with:

• papercuts on chapped, raynaud's-afflicted digits
  
  
• visits to kinko's to make endless copies where i bask in the winter sun through the window in efforts to lessen any seasonal affective disorder
  
  
• compulsively checking the mainframe like a freak for new entries again and again
  
  
• weeknights getting lost in the dark while driving back from the north shore suburbs after coaching for some freelance ducats

as i dive headfirst into the logistical soup that is staffing my events for starters, i dial up a station on pandora called "jazz holidays". instantly, i am craving:

• celebrating birthday after birthday with laughter-filled meals
  
  
• cozy scarves, warm socks and my mega-heavy boots
  
  
• trips to starbucks for delicious holiday drinks and snacks
  
  
• back and foot rubs on the couch with family, snuggled under blankets
  
  
• the sense of accomplishment i feel looking at all the gifts on my list purchased and beautifully wrapped

heck, i might not even object to breaking out our spartan collection of christmas decorations... if we could just figure out how to do a tree now that otto is walking.

meme designed by burglars

here's a great meme from jamie to save the day for those of us who, gosh, really want to post but [insert excuse here]. here goes!

---

1. what kind of soap is in your bathtub right now? j/a/s/o/n tea tree. it's a little harsh for this time of year. we usually have method olive leaf.

2. do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator? not anymore. i just stopped buying slices.

3. what would you change about your living room? i would make it wider so we have more options to place furniture. i'd also spring for the can lights since it tends to be pretty dark in there. i also wish we had a clock in there. casey and i are always asking each other what time it is. or, i wish someone would install the pucklights that i bought a long time ago into the built-ins. that'd sure be nice.

4. are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty? dirty.

5. what is in your fridge? a lot of yummy food. point?

6. white or wheat bread? wheat.

7. what is on top of your refrigerator? a small television, otto's halloween candy, and a bottle of bacardi.

8. what color or design is on your shower curtain? we have glass doors on our upstairs shower and our downstairs shower is clear with a blue tint and has a bubble pattern.

9. how many plants are in your home? eight.

10. is your bed made right now? yes.

11. comet or soft scrub? neither -- bon ami. it doesn't contain chlorine bleach.

12. is your closet organized? mostly: all shirts are arranged by color, and pants are sort of together, at least on my rod.

13. can you describe your flashlight? i have a firefly: it's a lid for a nalgene that is embedded with a small light. when you turn the light on by pressing the small button on the top of the lid, it makes your bottle a lantern. i love it!

14. do you drink out of glass or plastic more at home? glass.

15. do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now? no.

16. if you have garage, is it cluttered? no, i don't think so.

17. curtains or blinds? blinds.

18. how many pillows do you sleep with? one.

19. do you sleep with any lights on at night? no, none.

20. how often do you vacuum? maybe once a week on mondays. otherwise, ana does most of the vacuuming.

21. standard toothbrush or electric? standard.

22. what color is your toothbrush? a putrescent pearl and seafoam.

23. do you have welcome mat on your front porch? no.

24. what is in your oven right now? nothing.

25. is there anything under your bed? no; storing things under your bed is bad feng shui.

26. chore you hate the most? vacuuming the effing stairs. never again, mark my words, will i have carpeting on a staircase!

27. what retro items are in your home? some old vintage lamps, old guitars, old drums, old amps. hell, this is an old-ass house! it is, itself, retro.

28. do you have separate room you use an an office? sort of; my landing on the second floor is not enclosed but it's my office.

29. how many mirrors are in your home? 5

30. do you have any hidden emergency money around your home? why are you asking?

31. what color are your walls? in my office, they are dove grey.

32. what does your home smell like right now? a delightful melange of murphy's oil soap, homemade tea tree surface spray, coffee, and cat. mmmm...

33. favorite candle scent? i like fig, honeysuckle, and most herbal fragrances. nothing foody -- it clashes with the base notes of the litterbox.

34. what kind of pickles are in your refrigerator right now? cack! none!

35. ever been on your roof? no.

36. do you own a stereo? yes, at least two.

37. how many tv’s do you have? i think we have five. jeez, a lot of inventory questions... are you planning a robbery or what?

38. how many phones? four.

39. do you have a housekeeper? yes, nanny/housekeeper.

40. what style do you decorate in? depends what area of the house you are in. upstairs, we endeavor to decorate in a minimalist modern style. downstairs is more mid-century modern mixed with splashes of fisher-price and a few elements of sports authority... oh, and don't forget those artful touches of cat vomit.

41. do you like solid colors in furniture or prints? i prefer solids.

42. is there a smoke detector in your home? you betcha.

happy halloween from a very serious bunny.

caption: "you owe me big time, mama."

disturbed sleep = disturbed dreams

o, benevolent miracles & milestones™ select-a-show soother™, what would we do without thee?

with the ever-emerging teeth in otto's mouth, even a pre-emptive strike in the form of children's motrin at bedtime cannot prevent him from waking once the sweet drug's magic has worn off. he'll sleep well for eight hours, but after 4:00, all bets are off.

my sleep this morning was pockmarked with warbling shrieks and, consequently, two visits to the nursery. at some point after having gotten otto reasonably soothed, i had the most awful and disturbing dream.

i found myself at a sales presentation. i sat there and listened to the rep's spiel about some kind of infants' and children's hibernation chambers. there on the floor were what looked to me to be cheerful little caskets. some were pink and glittery and shaped like a fiberglas canopy bed, perfect for your little sleeping beauty. there was a thomas the train model, all glossy and blue. there were green jungle ones with fiberglas bananas hanging from the corners and sports-themed units with baseball bats welded to the base. there was even a tiny, creme colored bassinet sized chamber and my fellow audience members gushed over how sweet that was. each one was capped with a heavy, color coordinated lid.

i observed the presentation but i was totally confused; what the hell are these things? there was no mention of how exactly these chambers were used, so i leaned from my folding chair and asked my sister and a few other people seated around her, "hey. i don't get it. what do people do with those things?" everyone looked at me like i had three heads. my sister kindly replied, "the best time to put them in is when you know they're going to take a long nap already."

i thought, hm. okay, well, some days otto naps for two and half hours but...what am i thinking? my eyes bugged out at the heavy coffin-like doors that adorned each model.

"but wait," i asked, "people just put their kids in those? and shut the door?"

"uh, yeah," another patron replied with knitted eyebrows, looking me up and down. "for, like, six weeks!" the others tittered. "ah, duh!"

"but why?" i pleaded. i could not understand it. you just plop your baby in this box and shut the door and hope he likes it? that he'll just shut off like a doll until you're ready to take him out? i didn't see any cheerfully painted oxygen tanks or feeding tubes nearby.

the other women glared at me and then gave my sister a stern look and she politely replied, "uh, you know. so you can get things done, go on vacation, whatever..." she rolled her eyes a little and the presentation went on.

i awoke at a reasonable hour to hear otto in his crib, rocking out to his lights-and-sound machine, and sighed in relief.

wanted: toddler-size sleeping bag

otto in daddy's backpack on a walk in the woods

though many have likely already seen these photos on casey's blog, here is a link to the album from our most recent camping trip to wisconsin. this time, we went with some friends. fortunately for otto, amongst them were owners of many, many nascar matchbox cars.

if i look slightly more pallid in the 'do rag shots taken the next morning, that would be because i groggily stuffed my small one into my sleeping bag in the middle of the night, and he was not unlike sleeping with a small goat. throughout the night, he would reach up and grab a fistful of my unruly, growing-out hair, then drift back off into slumberland, still clinging to my head.

note otto's level of dirtiness as the trip progresses. even though we made great use of the acid-trip fleece blanket given to us by the canton hesses, it was no match for the sheer scooting force that is our son. he would not be contained, but he'd occasionally return to the blanket to clutch it to his chest and coo lovingly. even after we washed the booties and brand new pants [thanks, nana and gamper], we were still picking clods of dirt, leaves, and burrs from the seams.

for the love of dog

i just saw this article and accompanying video of ellen degeneres. very sad. i understand why a stipulation would prevent people just giving their rescued dogs up, but in this instance, it seems like the organization should consider the circumstances and recognize that the spirit of the law is not being challenged here. i know that what will really need to happen is for the family to start double-dutching that red tape: immediately apply to adopt that dog right now. do the little dance. speak the little language. it will be worth it.

this incident reminds me of the movie casey and i saw on sunday, into the wild. like requiring someone to wait twelve years to receive a permit to kayak down a river, had someone used a human ear to listen to ellen's plight instead of just dogmatically [pardon the pun] marching down and yanking the little dude away, it seems to me that this heartache could have been avoided.

crazy cathy: when mothers attack

i absolutely commiserate with women who are eager for the opportunity to make friends as adults. from almighty oprah to the lowly chain email, girlfriendships are rhapsodized every where you turn. not having female friends? why, that's just unamerican!

i myself recently fell into a friendless stupor. fed up with feeling bled dry by some of my more parasitic pals, i declared myself a friend-free zone. the song 'circle of friends' by edie brickell & the new bohemians became the new national anthem for the nation of perdedora, population 1. as i luxuriated in shivasana at the end of my weekly yoga class, a tear of self-compassion rolled down my face and on to my very un-sticky stickymat.

unbeknownst to me, some small message was cast out into the galaxy that i need alliances. old buddies of every stripe were emailing, calling, and inviting me to lunch. i got a call from my best friend from junior high who now lives nearby with her toddler. a very close friend of mine may be moving back here pending the precarious state of her marriage. another former co-worker moved back here from new york.

i think the heavens may have been a mite bit too fruitful, however. on friday, our little family unit set out for sushi. we like a little place in lincoln square that has good parking and is pretty kid-friendly; usually, all the high chairs are occupied by toddlers brandishing chopsticks while parents gleefully swill their sapporos with little concern. our food had just arrived and we were about to dig in when in comes a woman and her toddler, about the same height but a good ten pounds heftier than otto. his name is willy. she chose a table next to us and plopped her progeny into a high chair facing ours. at first, the interaction was standard and benign: how old's your baby? what's his name? isn't his hair cute? say hi to your new buddy! she introduced herself: cathy.

just as i would begin digging into my rolls, cathy would sip her cocktail, then wheel around and ask me question after question:

where did i live?
what did we order for otto tonight?
what size clothes is otto?
do we need any hand-me-downs?

she insisted repeatedly that she got my number because she just has loads of clothes and they're barely worn. casey and i admitted that, though we have been fortunate enough not to have had to buy any clothes for otto thanks to gifts and loads of clothes from his four cousins, we were experiencing a gap in cool weather items aged 12-18 mo. this was met by another insistance to get my number, so, when she turned to order her big willy some of what otto was chowing down on, i asked casey for a pen and paper. i figured why not give her my number? maybe she's really nice? if anything, we can score some free clothes. casey's eyes darted to the table and back to me. he hissed, "get her number. get her number."

i scrawled my cell on a tattered ATM receipt and passed it over. her eyes lit up and she slowly crumpled the receipt into her pocket. that was it. in retrospect, i now know that was like feeding a wild bear some succulent delights you have hidden right here in this flimsy old tent.

her husband arrived, but you'd barely know they were dining together. after a few more sakes, the questions to me were coming fast and furious. this time, each answer to her question was nonsensically trumped. for instance:

"isn't it frustrating to figure out what they want to eat?"

"oh, my gosh, yeah. so much of what he loved he will no longer eat. i have a whole freezer full of pureed broccoli and sweet potato ice cubes that i have to bury in pasta sauce to get him to..."

"oh, yeah. i did the whole organic make-your-own baby food thing. i did that for a while and then... [rolls eyes and turns to sip sake, then turns back]. i'm gonna call you."

or there's:

"who's you pediatrician?"
"town and country."
"so's mine."
"oh, okay... which office: lincoln or clybourn?"
"clybourn! we see pappas. who's your doctor?"
"i hear great things about pappas! we were seeing lundquist, but we switched to jameston. lunquist wasn't very supportive of our vegetarianism."
"oh, i did the whole vegetarian, vegan, raw-foodist thing for a while, too, yeah. and then i... oh, waiter! can i have another sake? i'm totally calling you, just so you know."

at this point, our friend cathy must have been buzzing to beat the band. she was practically screaming as i hurriedly woofed down my food and casey paid the check. this is when the showstopper, the pièce de resistance finally occurred, thus culminating any further bizarre fumblings for common ground:

"where'd you give birth?"
"northwestern prentice."
"so did i. didn't you just love the birth?"

at this point, casey lobbed one in to the rally.

"she gave birth in the tub."

"[pause] you did? wha-it? they didn't have that when i was there, or i totally woulda done it. when did you do that?"

"um, thirteen months ago.

"they totally didn't have that when i was there and i was there... um... when was i there?"

"uh, isn't willy fifteen months old?"

"uh, yeah. uhhh... nice meeting you."

i'm learning to be receptive. we spent all yoga today opening our heart chakras and concentrating on receiving goodness, breathing it in and out with each loving breath... but i will totally fucking cringe if i get a call from crazy cathy.

balance

while i've never been one for moderation per se, i am a creature craving balance.

otto has been suffering his emerging molars for the past week or so. he wakes up crying between 11 and midnight each night. sometimes, all it takes is a few minutes of snuggling to get him back down, but last night required quite a vigil. he cried in pain which would occasionally afford him some mercy, only to jolt his entire body back into a squealing, bowlike arc.

each time i'd carry otto down to the dark first floor, gumby, the big black cat, came thundering through the catdoor connecting the stairs to the kitchen and launch himself onto the back of the couch in the family room. he gets very agitated when anyone is crying, ill, in active labor, or doing anything at an illogical hour, so he goes into this hypermode like he's some fat, furry superhero only he has no special powers. by the third dramatic entrance, i was over it... so i stuck my bare, flexed foot out and, clutching otto in my arms, tripped the motherfucker. i dutifully soothed the toothed as the minutes ticked by and collapsed into my bed two-plus hours later.

otto woke up crabby and exhausted, so exhausted he fought his nap awhile, but i knew i had to put my game face on: it's well-baby check up day! i spit and hissed at dawdling cars all along clybourn, leaching out the last few drops of concentrated venom before embodying the alert, friendly, smiling mom archetype that garners the best results in this hustle-and-bustle lincoln park pediatric office. i chose words carefully, answered questions thoughfully [but not verbosely], and remembered the questions i needed to ask as otto was measured, prodded, and shot full of holes. ah, the twelve month appointment ain't a pretty one, but my little man blasted through it with flying colors. no time to cry; must. remove. bandaids! he's a budding phaneromaniac if there ever was one.

we return home, i pack a little lunch [soy nut butter and seedless organic blackberry jam on whole grain wheat bread, water, and dried fruit], and the nanny and otto are off to swim at the y. i get to crank out some emails and... time for my conference call! oy.

my friend/colleague and i talk pre-call about how we pine for the annual fall meeting. how invigorating those meets used to be. how these series of calls in replacement are nothing but groupthink sessions, not forums for lively discussion. so not motivating like the old memphis pilgrimage of yore.

after a long night and day of relentless responsibility, what do i do? crack open not one but two blue moons and settle in for a long listen on speakerphone. when answers no one wants to hear are solicited to questions no one wants to answer, i quietly play a few chirps of a cricket .wav file from my laptop and snicker into a pillow like i'm twelve again.

if i were britney's assistant...

i didn't tune in to mtv's vmas last night, but i did catch a glimpse of britney spears' performance this morning on perez hilton. though i must admit the song is hot, i watched in honest horror for her as she marked her way through what could probably have been good choreography. she looked like she could barely stand in those heels, let alone really dance with any zeal. i wonder if the z-list in the back of the venue could even see her, her moves were so small. during those blessed moments when she needed only to stand, she couldn't even muster up the stage presence to strike a fierce, cocky pose. her insecurity, especially as the piece wore on and on, was palpable. the proof is in the pudding: she partied all week and didn't rehearse. if i were evaluating her as a dance camper, she'd be getting the ol' snowball -- the white ribbon-- and the accompanying speech: "keep practicing and once you get the memory, you'll really be able to have fun and smile!"

i'm mainly just sad and confused for her. britney doesn't have the discipline to force herself to work on this momentous performance. never before has the fact that the media sustains itself off her poor judgment hit home like this. every television executive and poptart wrangler stepped aside to let this disaster unfold. she looked like an amateur imitating her former self. without a shred of schadenfreude, i thought about how she has two little boys, both hopefully oblivious to how ridiculous their momma looks in front of millions of people.

i wish she'd follow the footsteps of her mentor, madonna: reinvent thyself! the fashion knowledge i have would fill a scintilla of toilet paper, but i still think i could have gleefully been her stylist. i offer four simple tips:

1) kick the weaves. take it from me: you chopped off all your hair, so you gotta own it. rock out a short retro cut with platinum chunks like p!nk does, or just go ubershort like annie lennox.

2) less is...less. i don't think your body looks that trashed after two kids, but who are we kidding? those hotpants are making your muffin-top rise, girl. let's find something black and glittery, but corseted, covering, and confining. hold that junk in there a little.

3) dancers are there to dance. until you can learn to juggle it all, just sing. pay the young, talented dancers many, many dollars to dance and, hell, gyrate on and grapple you, if you must, but just friggin' stand there, look mildly amused at them, and sing.

4) nail tips are so nineties. if you feel you must glue plastic to your fingers, at least go with a natural or nude look. that french manicure betrays your redneck past.

what would you suggest?

tortilla chips: the aftermath

went in and got my stitches from my mole biopsies removed. the little buggers were embedded in there and the physician's assistant had to dig with a small trowel into my freshly-scarred skin to get them out.

i rather pointedly mentioned that i had yet to receive a return call with the results of my cytology [or a return call back about correct aftercare, but oh well i guess, right?]. the p.a.'s big blue eyes registered awkward surprise. after the sutures were plucked, he came back with the results. the beast on my back was totally normal, which i knew. the ones that were removed from my front displayed some dysplastic atypia, and while they're not cancerous, it was probably good that they're gone. he recommended i come in for a screening every six months.

as i left, my cell rang; a private call. it was the dermatologist? calling? with the results of my biopsy? she cutely described them as being a three on a ten-point scale of weirdness, and that i needed to come in once a year.

"josh said every six months," i muttered, petting my bandages gingerly.

"josh? when'd you talk to josh?" she asked.

"uh, just now? i just had my sutures removed?"

"ohhh... okay. six months or a year, whatever you're comfortable with."

i guess the million dollar question is: how comfortable am i with having small chunks hacked from my body? not very -- i will keep my six-month appointment.

anyway, the good news was that i don't have cancer! woot! how did i celebrate? sitting at the milwaukee/damen/north stoplight, i reached back with my blunted thumbnail to give the giant crusty scab on my back one last satisfying attempt at freedom.

what a day

yet again this week, i have an ear infection gone systemic: i feel achy and have a low-grade fever. waiting for my dental dose of ibuprofen to kick in, i quietly churn out some work. casey emails me from the hospital -- still waiting for his appointment, and did i talk to the dermatologist yet about the biopsies? she called last night and left a message and i didn't know. the receptionist took the message that i returned the call and let me know that it would be after four when i'd hear from the doctor because "only she can let you know the results". it's only 2:30! i have at least an hour and a half to try and conjure up a mental image of the carnage that was casey's skin cancer removal and then superimpose that image on the tender skin beneath my small, sagging bosom. neat.

an email then pops up in my inbox entitled "tough one" from the coach of the team for which i've been choreographing since 2001. after a valiant campaign against a handful of bloodthirsty pom moms, she resigned this morning. the battle had been long and tearful, and this ragtag bunch of angry parents have effectively forced my friend's hand to write the letter ending her tenure. this is a team that was recently listed as one of the top 25 dance teams in the nation according to the perez hilton of competitive dance and was a hair from reaching the finals at nationals. now, sans choreographers [my co-choreographer and i have jumped ship], the entire program has been turned on its head.

this squad's losing its fearless leader is devastating to me on several fronts. from a professional standpoint, i've lost a key account, a big name, and an event host. yeah, in terms of personal finances, it stings a little bit: i am losing a little chunk of change not working for them as a freelance consultant, and at my age, finding a new program to work with isn't always feasable or even fun. what hurts the most is being robbed of something i love to do: seeing the ideas that keep me awake at night incarnate, connecting with young women and making an impact on their lives, and working hand in hand with another smart, diligent woman who also has a passion for seeing these girls reach their goals.

as cheesy as it may sound, it's heady stuff. i still harbor some residual addiction to the rush i felt standing in front of 800 dancers and directors, making them laugh, cry, and even yawn. they yawned on purpose of course -- i'd "command" them to yawn during a drill down and then i'd unleash a pent-up yawn and they'd follow suit, laughing at the same time. i taught for twelve years, and now that my ankles are wooden-stiff, my arms have lost their sinew, and my abs have given way to a pregnancy, this little team was my last bastion of creativity. lastly, i really enjoyed my friendship with the coach. we always laughed and gossiped and marveled at improvement together. after a few years, she learned what fueled me and greeted me with a bag of gummy bears, a black gas station coffee, or a diet pepsi when i walked in the gym. some of the parents were terrific, too. they'd pick me up from the airport and give me a hug. it was nice.

at 5:30, i figured i'd be a noodge and call the derma, anxious for the results. she'd already left for the day... without calling me back.

otto is one!

here are some shots casey took of otto's first birthday party. he took the pics and i added the cheesy captions: were a good team like that. enjoy!

i never got into greek guys, but...

casey and i watched 300 last night. i have to say i really enjoyed it quite a bit. the story is really rather simple, and the cinematography is breathtaking, but i have to say i enjoyed feasting my eyes on some very fit, very attractive men.

i'm totally not one for beefcake at all, but good gracious, if women have a reptile brain, then by golly, mine was slithering. i kinda figured that the makeup artist had enhanced the faces and bodies of the actors, and at one point, when the light was just so, everyone's chiseled abs just sort of melted away. after seeing photographs of gerard butler, the actor who played luscious leonidas, i have to say the makeup artist should win an oscar. he's not bad looking, but he ain't no sexy spartan either.

here he is on the left, looking quite kingly on the set...


... and in real life. [yawn]

tortilla chips, anyone?

oh, moley moley moles. i had three chopped out today. less than fun. one was just a cute little "cocoa spot" that perched atop my pregnant belly. what will the scar look like when i'm knocked up with #2?

another was a slightly more sinister looking macule hiding out under what is left of my right breast, all stretched and sneaky-looking like a squinty eye. that one required two sets of stitches... yow!

the last, and certainly not least, was the great big colossus that itched the beejeebees out of me in the center of my back. they should ship it to africa and feed several starving villages with it, for chrissakes. roast it on a spit like dr. seuss's roast beast. it was unceremoniously shaved off and is now longingly stinging for its phantom appendage.

for the love of all that is holy, please make an appointment to have a skin screening, everyone. as the surgeon who removed casey's melanoma said, "we go to the dentist regularly, but no one ever dies from a cavity. yet, we neglect our largest organ."

go and be scanned!

ukrainian havoc squad returns!

at long last, i have curated the collection of photos from the family reunion for your viewing pleasure.

enjoy!

wanted: photos of ukrainian havoc squad

we're back from the fourth annual hnatusko family reunion in gainesville, ga, and this is the only photo i have to show for it. here's otto at takeoff, snuggled into the sling with his woobie, ready for some sweet, sweet mi-mi time.

see, i've never been a picture-taker. the only reason i have a camera at all is because the one i have i gave to my husband who ended up giving it back to me once he got a fancy-schmancy one. having a camera with a bonafide neckstrap is a declaration that you are hereby the family historian. it's likely that any pictures he's taken will be posted to his web gallery, but if there are any family members reading who would like to donate your photos to posterity, please email them on over.

little people, big mistake

oh man. i just saw that matt roloff, the dad from the TLC show, "little people, big world" was busted for dui... from a friggin' field sobriety test. ridiculous.

here's what i don't get: for one, why would you submit to a field sobriety test, like, ever? it seems to me to be about as subjective as judging a dance routine. some people just aren't coordinated enough to walk a straight line while sober. when my sorority president was arrested for driving drunk, she did a mandatory seminar for the house on the topic as a form of penance, in which she instructed us to always submit to a blood or urine test and eschew the dodgy field sobriety and breathalizers.

two, how on earth could this guy be evaluated in such a manner -- he walks on crutches! poor little dude. his smile makes me sad.

the cousins outing: ravinia

last friday, i met up with my sisters and some of my cousins [i'm greek -- i've got a lot of cousins!] at ravinia. the shots are few but poignant. check 'em out. click to enlarge and view in their full splendor:


this is me, pre-ravinia, looking very aggro. note the corrugated brow. i called a cab from my house to the ravenswood metra stop at 5:15 to come at 5:45 -- the cab came at 5:20. because i am just that way, i declined the cab and called back at 5:40. that one never came [they sure showed me!] and so casey and otto drove the CR-V dukes-of-hazzard style uptown to the station. i leapt from the car and ran like a total freak, pushing people out of my way, to the platform, only to discover that, not only was the train ten minutes late, i would have to wait for the next one because there would be no more room on the one i wanted to get on. neato. in retrospect, at least the ride ended up being free.



here are more people who were left in the dust as well. why are they so unruffled? many of them had coolers with actual cold beers nestled inside.



here i am with my lovely sisters dina and nicole, looking far more pleasant. in my hand is a drinking receptacle fashioned, again, á la dukes-of-hazzard with a plastic knife and an immutable desire for a cold, alcoholic beverage. despite the fact that my gracious cousins brought practically anything that anyone could have ever needed for a fabulous picnic including a sundry wines and cocktails, cups were accidentally forgotten. i was not to be deterred. having taken the train with my cousin, dena [we have a lot of denas in our family -- did i mention that i'm greek?] from kenilworth, my sisters were already in a fun-loving mood.




much later in the evening, my cousin elizabeth stuck her pert bottom in a pre-surgery-kenny rogers look-alike's face, seated in the yellow and white chair. that's cousin dena [the dena from before, not another dena, although i do have another cousin dina but she lives in new zealand now... have i confused you yet?] laughing into her sangria with her long, flowing locks in the foreground. pictured in the background is my cousin-in-law, greer.

caption: "yooolikeit? yooolikeit!"



at the close of the evening, long after the throngs of wasted north shore teens had staggered from the park, we are packing up in the dark. pictured is dena and elizabeth, attempting to shove a jampacked picnic basket into my late yia-yia's shopping cart... for the third effing time! each time, the basket falls out along with a cascade of plaid cloth napkins and tealights, and each time, we bowl over laughing. as you might expect from a mass of messed-up multiparas, incontinence is not far behind.

caption: o chichonia! [only in my family do we make allusions to rocky and bullwinkle's fractured fairy tales cartoons.]

can't wait for another get together soon!

grosse pointe beckons

i spent a large part of yesterday in pursuit of justice to be meted out by our fair city of chicago. you see, in a nutshell, my true love was summarily duped into writing a check to a child who told him that he was trying to raise money to afford to attend northwestern. you can see the actual scam in action online. casey's a musician and, having attended berklee college of music, felt for this schlubby city kid trying to realize his dream.

after calling 311, getting transferred to 911, being referred to area 5 detectives, then being referred to a police station that ended up being the wrong police station, only to call another station to then be referred right back to 311, i have determined that no one in this city really cares and casey and i should go knock over a bank.

then later, once otto was snug in his happy little bed, the garden variety car alarm starts going off. right in front of our house. and doesn't stop. casey remarked that it was like the gods were yelling, "OT-to, OT-to! WAKE up! GET up! PACK up! GROSSE pointe! MOVE there! GO now! HUR-ry!"

today was more of a pro-chicago day. the weather was fresh and lovely. the cubs fans crawling down addison were spirited. i truly did enjoy running a few quick errands to my local target, cleaners, and whole foods without driving a ton in preparation for tonight's kintonis cousin's outing to ravinia to see the steve miller band. i'm certain an idyllic evening there on the north shore, so very accessible via the metra, will put a few more points in the "stay here" column...

... until the elotes cart ladies come peddling their goods, honking their bike horns like mad in the street tomorrow.