Warning: Objects In Photo are Less Mature than They Appear

This first pic was snapped at Chuck E Cheese last night (Jonathan does not consider a birthday officially celebrated without a visit). It's me with my younger siblings. When in the world did we start looking so grown up? I remember when these two put a stuffed football in the seat of their pants so that it wouldn't hurt when they were spanked.

And I do believe Angela and I have been living in the same house for a few days too many... we showed up for our Chuck E night on the town in almost the same dress.

Small Town Parade, Big Time Benefit

Party Favors. Or is it Potty Favors? Either way, thanks Roto Rooter.

The View From Here

Credit Where Credit is Due

Lake Michigan has some fabulous beaches.

Angela and me. One of us is a member of the country club pool across the road; one of us... is not. Which is which?

This Sign is for Your Own Good

Because if you put anything other than water in them, these courteous cups turn mean.

You're So Vain, You Probably Think This Blog is About You

(Props to Carly Simon for some more clever songwriting)

But it's not about you.
It's about me. I'm the one who is so vain.
And I've never realized to what extent until these past few weeks. In preparation for LASIK surgery, I'm required to wear my glasses rather than my contacts for two weeks prior. Mind you, my glasses are... outdated? Past their prime? (If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all). I bought them before Chloe was born, which means they're at least nine years old. Nine years, I said. And while they're not thick because I paid the extra 35 dollars to have them squished and polished, they are really the world's thickest coke bottles in thinly veiled disguise. So my eyes... and the area around my eyes... becomes all distorted when you look at them thru my glasses. But I can see more than just the blurry smash of color when I wear them, so that's good.

Anyblind, I've noticed how incredibly self conscious I am wearing my glasses. It feels like I'm not worthy to make eye contact with other pedestrians on the sidewalk. Like people look at me then look quickly away. As if my glasses offend them.

Like someone is calling What Not To Wear right. this. second.

I want to screen print a t-shirt that proclaims "I'm having eye surgery. That's why."And people would read it and nod and sigh, now understanding why a person would make such an horrific fashion faux pas.

What? Cmon. How vain is that? I suppose we all have our things... I know some women who won't leave the apartment with wearing mascara (oh, wait, that's me too), or who won't wear off- brand jeans, or who hide at home when they have a cold sore on their lip. For me, it's been these stupid ugly glasses. I like to make myself feel guilty with my own version of "Eat your dinner! There are starving children in China!" I remind myself that there are people in the world who need glasses and would be thrilled to have my specs. But then I just feel guilty AND vain. So what good is that?

So, Do You Pee Here Often? (aka Urine for a Great Surprise)

At a nebulous point in the past few years I've learned to become a little more oblivious to the people around me in this city. Well, I take that back -- there are times when I deliberately tune in to the humanity that swirls deliciously around me, and I'm still enthralled and entertained by it all. But it's not my default anymore. The default is to move through without as much notice, so as to not be overloaded with the details of it all.

Anyway. On to my story.

So today I'm standing on the corner and partially blocking the front of a pay phone booth - not a real Superman-style telephone booth, or a quaint red London-style booth, but a gritty New York half-booth that is more just a three-sided shell that begins waist high and is covered with stickers and graffiti. Many times they don't even have a receiver because someone has decided a yellow pay phone receiver is Just the Thing They Need and cut it off. But this one did have a receiver, so when a man walked up and said, "May I please make a call?" with such correct grammar and polite-ivity, I quickly stepped to the side of the booth to make room for him and allow him some three sided, waist up, pay phone privacy. And I went on to not noticing him anymore.

Until.

Well, do you remember when I first moved here, and I warned you that mysteriousness drips on your head quite a bit? And when it happens you squint your eyes and cross your fingers and hope that it's a gift from the nearby air conditioner and not the nearby pigeon? Remember that? Well, I've kinda become immune to the drips as well, so when a little bit of something wet dusted my Old Navy flip flop shod left foot, I sadly didn't immediately tune in. No, no. I waited until a little something more graced my baby toe until I looked and realized that while my polite friend may have been holding the receiver with his right hand, he was holding something else with his left hand. And was peeing. Directly on the sidewalk. 6 inches away from my foot.

(Go ahead, shudder as you imagine how far liquid can ricochet off a hard surface. It was reality for me, my friends.)

I don't think him polite any longer.

In honor of this occasion, enjoy the world premiere of this original work of poetry, written by an extremely talented but anonymous author:

There once was an inebriated man
Faked a call and instead used the can.
The sidewalk his aim
But my foot's not the same.
Broadway peeing they really should ban.

Ah, yes. See how cultured I've become since moving here?

Enough. I'm not being facetious when I say I do love this city.