Daisy

Snowmageddon

January 31, 2011
By

If you live in the Midwest and don’t reside under a rock, you are probably aware that a blizzard of epic proportions is being forecast for our area.

SNOWMAGEDDON!

SNOWPOCALYPSE!

RUN FOR YOUR LIVES. OR, UM, AT LEAST BE SURE YOU HAVE SOME GROCERIES. AND BOOZE.

All you rock dwellers can thank me later.

On one hand, I roll my eyes. According to my highly scientific calculations the last 49 storm warnings for Chicago have come and gone with little fan fare.

STORM OF THE CENTURY = eh, it sort of rained for a little while.

BLIZZARD, AHHHH = yeah, Northwest Indiana got slammed but Chicago had a light powdered sugar dusting.

TORNADOES = hmm, yeah things got dicey for 2 minutes before revealing a spectacular rainbow.

See my point?

On the other hand though (come on, you knew I was going to have a counter-point) I have great respect of weather ingrained into my brain. The daughter of a pilot and the wife of a sailor learns to respect Mother Nature and her fickle ways. My husband has (oh he is going to kill me for admitting this to y’all) no less than five weather applications on his phone, and spends inordinate amounts of time studying buoy-readings and wind patterns and my Dad is always calling him to discuss barometer levels and cloud readings and thisthatsnooozeee…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Yeah. I just wait for them to tell me that forgetting a rain coat or a scarf would be a poor idea and then I do as they tell me. I for one only have three weather applications on my phone.

All of this said, respect and the Weathermen Who Cry Wolf aside, I’ve been privy to some amazing weather feats.

When I was much younger we had close family friends go through Hurricane Hugo only to move to Miami and lose everything to Hurricane Andrew weeks after we visited them.

In high school my Dad and I dealt with a deep fried turkey fire in the midst of the Salt Lake City tornado (note: hail + boiling oil doesn’t mix so well).

Then I moved to New Orleans where I evacuated from Hurriance Isidore, Hurriance Lili & then Hurricane Ivan. I moved to Chicago one month before Katrina struck. You learn to respect Mother Nature quite quickly when you pack up as much as you can with a car you are sharing with four others and pray that the rest is there when you return…or when you know that you were simply lucky with your timing. Finally, you can’t help but pay a little more attention when your close friend reminds you as the Stormageddon approaches that she is a Lineman’s Wife , which is a sobering thought for anyone who wants their power to stay on during bad weather.

Combined with some Friday travel plans that involve words like “vacation” and “time off” I’m just going to hope that this Snowmageddon comes and goes in peace. If I get some hot chocolate and a romp through the park with the puppy in some fresh white stuff I’ll be happy, but my Thursday work schedule (meetings back to back to back to back) plus my impending vacation keep my fingers crossed for less of a wallop and more of a dusting. Either way, I’ve got plenty of milk and lots of batteries for my flashlight.

 

Pearly Whites

January 28, 2011
By

Things I’m Very Good About Doing In A Timely Manner:

  • Filing my taxes
  • Christmas shopping
  • Washing my make-up brushes
  • Cleaning out my refrigerator
  • Going to the dermatologist

Things I’m Very Bad About Doing In A Timely Manner:

  • Going to the post office
  • Cleaning out my closet
  • Picking up my dry cleaning
  • Going to the dentist

Last week on Twitter I confessed that it had been years since I had been to the dentist and the response was overwhelming and in two very distinct camps. People were either of the mindset that I was the grossest person ever and should go join Jessica Simpson on her poor-oral-hygiene island. The other half sheepishly admitted they too were delinquent in their dental visits, many confessing it had been significantly longer than my measly 3-ish years.

In my defense, my old dentist was my ex-boyfriend’s family dentist out in the suburbs of Chicago. I used to go out, get my teeth cleaned and join his family for dinner before taking the train home.

Now?

Not so much.

My best friend here in Chicago comes from a long line of well-known dentists and last week while we were having cocktails I mentioned that it had been..awhile…since my last check up. She was appalled and pulled out the big guns: she threatened to tell her Mother. Her Mother is an imposing woman who I love dearly and the thought of being lectured by her made my skin crawl so the next day I pulled out a dog eared magazine with a list of the best dentist’s in Chicago that I had been saving for quite some time. You know, when I got around to it. One day. I found a dentist who seemed to specialize in dentistry and not cosmetic procedures because I hate feeling pressured for a whitening I don’t really need, much less veneers or bling. My teeth are pretty enough thankyouverymuch.

B and I both trudged in and got the full blown lecture. We both have cavities and I have to go back in 4 months for another cleaning, but we seem to have escaped any permanent damage. We have strict orders to floss daily and invest in a fancy electric toothbrush and we are now balancing the OralB versus the Sonicare, back and forth. Coupons for one, rebates for another, back and forth we go. Which one? Which model? Two bases? One?

If you fall into my camp of “eh, they are just teeth” then please, hightail it to your dentist and get those suckered polished up real nice. If you think I’m gross and disgusting, then please, by all means, bestow upon me your electric toothbrush wisdom, advice and coupons. And/or wholesale ordering number because my oh my, those brushes are an investment. Just like my cosmetic brushes. That I wash once a week with rubbing alcohol followed baby shampoo, to keep my complexion glowing. Just like my teeth.

Discombobulated

January 26, 2011
By

I had a really great post planned for today about going to the dentist, and how I’m really bad at going in a timely manner and that I should serve as your warning beacon.

It contained wit & toothpaste, a great combo if I’ve ever heard of one. Also: massaging dentist chairs! You would have loved it.

So, there I was, sipping coffee, flexing my fingers and getting ready to wow the blogosphere with my prose when I was confronted with a package. I don’t get packages at work very often so you can imagine my surprise when I opened it and it was a candy bowl from Tiffany & Co., courtesy of my company regarding a new thing I’m working on.

It is enough to send any girl into a small tizzy.

Then my phone rang, and sadly it was news of a family member who is ill. It is always a sinking feeling when your phone rings before 7:30 in the morning, and any good thoughts would be appreciated. It was such an odd feeling, flying high (crystal!) to sinking low (illness!) in such a short span of time.

And then, as I was already spinning, my phone rang again and this time it was my most beloved law school professor, which as much as I love this person was shocking because how often does a former professor call you before 8:00 in the morning?

Exactly.

So please excuse my flustered state and instead tell me what the most surprising (in a good way) thing you ever opened was. Preferably of the family-rated variety.

Also, I’d be remiss if I didn’t remind you to go to the dentist. You will thank me.

These shiny new buttons (directly below this) will let you share any of my posts that you like with the world wide web in just one click. Unless of course you don’t like them. In that case, I’m sure you’ll leave a lovely comment under the name of Anonymous. I’m pretty much a mind reader like that.

Under-Rated

January 24, 2011
By

B and I have begun timidly house-hunting.

Our current housing situation was cruising along just fine (renting a condo from a developer, batting the idea back and forth of buying in the building, deciding yes we would like to buy in the building only to have the whole situation come crashing down over the course of a week with a whole lotta weird going on in our building that I just can’t even articulate because: OMG, IT WAS REALLY WEIRD Y’ALL) until it wasn’t and now…now we are considering moving.

I personally think moving is one of those horrifically under-rated situations in life. It is similar to what I imagine having a baby must be like- seems like a great idea before hand and as it grows closer and closer you start smacking yourself randomly throughout the day.

WHY did we think this was a good idea?

WORST IDEA EVER.

Just how are we going to manage this?

Having a baby seems to bring a nicer ending to the story, at least a softer, cuddlier one.

Moving just means paper cuts and packing tape that is perpetually stuck to the back of your leg. Moving means way too much pizza and dealing with forwarded mail, which, helpful hint, is never forwarded in a timely manner. Sure, you will get your Pottery Barn catalogs within days but that important document regarding the renewal of your attorney’s license will simply float in the nether regions of the US while you grow more and more panicked with each passing day.

Moving means breaking that one sentimental vase or place setting of china. Moving means losing your favorite pair of pajama pants, even though there is no logical explanation for their disappearance.

Moving brings two equally horrific scenarios:

1) Hire movers, who always charge approximately one weeks salary per hour and always go at least 3 hours over their “estimated” time, insult you for not tipping enough and always manage to break something or;

2) Move yourself, which involves at least one friendship-ending situation due to the so called “friend” who backs out the morning of, another friendship-ending situation for the dolt who drops your couch/computer/television and another friendship-ending situation when your friend with the truck shows up either 3 hours late or with the back of their vehicle inexplicably filled with their gym gear, bicycle and other space-stealing, unwieldy items.

Gee, which one would you pick?

Also, and I’m just taking a wild guess here, but I’m assuming our “delicate” dog isn’t going to take to the process very well.

Moving always reminds me of my well documented and slightly unhealthy obsession with crystal, china and other dishes. Mostly as I try to find enough bubble wrap in the back of my coat closet to wrap all of it because bubble wrap is expensive, and by that point I’ve already blown the moving budget on over-priced boxes and Sharpie markers to wrap up all my lovelies, and then I start thinking that collecting postcards? Way easier.

I suppose all I’m saying is that we could use your prayers, moving trucks and extra bubble wrap. And some sedatives.

For me, not the dog.

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