Lola In The City

Midlife Crisis

Wed, 23 May 2012 00:35:00 +0000

Well, I had a birthday a few weeks ago. The number is unimportant but I think it is safe to say (if we're thinking optimistically) I have reached the middle part of my life. Maybe that explains some of the things I have signed up to do in the next few months.

Those who know me well know how I like to spend my time. Eating, drinking booze and going to rock'n'roll shows. The most death-defying I get is riding the green line or leaving Double Door alone at 1:00AM. The majority of my exercise comes from dancing and throwing the occasional elbow at a punk show. So it must be a midlife crisis that has led me to sign up for kayaking, skydiving and (most recently) a boot camp training class.

Shall I repeat that, perhaps in a bullet pointed list?

Kayaking
Skydiving
Boot camp training class

WHO AM I??? This is not me.

OK, kayaking isn't that big a deal. I have canoed since I was a little kid. Some of my happiest memories of both my dad and my ex-husband involve canoeing. But this is on the Chicago River where there is the risk of coming into contact with toxic waste, flesh eating bacteria, dead bodies and apparently gators.

But skydiving??? What the hell am I thinking? The very thought of this still makes me want to throw up. I don't even like to fly commercially without a cocktail (or two) first. Now I am going to get in a tiny little plane (you know, like the one Buddy Holly died in) and THEN JUMP OUT OF IT. Oh, god. I'm gonna be sick.

And now boot camp. Honestly, I know what made me do that. I don't want to be the fatty whose harness snaps skydiving.

If I am having a midlife crisis shouldn't I be buying a sports car and having an affair with an inappropriately younger, disproportionately hot guy? That sounds like a lot more fun. Or is just men who get to have that kind of midlife crisis. Fucking figures.

I guess I should just be thankful this little crisis didn't drive me to try on-line dating again.

Pick-up Lines

Sat, 07 Apr 2012 19:20:00 +0000

You know what is NOT a good pick-up line. A lengthy description of the engineering of the steel structure of the historic building you work in followed by, "Come with me. I'll show you where you can see one of the I beams." Not hot. At least the handsome Danish architect who was at an event at work last night didn't think so. But I just can't stop myself! I love my job and I love to talk about the building. One of these days I will learn that my brain is never going to get me a date.

But then last weekend a guy came up to me while his friend was hitting on my friend (we were mutual wingmen) and said, "Were you talking about papal statues?"

Me: "PAPAL statues?"

Him: "Yeah."

Me: "As in statues of the pope?"

Him: "Yeah. That seems like an interesting conversation."

Me: "That does seem like it would be an interesting conversation, but definitely NOT one that is happening now. Shall we change the subject?"

So, apparently I either need to dumb it down or I need to brush up on my papal art.

(Funny side note: On the way home that night my friend referred to the Flamingo sculpture in Federal Plaza as the Picasso. I said, "That's not the Picasso. That's a Calder." To which she replied, "Art snob." So maybe I do need to dumb it down.)

Best Laid Plans

Sat, 24 Mar 2012 14:55:00 +0000

Here was my plan for last night:

Curl up on the couch with the dog
Watch a documentary about industrial design while drinking a whiskey
Take some night time cold medicine to fight the allergy/cold/snot infestation I have been battling all week
Go to bed early and read for a while
Get a good night's sleep

Here is what happened:

Curled up on the couch with the dog
Watched a documentary about industrial design while drinking a whiskey
Took some night time cold medicine to fight the allergy/cold/snot infestation I have been battling all week
Went to bed early and read for a while
Got a text message from a friend saying, "We're going to hear a French punk band at Empty Bottle. Want to go?"
Explained my evening to that point and said it was probably a bad idea
He said, "Colds are for dorks. You're not a dork?!?!?" (Debatable. I did just watch a documentary about industrial design...and enjoyed it)
Got up. Got dressed. Slapped on some make up.
Caught the #49 bus to Empty Bottle to hear a French punk band and drink a few beers

Once again proving myself to be a shining example of mature, responsible, adult behavior. Eh, fuck it. I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Overheard on the Patio

Thu, 22 Mar 2012 23:00:00 +0000

I love my friend, Rashby. There is no one else I am equally comfortable talking to about books and architecture as I am about vibrators and favorite sex positions. No one has given me better perspective on my dating life. Our conversations are always interesting, stimulating and often vulgar. She is one of those friends who if I needed to...say...hide a body, I'm calling her. As long as it's not urgent (she can be really slow returning messages sometimes).

That is why the other day when my house guest was entertaining a guest of her own I contacted Rashby and said, "What are you doing right now? I need to get the fuck out of my apartment?" Her response? "I can be on the train in 10 minutes." We decided to make the most of the unseasonably beautiful weather and enjoy a beer or two (or six) on the patio of one of our favorite spots.

What follows are just a few snippets from our conversation that day, including a few guests who stopped by our table. We actually started writing stuff down because we were so tickled with ourselves (the people at the next table probably not so much). I think it is more fun to leave these remarks out of context, although there are definitely some noticeable themes. I am also going to refrain from indicating who said what. I will let you guess.

"You have to MacGyver a chode into your vagina with butter and nylons."
"I think you should keep dairy away from your vagina."
"Is that the first time you wrote 'chode' on a napkin?"
"I told him I would read 'Jane Eyre' when I was done with 'The Hunger Games.'"
"There is a naked man in my apartment and I am not there"
"That is drifter dick. It is a nomadic penis."
"Face to face is one thing but face to genitalia..."
"Do you want to order the Jameson ice cream?" "Sure. Should we tell her we won't put it in our vaginas?"
"I DO love concrete!"
"You're lucky I'm wearing underwear."
"I think that is where my love affair with queso started."
"You'd better hop in the shower and while you're at it hose down my apartment, you slut."
"Fucking 'A' key!"
"When I was masturbating for an hour yesterday..." "An hour!?!?! I want to date YOU."
"It would be nice to have had an actual dick in my vagina."
"Do you want to go to a lecture about chairs with me?" "Hell yeah!"
"I just smell like wood chips and ham." "Don't go away! Let us sniff you!"
"I prefer to save my crack for after work."
"I can't meet up with you because I'm drunk in a gutter."
"Dogs are like children. Cats are like roommates."

My life may be a shit show sometimes. But at least it is a show with a great cast of characters.

There Is A Naked Man on My Couch: The Elizabeth Murphy Story

Mon, 19 Mar 2012 17:45:00 +0000

So, I woke up yesterday morning to find a naked man on my couch. Yeah, I know what you're saying. "You're doing it wrong." No worries. He wasn't alone. He was with my friend who was visiting for the weekend. After not seeing each other for 25 years I really thought I could write a lovely story about reuniting with an old friend, reminiscing about friends and teachers, doing our nails and hours of girl talk. And while all of that did happen, this is me we're talking about. It could never be that simple.

I can't fault her for finding a boy toy while in town. Good for her. It was her vacation. What bothers me about the situation (other than the fact they were on my couch when I woke up...because I have a guest room...with a door...that closes...not that they would know since they left it open when they eventually moved in there) is that this piece of man-meat actually seemed to have a brain. I certainly didn't expect that to be the case when she first brought him over to where we were sitting. But he and I started having an actual, grown-up conversation (shut up, I have those sometimes). We were talking about books and politics while my friend chugged her cheap beer and chimed in with, "I don't really like to read books." But she did like him. And he seemed to like that she liked him. So when that became clear I stepped aside (or more accurately, over to the bar).

If the story ended there (or more accurately, on my couch) it would just be an amusing story. But no. I can't even have a simple woke-up-to-find-a-naked-man-on-my-couch story without there being more to it. While BFF was outside having a cigarette, Man-Meat came up to me to say he really liked me. He enjoyed our conversation. He thought I was pretty. But since BFF was making her...ummm...amorous intentions very clear he was sticking with her. Unless, of course, I wanted to step up my game. (I'm paraphrasing but that was the gist of the conversation.) What the fuck? Seriously, dude. Obviously this proved that he was an unworthy fucktard who was thinking with the brain in his pants. And I guess I shouldn't really be surprised. But how do you say to someone, "I like you better. I think you're interesting. But I'm going to go with the person I know will put out." It just proves once again that all the things I like about myself don't mean shit, even on the rare occasion when a man recognizes those things. As long as there is someone prettier, younger, skinnier, sluttier (and there always is) it doesn't matter how funny, smart, interesting I may be. If I am not willing to play the game, I am going to be sitting on the bench (or more accurately, on the bar stool)(and when the hell did I start writing in sports analogies???). Ask any of my friends who enjoy spending their evenings playing board games. I fucking hate playing games.

The good news is I truly have given up on finding someone. And (most of the time) I am OK with that. However, I could do without the harsh reminders of why I have given up. And more good news - I got to see a hot naked guy this weekend!

Ball Gowns and Fire Trucks

Sun, 04 Mar 2012 18:45:00 +0000

I know what you want. You want one of those oh-so-hilarious stories about some awful date. Well, tough shit. Because 1. my romantic entanglements have been few and far between in the last few months and 2. those that I have had have been disappointing and frustrating and I just fail to see the humor in it any more. But you know what I do find humorous? Last night's events.

It started like a pretty typical Saturday evening. I was headed to the Metro with Andrew, my dear friend and fellow weird music fan, especially if it has an international flair. Together we have seen Finnish, Swedish, Syrian, Balkan, and now Israeli based bands. Aside from a stalled red line train and a traffic jammed cab ride, it was, as I said, a pretty typical evening. A few beers, a lot of dancing. Good times.

Before heading to the show I got a text message from my friend Aja, oh she of abundant moxie. Since it was such a beautiful night there were plans for a fire and drinks in the backyard of the Gypsyhut. I asked if it would still be happening when the show was over. Her response? "Could rage all night." More prophetic words were never spoken. We arrived around 1:00AM to find people dancing to Thin Lizzy and drinking apple pie moon shine. Now that's what I call a party!

At some point Aja decided to change into her full length, shoulder padded black and gold sequined dress and gold sequined ballet flats. Now if you know Aja, you probably aren't surprised by this decision one little bit. And if you don't know Aja...well then I am just sad for you. About the same time this wardrobe change occurred Andrew started talking about heading to a 4:00AM bar. There was someone asleep on the couch and a few other people were leaving so it seemed like a good time to move the party elsewhere. So we headed out, Andrew and I both wearing cowboy boots, Aja in her sequined ball gown and shoes.

By this time it was probably 2:30-3:00AM so the lines for the late night bars were...unfortunate. But we finally got in and I was reminded why I rarely go to those places. There comes a time when most drunk people should be home in bed and that time is typically around 2:00AM. But we got our beers and headed to the back of the bar where Andrew ran into someone he knew. In fact I don't think I have ever been out with Andrew that he hasn't run into someone he knows. This person knew of a party that was happening just a few blocks away. Being the adventurous types we decided to check it out. Why not?

When we arrived we were directed around to the back of an apartment building. We headed up the first flight of stairs and were met by a "door man" who very kindly and energetically requested a "karmic donation." We each handed him a couple of bucks and headed up two more flights of stairs to find ourselves in an attic with about 15 other people, including a DJ and a guy (who Andrew knew) standing at a mini-fridge selling cans of Old Milwaukee for a $1 and shots of I don't know what for $2. Again, being the adventurous types, we each had one of each. In my opinion, this was a much better vibe than the bar we had just left. And I say that even though it is at this point in the evening that I learned that when Andrew and I first met he thought I was the girlfriend of a mutual friend's father. He was kind enough to clarify that he thought I was his much younger girlfriend. This story made me laugh so hard I had to pee. Aja and I being girls decided to find the bathroom together. When we returned to the party she said, "Dammit! I left my coat in the bathroom. Oh, well. I'll get it on the way out."

About 30 minutes later I thought I smelled smoke. But since so many people were smoking cigarettes it didn't occur to me that I was smelling SMOKE smoke. That is not until someone came upstairs and calmly said, "Um, there is a fire in the bathroom downstairs. You might want to leave." This would be the same bathroom where Aja left her coat, now serving as kindling for the fire below. Everyone calmly started filing out into the smoke filled stairway and exited the building. It wasn't until we got outside that the hosts got a little panicked and said, "Really, get out of here! The fire trucks are on their way!"

This is probably around 4:30 or 5:00AM. Most normal people would have called it a night at this point, especially since one of us no longer had a coat. But we are not most normal people. And we were hungry. So we headed back to the Gypsyhut where we ate animal crackers and discovered that the newest gypsy is either evil incarnate or a robot considering his hatred of cheese and the Beatles. (How do people like this live with themselves???) Of course, we were only killing time until someone arrived at the restaurant where Aja sometimes works. Our plan was to try to score some day old pizza...a plan that failed miserably.

So we finally decided to stumble home around 7:00AM. We stepped outside to see a beautiful blue sky and the sun just starting to shine. I arrived at my apartment to the sounds and smells of my neighbors fixing breakfast. A quick walk with Lola and then I stripped down and fell into bed as the sun started to peak through my bedroom window.

I am tempted to say I am getting too old for this shit. But then again, maybe this is what keeps me young.

Let the Music Play

Tue, 06 Dec 2011 02:15:00 +0000

Someone recently suggested that since I am no longer dating (and I have now decided to think of this as a "lifestyle choice" rather than a sad state of affairs) I should start reviewing all of the music I go hear. Because while I may not be dating, I am certainly not sitting home like some sort of wall flower. And if I am going to go do stuff by myself I might as well do what I love...which is listening to live music.

But let's be honest. I'm not really qualified to be a music reviewer. I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket so perhaps I am not the most qualified to give a critical review. I guess I could share what I've been seeing and hearing. In fact, now that I think about it, I wish I had started this sooner. I've seen some really good shows in the last several months and there are actually some pretty good stories. Like the night a security guard hit me in the head with his Mag light at Dropkick Murphys. Or the look of joy on my gay boyfriend's face when he saw all the shirtless young men in the mosh pit at Social Distortion (and people wonder why I like them). There was the admiration I received at the Meat Puppets when two guys saw me shove a dude who was a good 8" taller than me out of my way. Of course, there was the night I went to see Movits, my favorite Swedish jazz/swing/hip hop band. Or Black Bear Combo whose line up includes a tuba and an accordion. They opened for Omar Souleyman whose music was described as "better suited to the culturally curious, to budding musicologists or to people who eat pills and dance." It's true.

But these are stories whose time has passed. So I will start with this weekend.

One of my first memories of Music That Is Cool was seeing Stray Cats on Saturday Night Live when I was in the 7th grade. Sure, I still feel a sense of nostalgia when I hear Shaun Cassiday or KC and the Sunshine Band. But Stray Cats were the first band I heard and thought, "Wow! That is cool!!!" And I have not changed my mind in all of these years. So when I learned that Stray Cats front man, Brian Setzer, was bringing his Rockabilly Riot to the House of Blues I was there! I've been around for a while. I have always loved music. I was married to a guy who loved music. I had that thing with Rock Star. So I have seen more than a few shows in my day. Believe me when I say that this was one of the BEST. SHOWS. EVER! In my opinion, there is just something about pure, ol' fashioned rock 'n' roll. Music just for the sake of music. There was no fancy light show. No special effects. But what a show! Sure, maybe Brian Setzer's pompadour isn't as high as it used to be. And maybe his tattoos are starting to fade. But he has not slowed down one bit. In fact it took two drummers (one of which was the original drummer for Stray Cats) and two bass players to keep up with him. The best was when they were all on stage together. I loved it! The crowd loved it! Even the man himself didn't seem to want it to end. After the second encore he was signing an autograph (did I mention he autographed someone's guitar - how cool is that???). Everyone else had left the stage. The lights were coming up and the canned music was starting to play ("C'mon Everybody" by Eddie Cochran). He was up there by himself and just started playing along as he slowly strolled off stage. It was magical!

This show alone would have made for a great weekend of music. But there was more! On Saturday night I went to see my friends' band, The New World Ancients, at Subterranean. These guys are awesome and I am not just saying that because I know them. Hell, I'd probably like the band better if I didn't actually know them. (I'm kidding, I'm kidding.) Many of you reading this know these guys (and hopefully agree with me). But if you don't know them go to their website RIGHT NOW. Download "Shapeshifter." Pre-order their CD. Like them on Facebook. I'll wait...

Was I right or was I right?

They opened for a band called Savvy (whose name will be changing sometime in the near future). Remember what I said about music for the sake of music? No fancy light show? No special effects? Well, fuck that shit! This could not have been any further from that concept and it was amazing! I am not sure how to describe them other than to say that from what I understand many of their members are now in a Talking Heads tribute band (This Might Be The Band - I've seen them and also pretty amazing). This particular show was called The ACTual Show where they were acting out many of the songs. That includes a song titled "It's About How My Face and Balls Itched Real Bad for About a Week." I will let your imagination run with that one. The show also included spoken word, people painted in black light paint and the lead singer getting his head shaved on stage. I loved every second of it and want to see more!

How do you top that? By going to see a Polish Christmas concert the next afternoon.

Some of my favorite Celtic punk bands have shows in the next few months and I found out today the Reverend Horton Heat is coming back to town in March! There are sure to be some good stories from those shows so stay tuned.

Story of My F***ing Life!

Thu, 01 Dec 2011 01:45:00 +0000

I have to admit. I have pretty much given up hope of meeting a man who at some point doesn't make me want to smother him in his sleep. But that doesn't mean there aren't moments when that hope flares up like million hot suns only to burn out like a dying star. Tonight on my way home from work, I had one of those moments.

I noticed a guy on the train, standing about where I usually stand. He was tall, broad shouldered, ruggedly handsome (but not so handsome as to be out of my league), there was no sign of a wedding ring or any indication he might be gay. But I am not shallow or obsessed with looks (although I am obsessed with single and straight). These are not the things that grabbed my attention. It was what he was reading - "Blood Sucking Fiends" by Christopher Moore. CHRISTOPHER MOORE! He was reading CHRISTOPHER MOORE!!!

I love Christopher Moore. He is by far one of my favorite authors. No one makes me belly laugh out loud in public like Christopher Moore. No one rocks my stripey socks like Christopher Moore. No one makes me want to commit heinous fuckery like Christopher Moore. And thanks to Christopher Moore I know there is always a fucking ghost.

"Gee, Elizabeth...what's the problem?" (There is always a fucking problem.)

Imagine my joy this evening at finding a seat when getting on the blue line at Clark/Lake. I almost never get a seat on the blue line, certainly not at rush hour. I made myself comfy and proceed to bebop along to The Undertones on my iPod. I didn't notice him until somewhere between Grand and Chicago. I have never been so suddenly disappointed to have a seat on the train. I found myself trying to figure out how to gracefully get up with my four bottles of wine I just bought, push my way through half a train car full of people and nonchalantly mention that he was reading one of my favorite books. You know, all cool and Meg Ryan/Julia Roberts like.

Sadly, we will never know how I would fare as a romantic comedy leading lady. He got off at the next stop. So, as usual, instead of my life being a romantic comedy, it continues to be one of those gritty, real, depressing, independent films. You know, the kind that is critically acclaimed but makes no money because nobody wants to pay to see that shit. But hey, I have four bottles of wine. Maybe I'll go read some Christopher Moore.

Beauty Queen

Sat, 26 Nov 2011 16:00:00 +0000

I find it troubling how often I am inclined to start with a reminder of my age. I don't know if I do that for you or for me. But let's be honest. By the time you are 42 there are certain things you should know better. One of those things is how NOT to get a hairbrush stuck in your hair. Sure, there may be the occasional tangle mishap. But once you are past the age of...oh, lets say 12...those mishaps should not take 4-1/2 hours, canola oil, hair conditioner, manicure scissors and two friends to get it untangled. And it definitely shouldn't involve one of those friends standing on your couch straddling your shoulders and pulling while the other holds your scalp. And yet, that is exactly what happened to me yesterday.

It all started with the purchase of a very small round hairbrush to use on my bangs. But being a girl and never satisfied with what I have I wondered if this very small round hairbrush would work to make my very straight hair curly. So I tested it out. The answer is no. It did, however, become very well lodged in my hair close to the scalp. So I pulled a little. Then I wiggled it a little. Then I texted my sister:

Me: "I am 42 years old and I have a hairbrush stuck in my hair."

Amanda: "Ummm...I don't even know how to respond other than laugh hysterically." (That's sisterly love for you.)

Me: "No tips on how to get it out???"

Amanda: "Ummm...conditioner? Mom wants to know how"

Me: "I was trying to see if the new brush I got would give me some curl. The answer is no."

Amanda: "Apparently...hahahahahahaaaahahahaha!!!!!"

Amanda (just moments later): "Heheheheheeee...snort."

But after about 10 minutes I started to panic. I tried wetting it (which I have since learned is an absolute no-no.) I put conditioner in it. I got in the shower hoping the conditioner/water combo would do something. It did. It got it more tangled. I even looked in my "How to Fix Everything Book." Nada. So then I called my mommy. She and my sister were on-line giving me suggestion, one of which was using cooking oil, butter or lard. Out came the canola oil (I didn't want to waste my olive oil!). Still no luck. Then I started trying to snip of the ends of the bristles which was pretty scary. I really couldn't see due to the placement of the brush and the canola oil running in my eyes. Finally my mom said, "Isn't there someone you can call to come over and help you?"

For the record I hate, HATE asking people for help. So much so that I spent 5 minutes arguing with a nurse last year that I would be just fine taking the el home after being under anesthesia for a medical procedure. I didn't want to ask someone to pick my up from the hospital. So you can just imagine how I felt about asking for help in this situation. But I broke down and called my friend Lindsey:

Me: "What are you doing?"

Lindsey: "Watching Restaurant Impossible in my pajamas. Why?"

Me: "Do you think you could come over and help me with something?"

Lindsey: "Sure, what is it?"

Me: "I have had a hairbrush stuck in my hair for the last hour?"

Lindsey: "Hahahahahahahah!!!"

(I love that I can bring so much joy to people's lives.)

Lindsey: "I'll be right over." (My friends and family my laugh at my expense a lot but at least I know they are there for me.)

Thankfully when she showed up 10 minutes later she brought her set of keys to my apartment so I didn't have to leave. When she arrived she said, "Hahahahahahaha.... hahahahahahaha!!!! OK, let's take a look."

So, Lindsey continued to work on it for about an hour and finally said, "I think we need another set of hands. I'm going to call Beth." That went something like this:

"Hey, can you come over to Elizabeth's? We need some help with something." Beth was on her way, no questions asked. (See? Great friends.)

I won't bore you with all of the details for the next two hours. It involved a lot of pulling and tugging and laughing and vodka. Almost all of the bristles were cut off and Beth even managed to break off the handle making a handy little shiv should I ever need it. At one point there was also the suggestion of putting a plastic bag over it until I could get to a salon. Finally, after making substantial progress, Lindsey said, "I hate to say this but I think we are going to have to start cutting."

So, I made myself another Bloody Mary and they started carefully snipping away with a pair of manicure scissors. After about another 30 minutes we had success!!! The damage is minimal and thanks to their skills you can barely notice the short pieces.

I have learned a few things from this ordeal:

1. It is time to accept that I have straight hair. You would think all of the bad Toni home perms as a kid would have helped me accept that, but apparently not.

2. If (and lets hope that is a big if) it ever happens again, do not wet my hair!

3. If I ever have to dispose of evidence I am calling Beth because she will help with anything, no questions asked.

Are You Ready for Some Football?

Mon, 17 Oct 2011 04:30:00 +0000

I am a 42 year old woman. No...wait...let me clarify. I am a 42 year old, overweight, out of shape woman with negligible athletic ability who is still nursing some nasty injuries after recently slipping on an acorn. (I only mention the acorn incident as an example of my complete lack of grace and coordination.) So, keeping all of these factors in mind, what the hell made me think it was a good idea to go play flag football with a bunch of 20-somethings???

I admit that acting my age is certainly not in my repertoire. I mean, come on. Should a 42 year old woman be going to back to back punk rock shows? Probably not. But at least there I am in my element. And with people closer to my own age. Hell, even the musicians are closer to my age (which explains why, in very un-punk like fashion, the shows begin punctually and usually end by midnight).

But football? Really??? Don't get me wrong. I love it as a spectator sport. But the only extracurricular sport I played in school was volleyball, a sport that involves far less running and physical contact. Oh, and there was the company softball team 10 years ago. But we never won a game...probably because we were more interested in getting to the bar for beer after the game rather than actually playing (again, I was in my element).

I did learn some things about myself. For example, whenever I get the ball I squeal like a little girl. That is not to say I was afraid of the ball (although I was a little afraid of being tackled by my friend Aja). I would take it and run as fast as my chubby little legs would go (which isn't very fast). I would just squeal the whole time I had possession. This provided a very funny, if not entirely successful, fake-out play that involved the QB faking a hand off to me and me running and squealing while he threw to my much more talented team mate. Also, whenever I would grab an opposing team member's flag I would throw it on the ground, grunt, and stomp on it. 'Cause I'm classy like that.

So, you know what I am going to say the next time they invite me to play? "Hell yeah!!!" Just as soon as I regain full range of motion and can walk upright again.

(Wo)Man's Best Friend

Sun, 02 Oct 2011 04:30:00 +0000

Five years ago today this little shit came into my life.

Because we are dorks, we refer to today as our "Lolaversary." (And I, being the bigger of the two dorks, pretend Lola even cares.)

Truth be told, I don't know what I would do without her. Lola and I have been through some shit in our five years together.

Broken leg (her)
Divorce (me)
Move halfway across country (both of us)
Unemployment (me)
Bad dates (me)

Hmmmm...maybe it's mostly my shit. Which makes the fact that she is ALWAYS there for me that much more amazing. No matter how big a cussing, screaming, crying, unstable, insecure, angry, bitter mess I might be...she is there with that big goofy look on her face ready to give me a hug (yes, she hugs!) or just snuggle up with me.

Although the Richmond SPCA where I adopted her didn't know about her history my guess is she was loved by a family and had a life that involved lots of time on the furniture and NO time on a leash. She quickly adapted to my lifestyle of long work hours and a crazy schedule thanks to a yard, doggie day care and a boss that didn't mind me bringing her into the office when I had to work late nights or weekends (even after she pooped in the conference room). I even had a stash of toys for her at my desk. It became common to hear on Monday morning, "Hey, Lola left her ball in my workstation."

She adapted just a quickly to apartment city living when we moved to Chicago. Rather than being afraid of the El rumbling overhead she was fascinated by it. The sights! The sounds! The smells! The rats (good grief, this dog LOVES rats)! Living in a heavily Hispanic neighborhood fireworks are a frequent occurrence. Doesn't phase her in the least. And even though I wasn't home to witness it, I credit Lola for thwarting the two, that's right TWO, attempted break ins.

We have a lot of fun, too. We have covered almost every block of Logan Square, Bucktown and Wicker Park. There have been many visits to the dog park (here and in Richmond). We have played fetch until I thought my arm would fall off. We have even developed an apartment version that we hope annoys Creepy Landlord. Oh, and we dance! We love to dance. Lola is a big fan of Flogging Molly in particular.

So, today I would just like to say a big Happy Lolaversary to my best friend! Here's an extra rawhide.

Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Sat, 03 Sep 2011 12:35:00 +0000

I walked out of my apartment this morning to see this note on the stairs leading up to Creepy Landlord's apartment:

"Paul (Creepy Landlord),

Please let me know when the lease ends.

Thanks,

Jeff (Douche Bag in apt. 1F)"

Oh, happy day! Could it be he will be moving out soon??? One can only hope.

I am quite proud of how well I have adapted to apartment living considering the six years before I moved to Chicago were in a lovely little bungalow with a yard and a front porch and plenty of space between me and my neighbors. Now I am in a building with three other units, in an apartment that faces the alley and a 4:00am clog dancing landlord above me. Peace and quiet are not really buzz words in my domestic life. But I adapted (mainly by blasting Reverend Horton Heat at 6:00am in retaliation for the clog dancing).

Then Douche Bag moved in last year. I hate him. No. Really. I HATE him. This is the a-hole who constantly leaves his laundry in the machines and then leaves the building. In one year I have touched his laundry more than I touched my ex-husband's in 12 years of marriage. (No, I did not do my husband's laundry. And, no, that is not why our marriage failed.) Every time he goes in or out the back door (which shares a hallway with my front door) it sounds like a herd of elephants. The things on my walls literally shake. Every time. And did I mention the cologne? Oh, for the love of all that is holy, the cologne! If I leave my apartment within a 1/2 hour of him being in the hallway it makes my eyes water and my nasal passages revolt.

So, yep. I'm pretty excited to see him go. Let's just hope the next neighbor is better. Ooooooo! Maybe he'll be a TALL, SINGLE MILLIONAIRE!

Waiting Game

Mon, 29 Aug 2011 00:15:00 +0000

I am not proud to admit this. Not proud at all. But here it goes...I just finished reading the book "He's Just Not That Into You." Yep. Normally I am of the opinion that self-help books are a load of crap. My method of dealing with emotional and psychological health is usually "deal with your shit." But we know how well that's been working out for me. So after several recent occurrences I decided to check it out.

Truthfully, I went into it thinking, "Oh, none of this will apply to ME! It will all be really obvious stuff, intended for all the crazy girls out there." Well, surprise surprise! I have learned that my Crazy Girl has been driving the bus far more often than I realized. This was a very eye opening book which made me rethink every encounter I have had with the opposite sex pretty much ever. Well, that might be an exaggeration. But it definitely shed some light on a lot of confusing and disappointing experiences I have had in my life.

As I read the book I was amazed at the excuses and justifications I have used for why certain guys weren't asking me out or taking things to the next level. "My strong personality intimidates him." "He doesn't want to jeopardize our friendship." "He just got out of a relationship." "He is a fuckwit." "He is gay." (OK, those last two are actually often true.) What I learned is that if a decent, quality guy is REALLY interested in you, none of that matters. None of it. If he is really interested he will nut up. He won't care about the friendship if it means the potential for sex. He will bounce back if he is truly interested.

I thought of some of the people I know and realized this is true. I think my friends Lindsey and Glenn are a great example. They met waiting in line at a movie. She was waiting for her mom. He was waiting for a friend. After the movie they continued talking and Lindsey's mom realized what was happening. She tried to distract Glenn's friend and give them some privacy but with no luck. So Glenn just cowboyed up and asked Lindsey out right there. In front of her mom. Let's be honest. That could not have been comfortable for anyone present. But Glenn did it because he really wanted to see her again. (Isn't that story just so goddamn sweet it makes your teeth hurt???)

This is a really depressing realization. I think I am awesome. It was much easier to deal with rejection when I thought there was some extenuating circumstance behind it. To learn all of these guys just aren't interested is a little demoralizing.

On the other hand, it is very liberating to no longer waste the energy wondering. Says you have beautiful, shiny hair but won't touch you? Not interested. Go out together then end the evening with a high five? Not interested. Repeatedly makes eye contact but never approaches? Not interested. Moving on.

In other good news, I am already well ahead of the game when it comes to the final piece of advice which is, "Don't settle." I got that one! Lie about your age and want to move to the YMCA? We're done. Fall asleep on my couch on Valentine's Day? You're outta here. When I made the decision to end my marriage a big part of the process was coming to the realization that being alone was better than being in an awful relationship. And while being alone sucks I still maintain that it is better than dealing with some asshole.

You know what else? There is nothing wrong with wanting what I want which is a man who will step right up and let it be known that he is interested in me. Someone who sincerely appreciates how awesome I am. And it will be worth wait. And so I wait.

Bad Decisions = Good Times

Fri, 19 Aug 2011 00:30:00 +0000

After 5 days of heinous fuckery with my sister (which means copious amounts of fattening food and gallons and gallons of beer) what I should have done last night was:

Clean my dog hair covered apartment
Find and eliminate what died in my fridge
Detox
Get a good night's sleep

What I actually did was:

Go to a punk rock show at Double Door
Drank a few beers
Left my clothes in a pile on the floor and dirty dishes in the sink
Went to bed at 1:00AM

Yep. On a Wednesday night. But you know what? So what. Life is short. When I am on my death bed am I going to wish I had slept more? Am I going to think , "Oh, I should have had a few more salads and a little less bacon."? Will I regret sharing that La Fin du Monde with my sister at 3:00 on a Monday afternoon? Will I regret not cleaning my apartment? Probably not. (Well...maybe that last one...I'm kinda weird that way.)

I realize I do a lot of whining here about certain aspects of my life. And I know I can be a real snarky, intolerant bitch a lot of the time (stop rolling your eyes, I'm admitting it). But that is all the more reason to embrace the things in life you truly enjoy. So, yes, I will have bacon in my mac & cheese. And, sure, pass me another beer. Now turn up the music and lets dance! I'll sleep when I'm dead!

If...

Mon, 08 Aug 2011 23:30:00 +0000

I am awesome. I know this. I don't mean to sound arrogant. But I do know this to be true. I am funny. I am reasonably smart. I am honest (maybe a little blunt, but I am honest). I have diverse interests. I mean, sure, I could stand to lose {hmpph} pounds. And I have been told on more than one occasion that I resemble Illeana Douglas and Maya Rudolph, neither of whom are really known for their stunning beauty. But I am awesome.

You know how else I know this? Because I am told this frequently by other people. Sometimes even by men. Unfortunately it ususally goes something like this:

"Gee, Elizabeth, I can't believe you're single. You're awesome! I would date you if..."

If I weren't married.
If I didn't have a girlfriend.
If I were straight.
If I were interested in dating right now.
If it weren't for the age difference.
If we lived closer.
If I were a lesbian. (Why do so many people think I'm a lesbian?)

I have been hearing these things for years. But today was truly the topper. Today I was told by a guy whom I have called out for sending mixed signals that, "I never gave any indication that I was interested in anything other than admiring you and your talents and hanging out with you." Well, color me a silly goose! Why on earth would any of that make me think he was interested in me???

Seriously, what the fuck? Where do you go from there? Is this where I truly give up? Because if the guy who admires me, my talents and hanging out with me still isn't interested in dating me, maybe it's time to throw in the towel.

With Friends Like These...

Wed, 03 Aug 2011 00:27:00 +0000

Who needs eHarmony?

I love that my friends take such interest in my dating life. Usually that interest is in the form of, "Hahaha! Sorry your dating life sucks but I want you to go on some more bad dates. The stories are hilarious!" Yeah, that's what I'm here for...to entertain you with tales of my woe and loneliness.

Other friends take a more active approach, although with less than successful results. For example, the other night a friend at work was trying to match me up with the obviously gay waiter at the event we were working. I "date" enough gay men on my own. I don't need any help in that department. (Although to her credit he WAS very handsome.)

My friend Viv keeps telling me she wants me to meet some guy in the neighborhood because "he is a good ol' boy with a truck and a dog." If I wanted that I would have stayed in Virginia. Hell, I would have stayed married!

Another friend told me last week he is sure I will "meet the right guy or gal very soon." ?????Gal?????

Most recently my friend Kristen told me about a friend of hers that she thinks would be a good match, mainly because of our shared taste in music. Which truth be told, that is a pretty big deal. Going to hear live music is my favorite thing to do and I do it by myself a lot because no one else I know likes the same stuff I do. Apparently this guy has been to many of the same shows. Oh, wait...did I forget to mention HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND? Kristen seems confident it won't last. I have assured her that, considering my luck, this girl is probably the one he will marry.

Look, as I have said before I have long ago given up on the idea of meeting a TALL, SINGLE MILLIONAIRE but I do have certain standards which have been previously outlined. Most notably (and I would think obviously) I am looking for someone straight and single. Apparently I should also clarify that he should be a dude.

So go forth, my friends, and find me a man who is marginally normal, age appropriate, single and straight who appreciates a chubby, foul-mouthed, city-dwelling, dog-loving, tree-hugging, book-reading red head who likes art, architecture and punk rock. What are you waiting for??? Get busy!

Things I Learned From A New York Dolls Show

Thu, 28 Jul 2011 05:30:00 +0000

1. If David Johansen can rock at the age of 61, then so can I at 42. Even on a Wednesday night. I might pay for it the next day...but I can do it.

2. There is a very good reason I seem to be losing my hearing at my young age (stop laughing). But I don't want to be the old nerd with the ear plugs.

3. Don't wear sandals to a show at Double Door.

4. If you are going to have an album called "Dancing Backwards in High Heels" then you absolutely must have a song called "I'm So Fabulous." And you are, David. You are.

This Might Explain Some Things

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 01:02:00 +0000

For those of you who have expressed your disappointment at the end of my eHarmony experience, fear not. My love life is as entertaining (for you) and disappointing (for me) as always. So lets see...what's been going on:

The Ex-Husband

Well, hearing from him certainly isn't news. It was just kind of funny stumbling upon several e-mails from him when I was cleaning out an e-mail I don't use any more. (No, I have NOT given him my new e-mail address. Hell, I lived in Chicago for six months before I told him I moved!) Oh, and earlier this month I "celebrated" 3 years of officially being divorced. If that weren't the case, tomorrow would be our 18th wedding anniversary. Holy shit! 18 years!!! (Obviously, I was a child bride.) I plan on celebrating the occasion in appropriate fashion...by having drinks with a gay man.

The Un-Friend

So, yeah, I recently un-friended (de-friended??? What is the proper grammar here?) a guy who...long story short...fucked with my head for 6 months. Now, he was a reader of Lola in the City and the first time we went out he asked, "You're not going to write about me, are you?" I answered, "Only if you end up being a dick." Truth be told, I think all bets are off and I could go into great detail about how we went out several times, he gave every indication that he was interested but not ready to "date" having just come out of a 10 year relationship, yet continued to do and say things that gave the impression he was interested. I thought, "I will just be patient." Then BAM! Found out (on Facebook) that he is in a new relationship. Considering how worked up Crazy Girl (more on her another time) got over this guy, I decided it would be best for everyone involved to just cut all ties with this guy. Yet, he still felt the need to contact me to let me know what was happening in his job. I. Don't. Care. Tell your new girlfriend all about it. Fuckwit.

The Rock Star

And then there is Rock Star. That on again/off again, almost could have been the love of my life except for the fact he lives in LA, works a full time job, and when he's not working he is on the road with his band. I'm really not a needy person. (Shut up. Stop laughing! I am NOT!) I would just like to have a relationship with someone that I can see maybe just a little more often then every 3-6 months. I am certain there are women whose men are in jail who get more conjugal visits that I did. So last year I ended it. But being on the road with the band brought him to Chicago this past weekend. He was really pushing to see me. But considering everything else going on and my weakened emotional state, I held strong and said no.

Instead and went out with friends and was reminded of:

Why I Shouldn't Drink Bourbon

Ha, dream on! I'm not telling you THAT story. My mom reads this. I will just say that sometimes the attention of a 25 year old boy is just was a girl needs to make her feel better.

Pants on Fire

Thu, 09 Jun 2011 02:19:00 +0000

Let me just start by saying if you are going to lie on your eHarmony profile you should really make sure your Facebook privacy settings are locked down. No, I'm serious. Go check them. I'll wait...

Now that we are all locked down, here is the story.

Obviously, I have not posted anything about my eHarmony edeavors for a while. There are a couple of reasons for that:

1. It just got depressing to share the losers they were matching me with - the cat guy, the suburban dads, the rednecks. I couldn't take it anymore.

2. I started to get optimistic because I did meet someone intriguing...so intriguing we actually went on 3 - that's right - THREE DATES. I didn't want to jinx it.

His name is Chuck, he is 50 (or so I thought), he is a junior high school teacher and seems to enjoy his work, originally from California, loves to surf, very attractive. I enjoyed his company the times we went out. But I always had this weird nagging feeling that something was just...off. At first I thought I was just being paraonoid, you know, considering my track record. But I started to realize it might be for real. For example:

He apparently doesn't go out much because he was trying to stay out of trouble. Why? Probation? Parole??? I have no idea.

When he first moved to Chicago, he lived at the YMCA. For a YEAR! Who does that? Oh, and he is thinking about moving back there to save money. WTF!

He made a few borderline homophobic remarks, to the point that I once said to him, "You know that gay men are not on a mission to turn straight men gay, right? They are not like straight women who hope they can turn gay men straight."

When I mentioned that I enjoy going to the Art Institute he said, "You're not one of those pretensious art people, are you?"

OK, half of my friends are either gay or artists, so we've got a problem.

You know what else is a problem? After this last comment and learning his last name, I Google stalked him and found his Facebook page. (Don't judge me! You know you would have done it, too!) Here is what I learned:

He is 54, not 50. The vain bastard lied about his age.

He has been married twice, not just once as he said.

He is a stark raving, gun toting right wingnut. So much so that his profile said, "I wish I weren't LEFT handed."

He is a womanizer. Under "Activities" he had listed, "If it's wearing a skirt, I'm chasing it!"

There is a picture of him with a Jeff Foxworthy mustache, mullet, and acid washed denim jacket. I don't care how attractive he is now. You can't unsee shit like that.

So, the good news is my gut is reliable. The bad news is once again I have attracted a nut job. Seriously, I cannot figure out what it is about me that attracts this riff raff! I like who I am as a person but if this is what I attract...The other day a friend suggested that I modify my behavior and think of it a role playing. Not a bad idea but is that really what I would want to base a relationship on (although I think her suggestion was just an attempt to get me laid.)? I think it is just time to accept that I am not meant to date, enjoy my life as it is, and stop trying so hard to find someone "special" to share it with. I have my friends...that should be enough.

A Dating Haiku (actually it is a collection of haikus but that doesn't sound as poetic)

Thu, 28 Apr 2011 03:13:00 +0000

I have a friend who has been posting a daily haiku weather forecast. I have been responding in haiku with how the weather affects me (because as we all know, I LOVE to write about ME). I have found this to be very inspiring and decided to write an entry about dating all in haiku. So, here you go.

eHarmony sucks

My matches are pathetic

But I'm not alone

If what's said is true

Forty is the new thirty

I still have some time

I can't remember

The last time I had a date

That caused me to smile

Twelve years of marriage

Seriously messed with me

Might not date again

Five years on my own

Three off and on with Rock Star

I wonder what's next?

It just might be time

To give serious thought to

Friend with benefits

Might be a cougar

That could be a lot of fun

How young is too young?

I still stay hopeful

Though I sometimes wonder why

It's just my nature

OK, so it's not my best work but I hope you enjoyed it.