a little good, a lot bad

Until around 4pm, I was having a fabulous day. I went to a meeting on the beach, the weather was spectacular, and The Tan Man took me on a kayak trip on Lake Michigan. We stopped along the dog beach in Belmont Harbor to rest and sunbathe, and it was all absolutely perfect. That is, until he went to get his van and brought it around to Montrose Harbor, where I was waiting with the kayaks, and I looked into his van to get my little change purse out of his glove box. And it was gone. As in nowhere to be found. As in stolen. In said change purse was $100 (all the money I have to last me the next week), my drivers license, my debit card, and my BlackBerry.

We called the cops to file a report, called my bank to cancel my debit card, and then stopped by my apartment, where I had an old cell phone sitting in my kitchen's junk drawer. And then we went to the Sprint store to activate it, and I at least got the good news that as of Nov 1st I can upgrade for almost nothing to a much better phone. But still. I'd rather have my license, debit card, and phone.

i feel special...

...because tara gave me a bloggy love award! She's super fun and has a nice blog herself, so go visit her over at the brain!

And since I'm supposed to pass on the love...

The rules of the award:
1. The winner can put the logo on his/her blog.
2. Link to the person you received your award from.
3. Nominate at least 7 other blogs for an award.
4. Put links to those blogs on yours.
5. Leave a message on the blogs for the people you’ve nominated.

And so the nominees are...
1. Oh! How Lovely!
2. One Sober Alcoholic
3. Free and Flawed
4. Windy City Mamma
5. Becoming a New Yorker
6. Gods of Advertising
7. SuperWeed

Visit these blogs, people! Namaste.

101/1001 progress report

I've completed:

#6 (learn how to meditate), at the Bloom Yoga Studio. Highlight: falling asleep after the instructor specifically warned "now, don't fall asleep if you choose to lie down instead of sitting up!" and waking up to the class snickering at me.

#32 (get a snake tattoo on my lower back), at the Metromix Music Lounge Lollapalooza afterparty. Highlight: not being able to move while random men tried to pick me up, the most memorable of whom was a 4'9" tall guy who, at 3am, texted me, "it was so nice holding your hand and rubbing your neck." Oh, that, and talking with Thom Yorke for about 14 seconds.

#99 (find & buy a bedroom set), via Craigslist. Highlight: watching the truck while the guys went to get the second load of furniture and having two gangsta types try to chat me up (we were about 200 yards north of Cabrini Green).

#101 (take the boys to LEGOland in Schaumburg), which was anticlimactic. Highlight: bailing and having more fun at IKEA.

I've begun:

#58 (get to one concert/show a month), which this month was (in addition to two other shows) Wilco at McCarren Park Pool. Highlight: seeing my favorite Chicago band in my favorite city in the world. OK, so it was Brooklyn, but that's still NYC in my book.

#76 (attend one literary event/month), the Printers' Ball at the MCA on August 22. Highlight: feeling as though I were in the midst of a Filene's basement wedding dress sale, except amongst literary types rushing for Free Stuff.

#77 (see one film a month at Facets or Landmark), which was Man on Wire. Highlight: being on the edge of my seat for a documentary, which doesn't happen much.

And, of course, more progress is forthcoming. Namaste.

apparently some people need it spelled out more slowly than others

Pops came by the house tonight -- even though he went to a completely different meeting -- to invite me out to dinner (no, for a zillionth time), inform me that he's jealous I'm going kayaking with The Tan Man on Saturday (fair enough), express his insecurity because I was discussing "literature" (uh, Jonathan Kellerman...) with The Moustache Man, tell me that he was "looking forward" to me "sharing [my] cultural expertise" with him (uh, hello?), and inquire -- yet again -- "whether [he has] a chance." Why do I feel as though we've already had this conversation before? Oh, I know. Because we have.

lessons learned (@ 11 months + 1 day)

Some people come into sobriety wanting to become different people, better people, people who do the right thing and apologize when they make mistakes. Some people don't, and nothing I do or say (or yell or scream) will change the second type of person into the first.

There are people who will never apologize, never pay back the money they owe, never gain the capacity for honesty, and never change -- and I have no control over that. Letting go is the only option.

There will never be a point where I will stop stumbling, miss-stepping, and occasionally losing my way -- but as long as I do the best I can, and admit my shortcomings, and remain willing to do better next time (and learn from my mistakes), I'll be okay.

The meaning of life is found by living in the questions rather than demanding answers. And sometimes, we find the answers by being okay living with the questions.

Unconditional love isn't a myth. The myth is that we find it in fairytale romances. It's all around us, it always has been, and it is only our own fear and insecurity that prevent us from getting in touch with it.

It's not selfish to expect people to treat me with kindness, compassion, and respect -- and every single ex-boyfriend I had who called me a needy bitch for wanting those things can kiss my ass.

Actions can and should be taken at face value; what people do is infinitely more important than what they say.

Sometimes it really is as easy as walking away, letting go, and refusing to rent out space in my mind to low-class people.

It isn't that I deserve better when bad things happen (though I do); these things are almost always a result of bad choices I made, and the consequences will make me think twice next time.

Grace is sometimes elusive, often ethereal, occasionally mind-blowing, but definitely real.

I'm worth more than any price anyone's ever put on me.

If prayer is asking to be changed in ways you cannot imagine (and I believe it is), then it works. It really does.

top 10 things about being 35

1. I get excited when I find an encyclopedia of vegetables (with recipes!) for a dime at the thrift store, and even more so when I bring said reference materials to the farmers' market to find ingredients. And I'm not scared of cooking them, either.
2. I know what clothes (and brands) fit me; am aware of what works on my body and what doesn't; and can throw an outfit together in ten minutes that is flattering and stylish.
   
3. I can leave the house with minimal makeup (lipgloss, mascara, a bit of powder) without worrying someone will think I'm ugly, because I know that I'm complimented more when I'm happy and healthy and radiating from within than when I'm sad and wearing a full face of makeup.
   
4. I've learned that I don't have to wash my hair every day, that pigtails can be super awesome, and pulling my hair into a bun or ponytail makes me feel like Audrey Hepburn.
5. I've acquired a nice little collection of cups-n-saucers, dessert plates, and glassware that I can use for dinner parties, or just when I feel like making myself a muffin and a cup of tea on a Tuesday afternoon.
   
6. I'm okay with being single, and actually like it, having realized that I'm not going to give up all the pleasures of singledom -- or, worse, demean myself -- for just any schmuck that comes in off the street, no matter how handsome he is.
7. I've reached the point where the choices I make in my physical appearance -- my tattoos, my piercings, my choice of footwear -- are a result of how I feel inside rather than serving as armor to keep other people out.
8. I'm perfectly happy flying solo in the sex department, and actually can please myself much easier and more regularly than any man ever could.
   
9. My home is a reflection of my personality and is filled with treasures I've found while traveling, in thrift stores, Freecycle, and online -- and no one ever guesses.
   
10. Contrary to popular sentiment, it's easier to make friends, because I'm more open minded about who "qualifies" to be let in, and cliques seem so, well, twentysomething.
    

my thoughts exactly

From Chelsea Talks Smack:

He didn't forget to tell you that he actually adores you, he didn't lose reception when he meant to say "I still want you in my life, I just need to take it slower." He said exactly what he meant. Nothing more, nothing less. It didn't skip his mind that if he wanted to be with you he would, he just doesn't. He doesn't have someone beating his hand every time he thinks about picking up the phone to call, he just isn't calling. If he cared, he would be caring.

Amen, sister.

the aroma of happiness

For the first time since I've moved into my new apartment, I have fresh flowers in three of its four rooms, and it was more than pleasant to come home from the post office and be accosted with the smell of roses, lilies, irises, daisies, and mums as I walked in the door. And my new bedroom linens were delivered this morning as well... my apartment is finally finally finally coming together and it is 100% mine. I've never had that before in my life, and I am grateful every day that I have found and fostered it now. Namaste.

it's a wonderful life

As I get ready to turn off my computer for the evening, I continue to marvel at how blessed my life has become. Today was one fabulous moment after another, ranging from going to Foster Beach with Rebel and a dozen friends (both old and new) to having a handful of sober folks over for dinner to kick off what will be a series of weekly Sunday night meals ("Family Dinners") rotating from house to house.

Dinner was marvelous -- I made homemade enchiladas, Spanish rice, and Cuban beans; The Sassy Blonde made lemonade; Pops supplied the mango nectar; The Tan Man whipped up some fresh guacamole; The Sober Dad brought a lemon tart (to which I added raspberry sorbet) for dessert; and The Seaman brought many laughs and jokes -- but more so it was the companionship, the sharing of my life and happiness with other people who understand so completely how both amazing and heartbreaking the last eleven months of my life have been. There may not be any magic in our lives, but there sure are a plethora of miracles, and, really, the joy just bubbles up from within. Namaste.

want: to be a shopgirl

I did something quite brave this evening: I visited the National Student Loan Data System website and painstakingly entered my information to determine the total sum of my student loans. The findings? I owe $158,603. Ahem.

Even though the Steve Martin character in Shopgirl ended up being a real ass, I now have fantasies of working at the glove counter at Saks and having a wealthy older man objectify me and pay off my student loans while I twirl around in cute dresses (and glasses!) and drive a beat-up mini pickup truck (or, actually, I'd prefer a 1983 Volvo station wagon).

a small happiness

It just dawned on me that -- because I'll be teaching juniors and seniors at my new teaching gig -- I'll be able (and expected) to teach Foucault and de Certeau and Derrida...mmm. Yummy times two.

no go dylan

Being honest with myself, a five-hour (one way) roadtrip at the last minute when all my friends are too busy to go along *and* I'd have to completely rearrange my Friday plans (and my schedule with the boys) was not at all feasible. So if anyone wants the tickets (and is willing to pretend they are me) and able to travel to Elizabeth IN (just across the border from Louisville KY), drop me a line.

roadtrip to dylan

In an odd twist of events, I won tickets to see Bob Dylan in southern Indiana (as in: just across the border from Louisville) Saturday night. And so it looks as though I'll be taking a road trip of the most impromptu proportion. I've had to shuffle my schedule with the boys for the weekend, but it's worth it. I think. At the very least, it will be an adventure.

random linkage

• Want: gummi bear anatomy print.
• Sex logs: intriguing, but I'd rather not have a record.
• TravelSkoot might prove useful.
• Is John Cusack this out of it? Yet another hope dashed.
• Red balls, anyone?
• Friday night: the Poetry Foundation's Printers' Ball.
• Sunday: the season's last SummerDance: Tango!
• Only twelve more days of beach season in Chicago. Sniffle.

feeling not-so-hot

Even though I didn't particularly want to go, I'd promised the boys (and Pops) that we'd go to the Air & Water Show, and it was exactly as I expected (read: not that great). The boys were antsy and scared by the loud noises, I was hot and tired, and the whole production was one big advertisement for the U.S. military. Plus, Rebel had what seemed like an allergic reaction to something -- we stopped by the first aid tent (which no one -- including the police officers on duty! -- seemed to know even existed) for Benadryl, but they only had it in injectable form and Rebel was NOT down with a shot. We took a cab home, Pops seemed dejected (with good reason), and after dosing Rebel with Claritin I took a nap while the boys played video games. The Sassy Blonde just left after stopping by for a few slices of pizza and an hour or so of conversation -- including: "you're just not that into him," about Pops -- and now I'm trying (quite unsuccessfully) to get motivated to wash my dishes, some of which (I'm embarrassed to say) have been sitting for the better part of a month. Meanwhile, I'll get some work done this evening and watch either 21 or The Bank Job before settling into sleep. We're going to Schaumburg (LEGOland Discovery Centre) tomorrow, and I've got to get enough rest to brave the suburbs. Lord knows I need it. Namaste.

(more) sober realizations

It used to be that I'd drink so I'd feel as though I "fit in" to whatever social context presented itself. I would drink to function "properly" in that social context -- dance with wild abandon, flirt equally so, become less self-conscious, be free and uninhibited (from my perspective, that is; observers probably just saw an annoyingly sloppy drunk chick).

When I got sober, I missed that. Not the sloppy drunk part, but the feeling that I could dance and flirt and do whatever else I wanted without worrying about how I looked or whether I was doing it "right" or anything else. Everything became awkward, as though I were 12 years old again at a middle-school dance, staring at the boys across the room (who, of course, equally frightened, would stare right back). It pained me, a physical yearning not for the alcohol but for that feeling.

Last night at the Wilco show, I came to three realizations:

1. I don't miss that feeling anymore; and
2. It sure seems like everyone else needs to be drunk in order to dance with wild abandon, flirt, etc.
3. I've moved from missing that feeling to wanting to learn how to do all those "wild and free" things while sober.
   

It's weird. I guess I thought that everyone who was able to behave that way had some innate quality to themselves that bubbled up in certain social contexts. I'm sure that some people -- actors, comedians, naturally perky people -- do have that quality, but I don't really know why it didn't occur to me until last night that, no, for the most part, those people are drunk, but it didn't. And it made me really, really grateful that (a) I am no longer drinking and (b) I am actually craving not alcohol but a means of creating that sense of joyful abandon in my life without mind-altering substances.

wednesday morning thoughts

I've only been to one meeting in the past eight days, but I feel surprisingly okay; however, I do NOT think I would be okay if I were in Chicago under the same circumstances. I suppose this is because Chicago is not only where I got sober, but where I "turned" alcoholic, whereas NYC is a place where I've always felt about nine years old -- not in the sense that I'm a fumbling idiot who can't figure out a subway map, but in that sense of constant incredulousness and capacity for wonder and folly that we all tend to lose when we grow up. When I've got that, why on Earth would I possibly want to drink? And I don't.

This doesn't mean I don't think I need the program anymore -- I totally do! I know this! -- but that I do know I can be okay by doing the right things (meditating, talking to people in the program, doing my daily readings, praying, being mindful, etc.) when I can't make it to a meeting.

***

On a similar note, something has shifted in my perception of this city. I've tended to walk around and wallow in the realization that this is only a place I visit, and it will continue to be a place I can only visit for some time to come. [At the very least, I have to stay in Chicago until Renegade finishes high school, which is five years from now.] But two things occurred to me yesterday as I was walking twenty blocks round-trip to buy a cupcake and a slice of pizza (NYC does that sort of thing to my capacity for rational decision-making):

1. Since my job allows me to work from wherever I want, there is nothing stopping me from spending my entire summers in NYC from now until when I can actually move here for good; and
2. Having these positive feelings about this city should serve as an impetus for taking the steps to reach my goal of moving here: streamlining my life, saving up enough money, and generally cultivating the sort of artistic/writerly inner life that I'd want before making the move.

And so I feel less depressed about this situation now. The end goal? Moving to NYC. The interim goal? Spending my summers -- and vacations, and random weekends, and lots of other times -- in NYC. I can't think of a better compromise.

***

I wanted to wake up early this morning (ha!) and walk around Central Park, but it's not working out that way (surprise, surprise). So, instead... I'm working at the hotel a bit, getting ready to eat a yummy breakfast (granola, soy yogurt, fresh blueberries, watermelon, and coffee), then grabbing my bags to head to Sheep Meadow for relaxing in the sun and book-reading before traveling to my next hotel in Tribeca. And later tonight? It's Wilco in Brooklyn. Yay!

better late than never

This started on my 35th birthday, but I'm only posting the list now... it's my 101 things in 1001 days list. Enjoy.

1. hike the Grand Canyon
2. visit Mount Rushmore
3. go to Burning Man
4. see Lucca, Italy
5. take acting classes
6. learn how to meditate
7. see a film in Bryant Park
8. participate in a writer’s colony
9. finish one of my books
10. see a ballet
11. see Shakespeare in Central Park
12. lose at least 20 pounds
13. finish my ninth step
14. visit my family’s castle in England
15. save $5,000
16. send out one essay per month (1/33)
17. read one classic novel per month (0/33)
18. volunteer at a homeless shelter
19. go to Fallingwater
20. chic-a-go-go
21. design & get a half-sleeve tattoo
22. take a class at The Peace School
23. Family Day at the MCA
24. fly a kite with the boys
25. learn how to play djembe drums
26. hear the CSO play in Grant Park
27. Chicago Outdoor Film Festival
28. walk through Central Park
29. take the boys to Washington DC
30. go on a silent retreat
31. visit Yogaville
32. get a snake tattoo on my lower back
33. take an Amtrak train somewhere out of state
34. rent dune buggies in Silver Lake MI
35. take a canoe trip on the Chicago River
36. learn how to kayak
37. visit the Outer Banks of North Carolina
38. start a sober writing group
39. get my wisdom teeth removed
40. experience a bikini wax
41. get my first mammogram
42. visit the spa at least once a month (3/33)
43. do a Master Cleanse
44. organize my photos from childhood
45. take hip-hop dance lessons
46. get a passport
47. laser hair removal for my face
48. hire a housekeeper
49. watch all the Star Wars movies
50. rent a cabin in the Shawnee National Forest
51. teach ESL in another country
52. go to the hot springs in Arkansas
53. sing live-band karaoke
54. Chicago SummerDance
55. start a retirement fund
56. go camping with the boys
57. get a facial once a year (0/3)
58. get to one concert/show a month (1/33)
59. swim in the Pacific Ocean
60. sell books I don’t absolutely need
61. pay off my library fines
62. officially earn my MA in TESOL
63. take a Boot Camp Fitness class
64. run a 5k race
65. plant a container garden
66. watch every Hitchcock film on Netflix
    
67. spend 30 days without driving anywhere
68. buy a shopping cart with wheels
69. walk to get groceries for 90 days
70. celebrate one year of sobriety
71. celebrate two years of sobriety
72. celebrate three years of sobriety
73. get rid of my expensive “new” car
74. buy a used car for cash
75. ride my bike along the lakefront path
76. attend one literary event a month (2/33)
77. see one film a month at Facets or Landmark (2/33)
78. walk around the Osaka Garden
79. tour the Robie House with the boys
80. join the Welles Park Fitness Center
81. go on all 50 Chicago City Walks (0/50)
82. clean out the basement at the house
83. see a show on the Theatre on the Lake
84. get on the board of a non-profit group
85. see a film in the Midwest Independent Film Festival
86. get properly measured for a bra
87. get fitted for running shoes
88. start a running regimen & keep it up for three months
89. take the boys to the Chicago Botanic Garden
90. tour the DuSable Museum
91. paddle a kayak on the Hudson
    
92. Chicago Humanities Festival
93. opening night for Chicago International Film Festival
94. make every recipe in How it All Vegan!
95. bake every cupcake in Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World
96. take a cooking class
97. learn how to knit
98. host a holiday dinner party for friends
99. find & buy a bedroom set
    
100. get professional photos taken
101. take the boys to LEGOland in Schaumburg

fire island storms

The beach in Kismet, NY (Fire Island)

Yesterday, I went to my first meeting on the island; there were five people total, including one woman with 18 days. I got my very first glimpse of what people mean when they say that newcomers help keep them sober. I wasn't in any danger of relapsing when I walked into that church annex, but my sobriety was most definitely reinforced by listening to this woman, who was really quite fragile and completely unsure how to handle almost anything in her life.

I remember being that person -- chattering on to my friends in the program about how my life was so complicated and it would never get figured out and I'd never be able to manage -- and they'd just nod and say "keep coming back" or "more will be revealed" or equally irritating (then) bromides. I can't say when, exactly, it changed for me, but it most definitely did. There's a line in the promises where the big book says that -- at some point -- we will intuitively know how to handle situations that used to baffle us. Being in that meeting yesterday made me realize that I have reached the place where I feel more intuition than confusion, and for that I am immensely grateful. Namaste.

whew

I started the day in my apartment in Lincoln Square (Chicago, I should mention, as there's an identically named neighborhood in NYC), and over the course of the day I flew some 800 miles east, checked into my hotel room on Park Avenue and 61st (where I took a shower and then danced around, first naked and then in the world's comfiest robe, to the in-room iTunes), walked to Lexington and 59th, hopped on the 6 train to Union Square, transferred to the L train to 1st Ave, ate pizza at the corner of 1st Ave and 14th St, and then walked some ten blocks uptown to 23rd and the East River, where I went on a cruise looping around the Statue of Liberty and listening to kick-ass tunes from Apollo Sunshine.

Now I'm in Brooklyn with jj as he packs for Fire Island. We just went grocery shopping at the corner organic market, and soon we'll be back on Park Avenue for the night. Tomorrow, the real adventure begins. As if I haven't come far enough for a girl from Texas already. (Speaking of which, my dad called to tell me happy birthday for the first time in at least eight years. More on that tomorrow. Namaste.)

it's official

I am thirty-five years old, as of about four minutes ago. Or: I'll be thirty-five at 5:36pm CST. At that time, though, I will not be blogging, as I will be leaving my hotel to make my way to the Skyport Marina in NYC, from which I will be departing for a Rocks Off Boat Cruise featuring Apollo Sunshine.

It was nice having dinner with sober friends, all of whom were so very generous and kind this evening. It's funny how, when you're out there drinking and having "fun" you think that you've got great friendships when someone buys you beers every time you go out, or if someone holds your hair back when you're throwing up in the bushes (or eggs you on to drink more and more and more), but that's not real friendship. I have that in my life now, and it's amazing to me to think of all I've been missing my entire life.

I don't know how much blogging I'll be doing while I'm on vacation, but I'm going to try to keep it up. We'll see how it all falls into place... Namaste.

lolla, day three

So yesterday The Sassy Blonde and I went to The Music Lounge at the Hard Rock Hotel for manicures, tattoos (well, for her; I didn't get another one), lots o'free stuff, and a yummy lunch on the house (with live entertainment provided by some of the lesser-known Lolla bands). We ran into quite a few of the artists, and I was standing next to Duffy while we were both waiting to get seated in the cafe.

We got to Lolla in time to hang out in the media tent for a while with a stringer for Us Weekly we'd met on Friday night (he got a tattoo immediately before I did), and then headed to see Explosions in the Sky followed by Okkervil River. We left "campus" for a bit to meet up with Pops for dinner at the Artist's Snack Shop (their veggie burger rivals my favorite one in NYC), where The Sassy Blonde and I asked to use the restroom. We were given a piece of paper to take into the Fine Arts building, where an old-fashioned manned elevator took us to the sixth floor. After passing a guy sitting on a bench wearing three hats -- one on top of the other -- we found the bathroom. When we walked in there were no toilets to be found, only sinks and a taped-up door, and three overweight women wearing jeans shorts attempting to crawl out the window and onto the fire escape. When we opened the taped door and found miniature toilets, we both collapsed into a fit of laughter and rushed to pee before we wet our pants. It seems as though every time we go out, we have Alice in Wonderland moments, and that was certainly one of them (Friday night, it was going through the McDonald's drive thru at 2am behind a guy on a bicycle).

Pops wanted to hang out with me after the show, so we made arrangements for that, and he left to go back to the "L" while The Sassy Blonde and I made our way to see Rage Against the Machine. We stayed there until about 9:20, and then heard a few Wilco songs on our way back to the car.

After we got home, I frantically cleaned house and took a shower. Pops came over around 10pm, and it was nice to finally chat with him outside of the context of a meeting. We didn't get to sleep until past 3am, but it's been so long since I've just talked with someone, it felt good.

Now, we're camped out on the North Side of Lolla, having listened to Iron & Wine and Flogging Molly. Love & Rockets is on stage now, soon to be followed by The National and then Nine Inch Nails. It's been a good and relaxing weekend, the painful healing of my tattoo notwithstanding. Tomorrow, a bunch of friends are meeting me at Fernando's for my birthday dinner, and the next day I'll be NYC bound. My life is pretty freakin' awesome, and I don't want to lose sight of that fact for a single minute. Namaste.

recap of last night

Went to the Hard Rock Hotel w/The Sassy Blonde
Where a midget glommed onto me
Okay, so he wasn't a midget
Just really, really short
And married
But his wife was "out of town"
Or maybe he was getting divorced
The story kept changing.

I got a tattoo for free
Because that's how we roll
And we met lots of drunk guys
Who reminded us why we're sober
As did the plethora of sloppy drunk girls.

We took photo booth pictures
With a machine that also spit out condoms
Which went haywire at some point
And condoms were everywhere.

We had the world's best coffee
The name of which I've forgotten
But I'll find out today, when we go back
For free manicures and haircuts and swag bags.

Despite promises of famous people,
We didn't see anyone recognizable
Though I did run into -- literally
A guy from The Real World 4 years ago
Which I never watched, so whatever.

Meanwhile, my tattoo really hurts.
I can't wait to go back.

--
Sent from Gmail for mobile | mobile.google.com

the latest tattoo

I think this makes eight, and I didn't even pay for it, as it was one of the "perks" of my job this evening. How awesome is THAT?!?

live from the kidz stage at lolla

Seeing Jeff Tweedy perform Wilco songs on the Kidz Stage -- including What Light, Hummingbird, and I'm the Man Who Loves You -- has made me realize that, as much as I adore Rage Against the Machine, I'm going to see Wilco tomorrow night. The band has been so instrumental in my continued sobriety that I just can't not go.

I'm here now with Renegade, who's lovin' it all, and in a little while I'll take off to bring him to the train station, from which he'll depart for his first-ever solo ride to Wheaton. I'll go hang out in The Music Lounge at the Hard Rock Hotel for a bit after that, then meet Mr. Big here for Stephen Malkmus, and Pops will be here in time for Radiohead. And after all THAT, The Sassy Blonde and I are meeting up at the Hard Rock Hotel to see DJ Momjeans (aka Danny Masterson) as well as Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings work their late-night magic.

I drove down here and brought a kick-ass dress + heels + perfume + my makeup bag, so even after sweating my ass off all day, it'll be all good.

Moe, later. Namaste.