Sugar Rush, Possibly. Or Just A Little Too Much Energy For My Own Good Right Now At This Very Second, AGGGHHHH!!!!!

I wish everyone had to blog so I could spy on them easily. How else am I supposed to know what is going on with people I sort of know? What? What was that you said? TALK to them? Please.

Like, right now, I have a conundrum. There's this dude that I know and I think he lives by Alex, but I'm not for sure. And I'm not a phone talker and I haven't talked to him since he got married and I have no idea if I even have his correct phone number. And have I mentioned that I'm not a phone talker? Cause I'm not. At all. Ever. Unless you're Lana Cantrell.

So I don't want to call this guy. And I don't know if I have his e-mail address. He's never on AIM. And I can't just hang around outside Alex's house in the hopes of catching him walking his dog again. Because...creepy. (Not that that stopped me from driving down the street I suspected he lived on, stopping the car, staring intently at what I thought was his truck, and willing someone to come out of the house.)

(Ok, I exaggerated a little bit.)

(I didn't stop, but I did try to will someone out of the house.)

(Alex was with me, ok? It wasn't really stalkerish. We didn't stop, I promise. But I did make Alex drive down the suspected street of residence, and then pointed at the truck and squealed, "I bet that's his house!")

So yeah, I've clued Alex in on this and now he is on the lookout for a guy he has never seen, much less met. However, I did an excellent job describing this fellow (putting my heretofore unused English graduate skills to use) and he has since reported that he thinks he has seen this guy walking his dog in the neighborhood too.

(Did I just set a record for using "he" in a sentence? Pronoun power!)

Which brings me back to my original thought. How do I FIND this sort of former friend? How do I make contact? Why can't he just blog, so I can leave a cheeky comment? Or better yet, if he blogged, I bet I would have already known that he was moving to Alex's neighborhood and had baked a cake and eaten it in his honor?

Or why can't he at least have a MySpace, for crying out loud? EVERBODY IS ON MYSPACE. I just got a friend request from some girl I barely knew in high school. She and I weren't even really friends. I barely recognized her and if she hadn't have had a girl I knew from high school as a friend, I would have rejected her. (Girlfriend has gained some weight since high school. Which isn't a bad thing at all, because she has birthed an incredibly adorable little boy, whereas I've gained weight since high school and all I've done is eaten a lot of chocolate and fried chicken.)

(Not that THAT is stopping me from eating the last piece of Alex's brother's birthday cake straight out of the box with the fork that Alex left IN the box this morning after he ate the second-to-last piece for breakfast.)

Where was I?

Cake?

No.

Oh yeah, so why can't this guy, who I know and whose company I enjoy, be as easily accessible as the girl whose last name I can't even remember from high school? As much fun as it is to sit around and hope I catch him unhappily walking his dog, I'd like to make that lovely, impersonal, electronic connection.

Jerk.

Country-fied

Behold, the reason I am not blogging.

Ok, that's not COMPLETELY the reason I haven't been blogging, but this game is an awesome time waster. In fact, I can barely type this post in between my twangy yelps into the microphone. And seriously, "Friends In Low Places" is a fantastically difficult song to sing just like Garth. Who do these people think I am? A karoke mastermind?

Poor Alex is now forced to hear my mediocre melodies waft throughout his entire house. He can't get away from it. And it's his PS2, so I can only play at his house. He came home the other day to hear me butchering "The Gambler." And just now? He endured the last 2 mintues of "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy." He tried to take my picture and failed. Ha!

But I've gotta stop because "What Was I Thinkin" is starting!

And the Odyssey Continues

Once all the problems of the Great Purse Meltdown 2006 were resolved, we were supposed to get on Highway A from Highway B. And it was going to be as easy as that. Right?

No.

We missed it. Completely. We wound up somewhere on the northside of Chicago with Alex's dying cell phone and a one way ticket to rush hour traffic. And why were we stuck? And lost?

Because Mapquest sucks, y'all. Highway A doesn't intersect with Highway B. No, it intersects with Highway C. Which eventually turns into Highway A, but how were we supposed to know that? Without a clearly marked map? We couldn't!

Now, part of this is our fault and one reason why I had previously mentioned that we are forgetful and navigationally impaired and also poor time managers. We didn't have a map with us. In my defense, the car was map-free because my atlas had died a wet and violent death when the old Sentra got totaled. And yes, I know. We should have bought a map BEFORE we got to the city. And I'm not sure why neither one of us had thought to purchase a map before our very first road trip together, but we didn't. But then again, I'm the girl who left her PURSE at home, so we're really lucky that I remembered to put on undewear that morning.

The sad part is that all we wanted to do was get here:


Yes, IKEA. Not the hotel. Not a place to eat. Not somewhere scenic. Not somewhere only found in Chicago. IKEA.

After stopping to get directions from two highly unhelpful people, buying a map, turning around at least 3 times, and a pow wow in a Target parking lot in which I loudly proclaimed, "We are going to get to that IKEA and we are going to LOVE it, dammit," we finally saw it. We still couldn't get to it's beautiful blue wondrous location, but we could SEE it. So we turned around one more time and finally, finally, finally pulled into the most beautiful parking lot of all time. At this point, I was highly exhausted and I wound up following Alex around while he picked up every single utensil EVER MADE. My boyfriend, he loves the kitchen stuff. I vaguley remember buying a TV stand (and by "I," I mean "Alex" since I was checkcard free at this point) before we wandered into the parking lot for the slightly confusing and slightly long drive to the hotel.







So after some "famous" stuffed Chicago pizza, it was time for this birthday girl to go to sleep.

The next morning? Jamba Juice!



I've wanted to go to Jamba Juice since I was a wee teenager and began reading US Weekly and People Magazine. All the celebrities drink Jamba Juice! There's a SNL skit about it! I had to go! (And I even said, "No boost," just like Amy Poehler in the skit. Only it wasn't nearly as awesome.)

And it tasted just like Smoothie King from back home and I realized that, once again, all that glitters is not gold. (Much like how my pretty, pretty ring is fake, fake, fake!) Amd with that...we began Day 2 of Chicago.



Ok, for reals this time, tomorrow: Trains! Angry busy drivers! Endless amounts of walking! And lots and lots of pictures of buildings!

Travelin' Thru

I woke up Friday morning with lots of presents from my parents to open. My mom, being the awesome woman that she is, had sent me home last month with bags of presents, so that I'd have stuff to rip open on my birthday. Even though I turned 26 on Friday, I am actually only 8 years old because I still find a great satisfaction in ripping wrapping paper. It's just so FUN.

So after much procrastination (which involved oohing and aahing over all the clothes I had forgotten my Mom bought me last month, playing with iTunes, and wondering how many pairs of shoes I could possibly pack), we left for Chicago. We decided to stop and get some fast food on the way out for lunch....only to get a phone call while line. And who was the phone call from? A florist! There were flowers at my house! My parents proved how awesome they are again and had surprised me with a beautiful bouquet!



Aren't they just so pretty?



So then. FINALLY. We left. It was road trip time! Alex drove and let me have full reign with the camera, God bless him.









And yes that IS my old school iPod working like a champion. One of Alex's co-worker's worked his magic (read: slammed it around) on it and got it to work again. I LOVE bored computer programmers!

At one point, I decided that I wanted to put my sunglasses on and so I reached back to grab my purse. It wasn't on the floor and so I thought maybe it was in the back seat. Nope. Maybe it was in my backpack. Not there either. At that point, I started FREAKING out. Where in the world was my purse??? I immediately began hyperventilating and babbling about purses and where's and why's and how's. Alex went into super sweet awesome boy mode and forced me to think rationally. We pulled over and tore the car apart. There was no purse. Nowhere. We were 2 hours from home and my purse was not in the car.

Now, look again at that very first picture. There I am holding my purse and grinning/smirking/wishing-Alex-wouldn't-put-me-in-the-shot-and-passive-agressively-letting -him-know-that like an idiot. Why put such an unflattering picture of myself on the internet for all the world to see? Because there was evidence that I was holding my purse! Right there! In plain sight! But apparently, the excitement of flowers and last minute pillow-and-backpack-grabbing made me forget my purse when we left my apartment for the second time that day.

Alex was fantastic about the entire thing. While I spiraled into a crying, cursing mess, he kept his cool and started making phone calls to friends and family members to see what we could do about getting my ID and check card FedEx'ed to the hotel. He also had me call my doctor's office to call in 2 of my prescription pills to a local pharmacy. One reason for my major meltdown is that I am on anti-depressants and can't stand to go a day without them. I tried one time in college and it was absolutely horrible. It was my only litte piece of hell on earth and while it was memorable, not something I wantd to experience again...particuarly during my spectacular Chicago/Birthday extravaganza. I knew that without them, I'd be in the fetal position and sucking my thumb while Alex patted my head and said, "It's gonna be okay," all the while thinking, "Somebody get me out of here and away from the crazy girl!" (Side note: The receptionist at my doctor's office was a total beeyotch, ya'll. She was so pissy about helping me out and then got huffy when I told her I only needed 2 pills. Seriously, maybe she should get ON the happy pills.)

Fortunately, it all worked out okay. The fantastically kind lady at the Wal-Mart pharmacy in Somewhere, Indiana was just lovely. She was excited because she was a Leo like me and even cut the obnoxious plastic tag off of the $5 sunglasses I (read: Alex) purchased to replace the ones I left in my purse. Alex's older brother overnighted my ID, checkcard, and insurance cards to the hotel. So things were going well and it looked to be smooth sailing for the rest of the day.

And then we reached the city. There, we learned that Mapquest is a bitch.

But it was okay, really. Because after surviving the great purse meltdown of 2006, I was happy.



Tomorrow: IKEA! Trains! Museums! Angry bus drivers! Endless amounts of walking!

Way Home Back

Wrigley Field, y'all. I've been wanting to see it for almost 20 years. Ridiculous, I know. But still...it's the home of the Cubbies!

We're finally home and exhausted. Work tomorrow will be full of me sighing, yawning, and thinking, "I wish I was back in Chicago." I will, of course, e-mail Alex every hour with an udpate on my misery and he'll patiently reply with "Yes, baby. I know. Me too."

I'd also like to point out that, in addition to being poor time managers, bad navigators, and suffering from memory loss, Alex and I are also a wee bit uncoordinated. Some might even say that we are clumsy. So today, when my handsome boyfriend fought with a ketchup bottle at lunch....the ketchup won.


But that's ok, because it gave him an opportunity to change into his brand spanking new Cubs shirt.


What a stud!

More trip details and more pictures (hundreds taken!) coming soon. Preferably at a time when I am not falling asleep on the keyboard. My eyelids are very, very, very heavy.

Chi-town

Chicago!

Alex and I might be the worst time managers in the entire history of time managing. Despite our lack of skills with the clock AND navigation AND forgetfulness, we are still having a fantastic time here in the Chicagoland.

If only we were able to somehow have more energy to see even more.


Good thing there's always tomorrow.

Procrastination is my best friend!

Alex is taking me to Chicago for my birthday and we leave in t-minus 12 hours. And where is he? At the lake. Trying to get some wakeboarding in before the weekend. And what am I doing? Pouting because I'm refusing to clean his downstairs bathroom by myself. How much packing have we done? Zero. Is all the laundry done? Nope. Are the dogs and house prepared for invasion of Alex's mom, little brother, and grandparents this weekend? Hell to the no! Do I care? Not a bit. I'm not moving from my slovenly place on the couch until he gets home. And then maybe, just maybe, I'll do more. But for now, it's almost my birthday! I'll be 26 tomorrow and I'll cry if I want to!

And in the random share of the day category:
My ex-boyfriend! My ex-boyfriend!

For some reason he is holding a gun and looking tough and adult-like for possible Chinese people. I really don't know why or anything, but he sent it to me today because he was on the "cover" of the Official! Navy website. Check it kids, my little Ryan is all growed up!

That sound you hear? Is Alex's eyes falling out of his head from rolling around so much.

Quake

Blogger is pissing me off and not letting me post a picture. This totally ruins the non-chalant and cool post I was planning. A little something short and mysterious....a sweet and sly number to make me feel better about not posting all weekend. Something to remind me that, hey, I AM capable of posting something that includes paragraphs with complex sentences. :sigh: But not tonight.

Instead, I enjoyed a Caramel Chip Cheesequake Blizzard and knew that everything was going to be alright.

Blobbity Blah

Guy, the dog, pondering the deep wonders of life during Alex's cornhole tournament a few weeks ago. Who knew that throwing bean bags into holes could cause such a stir? And people always say Arkansas is boring? This is the midwest people. Beer and beanbags. Judge ye not the South.

In other news, I still have a lot and nothing to say all at the same time. I want to gush about my boyfriend and run a marathon while sitting on the couch and schooling those losers on The World Series of Pop Culture. I want to cuddle Parsnip and write a novel all while making enough money to buy out Old Navy and Kohl's so I can stop waking up every morning and thinking, I have nothing to wear. I'd also like to stop sending e-mails to Alex that include the words "need" and "baby" and "now." I'm turning 26 next week and my ovaries are aging and why can't I just fold all my clothes and put them up and stop being such a whiner and get a new job already?

Chicago!