Monday, July 19
I’m dying over how great she looks. The ChronicBabe logo is for Jenni, who can’t get to BlogHer this year either. The Buried logo for Kerri‘s husband Chris, who wrote the film. Am I namedropping? Sure, why not, but I believe it’s honorable when done for the sake of your friends.
The other thing I did Monday, apart from restart my work mojo after last week’s catharsis that just happened to happen during my mid-year review? I got to write a blog post about Charice Pempengco getting Botox and Thermage for her appearance on “Glee” next season for DISGRASIAN™.
Tuesday, July 20
This blog turned 10! Some folks left me awesome comments and feedback on Facebook. I wish those comments on Facebook could be comments here so it looks like I’m way popular and can start asking for freebies (kidding!).
I had lunch with Andrew, which was nice. He and Rozi and Nathan are enjoying their new house. Andrew got me thinking I should, or we all should, do something to celebrate the fact that I’ve been blogging for so damn long.
Wednesday, July 21
Cynthia thought it would be nice to take the water taxi up to Michigan Avenue. Co-worker Ryan joined us, as he wanted to check out the filming for Transformers 3 that was still going on at Michigan and Wacker. I tagged along because I fucking love boats.
I already put up a picture post but a few notes:
- The Corner Bakery on Wacker at Michigan, in the Crain’s Communications building, was full of gawkers taking pictures of big pieces of foamcore painted to look like concrete.
- There were a couple of Transformer cars there, but they were hidden under tarps.
- The water taxi was lovely. I behaved like an excited tourist, prompting Ryan to jokingly ask me “Is this your first visit to Chicago?” as we put-putted back to work on a tiny boat called The Andiamo.
After work, I went to the gym, got all sweaty, and got a Hi-C from McDonald’s to slurp on the bus ride home. This guy sitting next to me was cute, had arms with just the right amount of hair, and unlike other times where I feel like my fat arse is crowding my seat neighbor, it felt comfortable. So sad, no? But not pathetic more melancholy sort of like that part in Summertime when you realize (spoiler alert!) that the Italian dude is married before Katharine Hepburn does, and then she does, but she doesn’t give a shit? He’s to borrow, not to keep.
Thursday, July 22
Cynthia convinced me that we should eat our lunch outside in the semi-stifling heat. Good enough. While we talked and ate, a trio of messy looking teenagers slouched through the plaza, passing between them what I thought was a cigarette.
I was wrong. It was not a cigarette. I couldn’t believe how brazenly they were puffing away, though I think I was more appalled that they looked so dirty. I guess I must be an old lady after all.
I invited Andrea to join me at the MCA for a screening of some short films, winners in a contest sponsored by Ovation. While I waited for Andrea, I noticed how nicely dressed a lot of folks were. All the gallerinas had trouble, though, negotiating the stairs in the auditorium as they looked for seats in the dark.
This short film, Foolishly Seeking True Love by Jarrett Lee Conaway, was my favorite.
After the movies, Andrea and I cruised the crowd, but found only groups of ladies hogging the catered pizza and grilled cheese sandwich bites. Gripping their glasses of wine, teetering in high heels, they were hilarious and horrifying. It’s “Sex and The City” with a dinner theater budget.
At least we got to see the Calder exhibit, which was really terrific. There were some cute boys who Andrea decided were metrosexuals. Maybe they were actual homosexuals as they paid absolutely no attention to us? Though that’s not fair, I know. It’s not like I brought my A-game (like I have one). I mean, I was wearing Old Navy khaki pants. Not exactly dressed to kill.
Andrea brought me to Pippin’s after it was last call at the museum. Last call at the MCA was just like last call at a regular bar. They turn up the lighting so you can see how big everybody’s pores are, and that’s when you notice your Asian flush. Pippin’s was a fun Irish bar that looked like it was inhabited by a hobbit.
Andrea could sense my trepidation. I was, after all, out at a bar. And there were boys. She told me I needed to be myself. Because myself was awesome and pretty. I was a lightning bug. All I needed to do was turn my light on and keep an eye out for a fellow lightning bug to come along and, well, you know.