sing out loud, sing out strong

Back in June, when Erica and were driving to Chicago, she commented that she never really sees people singing in their cars. I thought, "Surely she is mistaken! People always sing in cars!" but then I started paying attention to the other cars around me. This is probably something I should have already been doing while driving, but better late than never, right? Right.

Anyway, so here is what I learned:

1. People really don't like it when you stare at them
2. They are (most of the time) not singing

I don't understand this. I am ALWAYS singing in my car. I don't see the point of having a radio/CD player in your car if it's not there to help you sing. I cannot tell you how many times I've humiliated myself by belting out Journey or Kelly Clarkson or Boyz II Men (oh yes) and then realized my windows were all open and people were staring. But it happens a lot.

Who ARE you people who don't sing in the car? You are completely missing out on that feeling you get when you're driving down the road on a warm, sunny day, and the windows are all down and the wind is blowing through your hair and the perfect song comes on the radio and you think, "this is it . . . if my life were a movie, this song would be on the soundtrack." How can you not sing along?

what happens in Chicago, stays in Chicago

I was going to write this big, elaborate entry about our trip to Chicago, but the thought of reliving the weekend right now is just . . . exhausting. Yeah, I think exhausting is the right word. Anyway, here are the highlights:

• Proving once again that I should not be put in charge of anything important, I printed out the directions to Mary's old apartment rather than her new one. Luckily, we found out before we drove to the old one.
• The $7 jeans I bought at Target stretched out so much in the car ride to Chicago that it felt like I was walking around with a load of shit in my pants. Hmm, maybe that's why they were only $7.
• Boys get really mean when they're playing Madden. Also, videogame football is even worse than watching real football.
• We went to our favorite Mexican restaurant for dinner and made friends with the table next to ours. They gave us their tequila shots.
• We went to the Russian district for New Years Eve. I did not meet anyone from the Russian mafia and was very disappointed.
• Someone spilled their rum and coke DIRECTLY INTO MY EYES at Shenanigans. It turns out that burns a hell of a lot, but I recovered quickly.
• We all wore funny hats.
• Nick traded his for a shot.
• And then got a new hat.
• Steve almost got in a fight but the other guy got kicked out of the bar because it was his fault. Douchebag. The guy, not Steve.
• Heidi got lost by herself for about 15 minutes and I feared we'd never see her again.
• We went back to Mary's and were immediately tackled by her roommate.
• Then we all sat in the hallway outside their apartment and met her neighbors and their dog.
• And I don't care what anyone says, NO ONE was wearing a bow tie in that apartment. Tuxedo? Yes. Bowtie? No.
• I accidentally drove Heidi's car like a racecar and almost killed us on the drive home.
• We got lost in downtown Chicago on the way home and somehow ended up driving around underneath the city. Again, I thought we might die. We didn't, though.

THE END.

William Randolph Shakespeare once wrote in one of his plays, and I'm paraphrasing, "love doth be poison."

I bought a new mattress earlier this week and I took today off of work so I could be home for the delivery. What, it's not like they can leave it on the front porch and I can drag it up the stairs myself! I'm short and not very strong and mattresses are strange, unwieldy creatures. Luckily, when the guys came to deliver it they took my old mattress and box spring but, as my mom instructed me, I did not tell them that Phoebe had previously used the mattress for a toilet. They can figure that out on their own, you know, if they smell one side of it. It's gross, is what I'm saying, but no longer my problem. Oh. SNAP.

I was just reading the Do's and Dont's on the back of my warranty brochure. I mean, most of it is common sense, like don't light a fire near your bed and don't let dirty, little children pee on it. I don't have children, dirty or otherwise, and I hardly ever light fires in the house anymore, so I think I'm safe. My favorite, though? "Don't let anyone stand or jump on your mattress. It was not built for that kind of weight concentration or abuse." Probably I should have read that part sooner.

Since I had the rest of the day off, I've been pretty bored. I did a load of laundry, went to the ATM OK FINE and also to New York & Co, watched two episodes of House, drank half a pot of coffee, and now I'm in the middle of packing for Chicago. It's a long process. Anyway, here is what my bed looks like now:

It looked a lot better before I threw all that shit all over it. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

PS: You may ask yourself just how many pairs of black shoes one person needs to take on a two day trip to Chicago. The answer is: at least four, maybe more. It's easy to remember because it rhymes. FYI.