In which I outsmarted daylight savings time. aka Chicago Part I: The Culture

Basically.  I decided that in order to NOT lose an hour while in Chicago for the weekend, I decided that it was lost on the car ride over.  How convenient?  That was a wasted hour anyways.  An hour of traffic sitting, poof, disappeared.  Or something.  I think I've mentioned before that I absolutely am flabbergasted by daylight savings time.  I should also mention how out of whack I am when changing time zones.  I lose all rationality and have no idea what time it is in real life.  And what real life, really?  Thus, making me capable of out smarting daylight savings time.  Or, what?

I digress.  We went to chicago.  My lovely Iphone [Henrietta the II] took many pictures.  My camera (still unnamed) took two.  These crazy times we live in.  I've decided to break Chicago into three parts.  The Culture.  The Food.  And the sights [which will be mostly animals].

Without further ado, I bring you.....

CHICAGO: THE CULTURE

As experienced by Megan and Henrietta the II

First, we scoped out the city.  Found ourselves an Urban Outfitters.  Laughed about the ridiculous men's coats in the sales room.  This one doesn't look as bad on the computer as it did in person.  The camouflage one though?

Horrible.

We became professional public transit utilizers...

After we got off 4 stops early and decided just to hoof it all the way down to the aquarium [pictures of that another day].  It was about 36 degrees and only drizzling a tiny bit, so, lovely.  I should also warn that this post has the dorkiest pictures of me ever taken.  Ever.

 I have this thing.  When I go places, especially places rich in artistic culture, I run into exquisite Picasso exhibits.  Ok so it's only happened at the Chicago Art Institute [not really the hugest surprise], and in Lucerne, Switzerland.  That makes it no less jump out of my boots exciting.

I saw this one.  My Picasso.  I gasped.  I hopped. I shouted a little bit in the dead quiet exhibit.  Then I had to choke back tears.  I have a bit of a Justin Bieber complex about great works of art.  Only it is so much less shallow.  Pablo Picasso touched this canvas, believed these lines, loved and hated every part of this.  And I did to.  Art is spiritual.  Especially when it's in your soul.  I have a huge spot in my soul for Picasso's blue period.  I have since I was 13. 

This is the worst picture of me ever taken, but I needed photographic proof that I was in the same room as a piece of Picasso's soul.  He was in the air.  Analyzing the room, the way we all dressed, the magnificent way my frizz was able to defy gravity, the variety of boobs.  Because oh that Picasso, he loved him some boobs.

This cat spoke to me.

And then we went and hung out with a couple of my other friends.  I didn't take fan pictures of everyone, so I pray that Degas, Pissarro, Titian, Cezanne, Gauguin, Manet, Renoir & the like don't feel left out.

Monet, you're lovely.  Don't listen to Justin, your lines aren't too soft.

  

Oh VanGoh, I know how misunderstood you feel as a redhead.  Just understand that I think you're wonderful.  Thank you for leaving a piece of yourself for us to enjoy.

I thoroughly enjoyed the miniatures display.  We peeked in every room imagining what life would have been like in that room, with those furnishings.  At least I imagined it.

Then we made an obligatory visit to the Bean.  You know, it's Chicago after all.  We took our picture, marveled at the metal, talked crap about a large group of sorority sisters doing a chant, and then laughed at the hipster-cum-figure skater that kept knocking fellow skating patrons over.  

Just look at all those people experiencing culture.  And metal.  Clearly I'm so over the Bean.  It's just neat but, whatever.

Now I'm sitting at home, and just as I was feeling sorry for myself for being sucked back into the Vacuum that is Dubuque, I can't.  Feel sorry that is.  Because this is how pretty my fireplace looks tonight.  On this cold, dreary March night.  As I look at the flames now they don't even flicker.  It is so strange.  I have never seen so still a flame.  It's like they're telling me to be happy where I am.  

For now.

Happy Hour

Today Justin had to go to a company dinner.  This saddens me outwardly, as it should.  But secretly thrills me.  My co-worker was in dire need of a happy hour outing, and today was a PERFECT excuse to go out.  

After much grumping about how my town isn't exactly a gluten-free mecca, I did some research and found that Carlos O'Kelly's has a gluten-free menu.  

We showed up grandma early (4pm) and ordered queso and raspberry margaritas out right!  Can I just say that their gluten free menu is beautiful?  It's colorful and had enough options to make me happy.  I clarified a couple times that the queso and chips and salsa were gluten free [because I'm OCD and that's how I do] and the server put up with me ever so graciously.

For supper I ordered the chicken fajitas.  I have been on a fajita kick lately, so it was fun to get to eat them without making them.  I again verified upon their delivery that there were corn tortillas and they were.  I'm not going to say that it was a culinary masterpiece, but honestly, from someone that hasn't eaten out at a chain restaurant in...6 years?  Yes.  6.  It was wonderful.  I will definitely be going back.  The queso was everything you want in cheesy, spicy queso.  The salsa was delightful.  The chips were super delightful.  I have a place for happy hour now.  Margaritas are my poison and chips are my juggernaut.  

I only had the wherewithal to snap a photo of my margarita.  Half guzzled.  And a corner of the salsa snuck into the picture.  Next time I'll try and do better.  There will definitely be a next time.

In which Lady smells like a rotting fish. And makes me crazy.

Lately my pit bull has been driving me bonkers.  I don't' know what it is.  Let me restate, I don't know what it is that has gotten into her to make her so annoying.  

On Tuesday we got an epic March snow storm.  It snowed to beat the band.  An inch per hour.  March snow is wet snow, heavy snow.  Of course this just being our first year of homeownership, we have yet to purchase a snow blower.  I beat Justin home, and ate over half of a Happy Joe's BLT pizza [let it be known, BLT is the best flavor of pizza] and felt like I should be a helpful and supportive wife.  I shall shovel so that my knight in shining armor can make it safely into the driveway! This I boldly stated to myself and my Ladydog.  

I put the aforementioned canine on her chain outside and set out into the tundra to partake in my first commitment to tundra removal in many a moon.  I probably lifted about 16 shovels full of snow, but those shovels were HEAVY!  Oofda.  Lady hated it.  She was barking like an idiot.  Being a considerate and embarrassed neighbor, I decided it was time for this beast to be placated by putting her in the garage.  This is where she goes when we aren't home lest she feel the need to take a poo on the rug or pee on my blanket.  Again I say, MY BLANKET!!! 

As I escorted her royal barkness to her throne room, she did a bunk.  Pulled a fake.  Blitzed the quarterback.  So I called her.  Lady, sillyhead, don't run up the driveway.  Come back! Lady!  LADY!

LADY!

Oh $&*%!

Picture a girl, not very big, in green hunter boots, a brown eskimo parka, and chartreuse mittens running like the wind after the skinniest, stripiest pit bull hell bent on getting the H out of here.  She was gone.  I panicked whilst I ran.  Will the neighbors hate me?  Will she jet out into the street and be squashed under a passerby?  Will I throw up that pizza?  Will Justin divorce me in the event of a lost forever dog?  Will I slip on some well hidden ice?  Seriously, am I going to upchuck this pizza?  Then as I yelled "STAY" my pit bull finally came to a stop about 5 or 6 houses down.  She kept trying to skulk away from me.  I used my angriest mom voice [you have to practice before you need to use it for real] and finally was able to grab her by the collar.  She wouldn't come willingly, so I carried my 50 pound pit bull back to the house. Then I called her grandmother.  Her grandmother was disappointed by her choices.  She then made excuses for the pit bull because she loves her to pieces.  On days again like today I don't quite understand why.

So far today she has tried to lick the clean dishes in the dishwasher maniacally, tried to remove all of the pillows and cushions from the couch and chair, told me THREE times that she needs to go outside only to be put on her chain to sniff at the snow and cast judging glares into the neighbor's yard, tried to assault me on the couch because I was on the computer and not spooning her [spooning is kind of her thing], and last but not least, turned on my caps lock.  

She's currently curled up next to me sleeping, her ears and eyelids twitching.  I guess she's pretty cute.  

This is our B-E-A-UTIFUL new couch that was delivered yesterday.  It's everything I wanted in a couch.  Plus.  Seriously those pillows.  

   

I keep doing this

Let me just start by saying how awkward it is to type with a pit bull sitting under your left elbow.  While she burps.  So tricky.

I keep ignoring this little blog.  Maybe because I'm not good at blogging.  Or maybe because it seems like more work on top of the 40 hours I put in per week.  I'm still trying to figure out why.  I decided earlier today [before the margarita] that I'd give it a try again.  Alas, that margarita did me good.  That is the fraction of the margarita I drank before I spilled it on the floor.  For the record, pit bulls don't love margaritas.  They love peanut butter, regular butter, shrimp, and raw meat.

I decided to pull an Oprah and do a little "favorite things" post from my iphone.  And here.  we.  go!

 This outfit.  I've been obsessed with the green shirt since I bought it.  And I wear those hunters as often as I can.  Despite the fact that co-workers make fun of me on the daily.  At least the kids I work with think they're cool...  Please ignore the closet that I turn my make-up drawer into every week.  It's a bad habit.

My dramatic pit bull.  She knows just what the camera wants.  This is back when the dining room was still green.  Makes me a little nostalgic.  But only a little.

This sweater.  Everyone calls it a poncho, but it's not.  It's the cutest ever.

Speaking of the cutest ever.  Baby Gap has a Peter Rabbit line right now.  I'm thinking of buying it all for whenever we decide to have a baby.  I am in LOVE with Peter Rabbit.

Bertram my rhino with the new dining room walls.  Much more sensible.  Much less like a fun house.  I love it.

This goombah.  Look at her climbing into the fireplace.  Silly goof.

Nothing makes her happier than a snuggle.  As I type this, she is dreaming peacefully with her head resting on my foot and her body all cozied up next to mine.

Probably my favorite picture ever despite its blurriness.  

Love, Megan.

Today

My Iphone 3S is capturing what's going on today.  Aztec print, paper snowflakes, insulation blowing, grocery list making and all.

Lady is petrified of everything non-threatening.  Swiffers, Tape Measures, and now insulation blower tubes.  She cowered in the bathroom overseeing the operation.  Complete with dramatic shivers.

Insulation blowing is actually really boring.

These have been added to my wardrobe.  Justin is unsure about them.  I'm very sure about them.

Our rug from World Market got delivered yesterday.  We got it 40% off.  Pretty proud of that.  Don't worry, I've already spilled a large glob of chocolate icing on it.  

What one does whilst their husband, husband's friend, and the family pit bull blow insulation?  Make a bomb-diggity grocery list.

And admire the two foot tall Christmas tree with her paper snow flake friends.

Fun Fact: I had to look on Martha Stewart.com to figure out how to make a paper snow flake.  The first one I made fell in pieces because I cut the very important corner that shall never be cut.  Oops.