T h e A d v e n t u r e s o f C h i c a g o J o
|2005-06-14† Ė† 6:16 p.m.|
Since Iím not up for spilling my guts or much social commentary lately, you once again get a run-down of what I did. Blah, blah, blah.
Friday was essentially a wash. I did a little shopping with hopes of crossing some needed items off my list, but there wasnít much to be had. It was supposed to be a girlís night out, but the girls went separate ways. I ended up hanging out for a couple hours, but nothing materialized because of how late it was. No big deal. I got some good sleep, and thatís become a much-needed commodity since Iím having the weird-ass dreams still.
I awoke early on Saturday and set out to meet the running group for a Saturday long run. As it happened all last week, no one showed up. So much for waiting for them ever again!
I did a great seven miles, not stopping at all until I reached mile 5. I have this strong stomach pain that comes on quickly and feels like a side stitch. However, I know thatís not what it is since I get it whether or not Iíve had food or drink, or if I am even running. After a little walking and a bunch of water, I finished the last of the miles strongly.
Knowing that I would spend the long afternoon hours in the sun, I vegged for a bit and watched Y Tu Mama Tambien. Iíd wanted to see this when it played at Dobie, the (generally) artsy/foreign film theater in Austin. However, I just never made it while it was showing. I didnít know much about it going into it, and it made it even better since I was merely drawn to its name and had no expectations. Although a coming-of-age story, it wasnít all lovey-pukey-sappy crap. Netflix it.
By then, it was time to head over to the huge volunteer event to assist them. I figured Iíve be serving hotdogs, handing out t-shirts, or doing something else lame, but they put me in the beer tent. So with beer in-hand, I directed people to the right place to get their brews.
Not too shabby. Volunteering isnít always all about cooking for scary old folks!
After the party wound down, there was still tons of beer left. We volunteers cracked several open and hung out as others did actual clean-up work. Since we werenít ready to completely part ways, we walked to the Grant Park Blues Festival with more yoinked volunteer beer in our backpacks.
By this time I had spent almost all of the day in the sun, so I was pretty well wiped. A couple hours later, two separate guys had my phone number (...with the express statement of ďYeah, you and your friends are cool. My friends would dig hanging out...Ē which, yes, I know they optimistically and promptly ignored), and I went home for a much-needed shower.
I was supposed to meet up with my friend Bunny and a few of hers, but I bailed. By 10 p.m. I was happily snoozing.
I awoke early on Sunday to do a light weights workout and to start a workout video I recently got from Netflix.
($4 says that Iíll be teaching a routine to the girl friends the next time we get together for dinner and hanging out...)
Anyway, after a little naughty working out, I left the house for mass. Iím not Catholic, but I wanted to check this place near my house out.
I was really surprised to see that the 9 oíclock congregation was mostly tourists dressed in khaki shorts and t-shirts. The Methodist church around the corner looks a lot more like a church community, so Iíll report back on that place next week.
The service was so-so, but the sermon given by the head priest was excellent. Religious matters rarely hit home for me, but this one really resonated.
The guy was talking about how Jesus said something mean about the Pagans and how his disciples shouldnít waste their time on those rotten heathens. This is obviously not very nice, what with that love-thy-neighbor stuff thatís always mentioned. Thereís lots of this in the so-called loving good book, as any anti-theist will attest.
So whatís the proper response to this text that is less than perfect?
Just be nice.
People are rotten and ungrateful and jerks, but you should be nice anyway.
Helping others might cause them to become resentful, but you should help out anyway.
Using your talents to do something great might make people think youíre a show-off, but you should do it anyway.
On and on.
Just be nice and do whatís right. The end.
This is the kind of churchly message I can go along with.
After mass I walked with this young couple in the pew in front of me to the Sears Tower. They were really nice and talkative, and I had 40 minutes to blow until my interview for the marathon documentary.
I arrived for the interview a little early, so I got to see three others also interviewing for my position and listen in on the middle one. The first was frumpy, the second was boring, and the third seemed scatterbrained.
I had the interviewers laughing at the thought of me giving tourists high-fives as I pass them and me running so slowly that the guy carrying the camera would be able to keep up with me on his own while carrying gear, so Iím sure that Iím not completely out of the running for the role. Lots of people were interviewed, so Iím not placing bets on anything.
I established that I was serious about doing it, despite any odds. And I showed that Iíd be entertaining enough to follow for several months. Now Iíll just keep my fingers crossed!
That afternoon I headed out for shopping with Bunny. Iím in need of jeans, short sleeved shirts, and closed-toe black heels in a big way. I ended up getting a pair of Express jeans on sale, but I wasnít completely convinced. Bunnyís friend recently left her with a huge stack of clothes, so I rummaged and came up with a pair of $140 jeans that turn my butt into a boo-tay.
Sorry Express. Youíre getting your jeans back.
I did score an awesome black shirt at Express, though. And it was only $12. So maybe Iíll get me some more of those with the return cash. A-ha!
As for shoes, this is going to take a while. I have two pair that fit the bill, but Iíd have to break up with both.
One pair is just too big, and no amount of insoles will stop the flipping and the flopping. The other pair fits well, but they tear the shit out of my feet.
No. And no.
So now Iím in a sea of flippy, heeled sandals while searching for the complete opposite. Boo!
Sometime this week Iíll head to the good part of town for shoes with hopes that their sales racks are outta this world and loaded with black, size 5-5.5, non-pointy, non-rounded 3-inch heels that make my feet very happy.
I also have to find some pants that fit me, as my recent weight loss has everything majorly sagging in the ass. I donít like looking frumpy, and the number of skirts that are work-acceptable is limited. Again with the Boo!
Last night I had real estate class #2. My teacher recognized that the table I sit at is the only table without drooling imbeciles or English deficiencies, and heís already taken a liking to us specifically.
Class is going well. I swear that the quizzes being given in this class are so incredibly much easier than any of the tests I took in my previous review session. Iím continuing with both as study guides, hoping that the actual licensing test is somewhere in between.
I spent the remainder of the evening reviewing for my next class and cleaning up around my house. Iíve decided to really, really clean out the office with hopes of making it a comfortable reading room or something. Itíll eventually get somewhere...
Tonightís plans include running 3 miles on the treadmill and lifting arms weights since Iím heading up to the good shoe store area in search of the above-mentioned heels and a pair of not-so-casual black sandals.
Things to look forward to this week: real estate class tomorrow night, a non-rowdy bachelorette party in the Ďburbs on Thursday, an open bar on Friday (still no drinking for me, but I can still go and have fun), an auction on Saturday morning with someone Iím trying to avoid liking me like that, and some volunteering thing on Sunday evening. You can expect a minimum of 16 miles of running too.
In sum, Libya is a land of contrast. †