My sister, Allie, came in the door carrying Australia t-shirts for Sarah and I, and an authentic didjeridu. (Also, a box of Cheerios, "In case you guys didn't have any food here.")
None of us could play the didjeridu well, just make fart noises through it.
Me: I think I'm going to start playing it out the window whenever our neighbor starts up with his drums.
My youngest sister, Allie, is coming to visit this weekend before heading off to her last semester of college (she spent the previous semester studying in Australia and New Zealand).
Sarah and I are using her impending arrival as an excuse to decorate our place a bit, so it looks more like people live there.
Mom: [on the phone] It's amazing how much home improvement is motivated by guests coming over.
Today, Sarah bought so many plants for the apartment that they barely fit in the car.
Tom and I, at work, looking at pictures of our high school reunion on Facebook.
Neither of us went. I don't think either of us put any thought into going. But right before lunch I checked Facebook and there was a photo album labeled something like 'FHS High School Reunion.'
Me: Hey, Tom, do you want to see pictures of our high school reunion?
Tom: Uh... no?
Me: They're on Facebook.
Tom: They're on your screen right now?
Me: Yep.
Tom: [sigh] Okay.
So we spent three minutes looking at pictures of people we mostly didn't recognize and saying, "that name looks familiar" and "oh, yeah, I remember that dude."
Then we went back to work.
15 years.
Sarah has used her fancy laptop to start a new blog. It's not about our apartment or, frankly, either of us at all. It's a place to post funny pictures where a stranger has accidentally walked into your shot.
Check it out here and send her some of your own pictures.
Sarah and I went along to Indiana with our friends Glynn and Brooke for Pierogi Fest.
We walked around, eating polish sausages and perogis. We listened to a man play 'Freebird' on an accordian and got our picture taken with a guy in a Mr. Pierogi costume (I'm not sure why I'm so hunched over in this picture... I must have thought I needed to get closer to Mr. Pierogi).
There were numerous stands selling t-shirts that read, "I'm With Her Because I Like Her Pierogis" and "I'm With Him Because I Like His Kielbasa." (and "Polish Ancestry: From Legal Immigrants")
In the much harder to find official souvenir stand, we bought the more straight-forward $5 Pierogi Fest t-shirts. Not surprisingly, most of the larger sizes were long since sold-out. The only shirt big enough to fit was pink, a color that is apparently not popular with obese Polish men.
There's just not much storage at our place. And I have a bad habit of keeping everything. Especially anything that has the slightest potential to be mildly funny.
Like this pen that's not really a pen, but actually extends into a pointer. I must have bought it back in my college Speech and Debate days and I've kept it ever since.
In an attempt to help me decide whether I should throw it away or not, I brought it into work this week. Occasionally during conversations I'll extend the pointer and use it to indicate some portion of an imaginary chart that I pretend is right behind me. "As you can see, our lunch options fall into three distinct categories."
It kills. Always a hit.
So, I'm keeping the pointer. And really, this has made me far less likely to throw anything away.
Sarah just bought a laptop to help her with her school work. The first computer she's ever owned.
Sarah: I love it! I'm using the computer on the couch! I'm using the computer in the kitchen! I'm watching an episode of 'LOST' on my computer in bed! It's fun to use a computer in places you don't normally use a computer. Jealous?
Me: Yes.
Sarah: I have my own iTunes now! I can have my Madonna and Ani Difranco on my computer instead of yours.
Me: And I can delete Madonna and Ani Difranco from my iTunes. Everybody wins.
Meador finally gave Hansen the lairdship documentation he bought him for Christmas. A square foot of land in Scotland that Hansen now owns.
"The land may be enjoyed by you and your heirs in perpetuity. You may also wish to know, that by ancient tradition, the ownership of land in Scotland allows you to style yourself with the title Laird (Lord) or Lady. You also have the absolute right to use the Lochaber crest which can be downloaded from our website, and wear the Lochaber Tartan."
Long live Laird Hansen!
As I've mentioned before, Tom and I have known each other a long time, and we lived together for a few years in college.
Back then I had this toy that we called the Ape Stick. An ape head on a stick with a trigger at the bottom that would make its mouth open and close. The Ape Stick amused us for hours. Making it talk. Making it eat food. And when we got bored of that, we just started hiding it in each other's things. I'd hide it in his closet. When he found it, he'd say nothing, and hide it under my pillow. Back and forth like that for months.
That was, wow, over a decade ago.
When I was packing up my stuff back in February, to move in with Sarah, I found the Ape Stick in some box I'd packed it away in, probably two or three moves ago. Since Tom and I work in the same office these days, I brought it in to work and when he was away from his desk quietly slipped it into the back of his bottom right drawer.
And waited. For months. Today, I finally decided I couldn't wait any longer.
Me: Tom, uh... you should check your bottom right drawer.
Tom: Oh, I know what's in there.
Me: Really?
Tom: I've known for a while.
Me: Wait... is it somewhere in my stuff now?
Tom: No. I've been waiting for the perfect opportunity. I wish you hadn't mentioned it.
I guess he's known about it for a couple months. I'm not sure why he didn't just hide it somewhere in my desk. Maybe he was waiting for an opportunity to hide it in my apartment. The higher the level of difficulty for hiding the Ape Stick, the greater the sense of achievement.
Which makes me realize... it's been almost half a year and I haven't invited Tom over to my new apartment yet.
Trupe: We took Viv to get some baby pictures taken. And when they show them to you, without even warning you, they have all these special options and backgrounds they've already put on there. Like, our daughter, shrunk down, trapped inside a snowglobe, with two giant Santa hands holding it up. We just want a picture of our daughter, not something where's she's in one small corner and 70% of the picture is creepy special effects.
Sarah was putting some hooks up on the wall.
Sarah: [grunting with effort] This is kind of tough. You're lucky I'm so strong.
Me: You are strong.
Sarah: You're just saying that because I'm doing work.
Me: No. You've been working out. You might be stronger than me.
Sarah: Should we arm-wrestle?
Me: Okay.
Sarah put down the screwdriver and we arm-wrestled. It was close, but I won.
Me: Well, I just beat you.
Sarah: You're stronger. So YOU should screw the rest of the hooks into the wall! Ah-ha!
Me: [picking up screwdriver] Oh man.
Sarah: I win!
Me: I knew I should have thrown that arm-wrestling match.
Drinks after the Whirled News show.
Apparently, the band Rascal Flatts did a concert in Wrigley Field, so the neighborhood was as obnoxious as it is after a Cubs game, only with more cowboy hats. And even the Hofbrauhaus, where we drank, was playing country music.
Random Middle Aged Man: Hey, do you know if there's a topless bar near here called Twister?
Me: Twister? I don't... I don't think so.
Random Middle Aged Man: We're looking for a topless bar. Someone said we should go to Twister.
Me: As far as I know there aren't any topless bars near here.
Alex: What are they asking?
Me: There aren't any topless bars near here are there?
Alex: Actually there are. There's Moe's Cantina. And... uh... Twist.
Random Middle Aged Man: Twist! That's the one.
Megan: Hold on, did he say topless or tapas?
Me: [laughing] Oh. Did you want a topless place or a place to get tapas.
Random Middle Aged Man: Say those two words again.
Alex: Are you looking for tiny food or boobs.
Random Middle Aged Man: The second.
Me: That's what I thought.
Alex: Twist is a restaurant. They have tapas. It's not topless.
Random Middle Aged Man: I've never heard that word before.
Me: It's... it's not worth going into. I'm pretty sure there's no topless places near here.
One of our neighbors is learning to play the drums. You probably can't see it in this picture, but his drums are right by a window, a window that is usually open. He's not very good, but dedicated, because he plays all the time.
His favorite thing to do seems to be to play a live CD of, say, the Dave Matthews Band, or even some live jazz, and play along, I assume imagining he's in the band. At first I wondered why he always plays along to concert albums rather than regular ones, but I think it's because this way, after each song, he gets to hear the crowd cheer him on.
Sarah and I currently have our first houseguest in our new apartment.
Sarah’s friend, Knauf, who moved to Denver a little over a year ago to (literally) join the circus. Or some kind of small cast art circus, anyway. He’s touring the country now, and Sarah invited him to stay in our guest room/computer room/sick bay.
Sarah: He’s been sleeping in a bus. He’s a carnie. A carnie sleeping in a bus.
Luckily, Sarah had just ordered some bedding for that spare bed. Unfortunately, as soon as she opened it, she said, “This is not what I ordered.” Oh well, we don’t have to sleep on it (although we do, as someone pointed out in the comments section here, sleep under a comforter that looks like a giant piece of bacon).
Sarah made the bed, and on top of the turquoise comforter, set the ironic turquoise dress she wore a few months back to a prom party. “It matches.”
Knauf immediately tried to put it on.
Oh, circus folk.
Overall, the religious Chautauqua was more laid back than I would have expected going in. Still, for a bunch of young(ish) performers, just in town for the night, there wasn't much to do after the show.
On our Special Groups pass it read, "Activities include: Chaplain's Hour, Vesper Services, Seminars, Walk the Many Paths." More importantly it explained that there was, "no alcohol."
We sheepishly asked the woman at our hotel's front desk for directions to the nearest town, you know, maybe one with a bar... and she gave us directions like it was no big deal, which I suppose it isn't.
So we had some drinks.
Me: Do many people come in here from over at the religious resort?
Bartender: Oh yeah. All the time. There's no alcohol over there. It's a big chunk of our business.
The theater at the resort is huge. Like an airport hangar. Jumbo screens on both sides of the stage so people way in the back can see.
Me: Imagine this place filled, just packed. Now imagine them all boo-ing. It would be kind of amazing, wouldn't it?
You never know how many people are going to show up for these things. A big crowd could still look pretty small in this place.
The theater staff is incredibly kind and helpful.
Event Coordinator: Obviously, you'll need to keep it pretty clean, but, you know, language-wise... you could probably get away with... oh... "shit?"
Marla: Oh really?
Padriac: I don't think we'll need to say shit.
Event Coordinator: No drug references or anything like that, although you could say something like, "Oh, I'm tipsy."
Leading up to the show, each of us at one point said some variation of, "It's the shows you're most worried about that usually end up being the best." We'd all nod. Later on someone else would say it as if it hadn't been said before. Like someone saying, "It's actually a sign of good luck," during a rainy wedding.
It turned out to be true this time. I'm not sure where they all came from, but there were somewhere between a thousand and two thousand people in the seats. You couldn't really take them all in, just deal with the audience in the front half.
I wouldn't say the show was easy, but it was fun, and they seemed to like it, even the "racy" stuff, like me saying I was the runner up for 'America's Next Bottom Model' and offering to autograph pictures of my bum.
Ohio. Another Whirled News Tonight road show.
I have to admit we were a little trepidations when we realized we were performing at a religious resort/gated community. Which is not to say that we can't do a clean show, or that we don't usually do a clean show when we're on the road, but a satirical news-based improv show seems like an odd choice for that kind of crowd. Plus "religious gated community" sounds vaguely ominous, right?
Not to mention that our parking spot is "Reserved for the Chaplain of the Week." No pressure.
It's a beautiful town(?), though. Quaint, in a Pleasantville sort of way.
Eddie: It's like that place from 'Saved By the Bell' where they worked that one summer.
Sometimes it feels good to get a number of errands done on your way back from work. Grocery store. Hardware store. Second grocery store where the produce is better. I got some shit done.
Other times it feels less good. Like, say, when you get home and realize your fly is down and the last time you used a restroom was at work. And you think, "I was just in a lot of places."
Sarah: It's okay. I'm sure no one looks at your crotch.
Me: Oh, people look at my crotch.
It's nice to have a washer and dryer in the apartment. It feels adult to not have to horde quarters for laundry day.
Except that the city recently privatized all the meter parking in Chicago and the price for public parking has skyrocketed. Now a quarter only buys you 15 minutes. In some places only 7. I rarely drive somewhere that requires meter parking anymore, but I need to keep a small fortune in quarters in my car, for the few times I do.
So, quarters are back to practically glowing when I see them, they're so important again.
It's tough to explain the genesis of inside jokes. But a conversation zigs and zags in an almost stream-of-conscious way, and you end up with something like, "this is exactly what you deserve," which has been a joke between Sarah and I lately.
This is exactly what you deserve. Exactly. The good and the bad.
This breakfast is exactly what you deserve. This relationship is exactly what you deserve.
Sarah: If we ever get married, I think that's what we should have written inside the rings. "Exactly what you deserve."
Later, though, Sarah had doubts about the phrase.
Sarah: It's not entirely nice is it? It's kind of cynical.
Me: I don't know. Maybe it's just a pragmatic way of saying we're perfect for each other.
Possible evidence that this blog is boring: the search queries that bring people here have been pretty uninteresting. Usually just the title of the blog, sometimes with the words mixed up.
Recently, though, someone from India found this blog by searching, "living together fuck picture." Someone, I guess, looking for porn with a domestic flavor.
Apparently this blog is the second choice Google offers for a "living together fuck picture" search. The first result is definitely a porn site. Then this blog. Then something about Justin Gaston and Miley Cyrus living together. Then a Facebook group called "Fuck this... I'm going to Hogwarts." Then information on a Martin Scorsese biography. So, this blog really is your second best bet.
Sarah: There will be no fuck pictures!
