Edith's beauty tips

Suppose you go for a semi-long run in some shitty shoes that are a little past their prime and you mangle your toenails all to hell. What are you going to do, sacrifice the whole sandal season??? I hardly think so. Since Chicago's sandal season is only like 2 weeks long, we can't trifle with limitations.

So if cosmetics are meant to enhance our natural beauty, drain the blisters, glue those bitches back on, and work with your natural palette.

Yes my toes are long and bony. I can swing through the trees and pick up the soap.

Cubs Win!!

There is really no excuse to turn down tickets to a Cubs game. Sure the team sucks, and I can't honestly say I'm a Cubs fan, but I'm a huge Wrigley Field fan. I lucked into some rooftop seats and for the crosstown classic, no less. I checked to see which hat suited me better; looked like it was going to be Sox black & white for a little while, but I went with Cubbie blue at the end because it matched my outfit better. I know. Call me names, I'll live. Below is a picture of the ONE pennant they won, and if you can't read it or don't know, it says 1906.

This is not a sports blog so I will not dwell on the details of the game. The important part is that the Cubs won, which means I made a good hat choice.

Now, for the salacious fun.

The main reason I was invited was because a civic minded congregant at my church wanted me to meet the hottie above. He's a member of our sister congregation out in the 'burbs.

He just sold his business for 2 billion, yes "B"-billion dollars. He wants to do some philanthropic type business, so our mutual friend thought it would be good for us to meet so I could find a benefactor for our little charity clinic. I think the toddler on his left could have been his date. If I hadn't had the beer I wouldn't have snickered, but well....what are you going to do? give her some graham crackers & set up a play date with my kids ?? heh heh. snort.

Stanley Cup and Other Sporting News

Apparently everyone on the entire planet gives a shit about the World Cup. My interest level thus far been wavering somewhere between miniscule and non-existent; this despite Dr. Ginger's overwrought ebullience.

The good news is that after a brief perusal of this month's Vanity Fair I'm beginning to experience a glimmer of interest. I'll have to review the article in it's entirely before I decide for sure. I guess it will depend largely on the degree of illustration.

Moving on to the other sporting news:

Thankfully our hometown Hawks spanked those friggin' annoying Flyers, the manners of their fans are abysmal. The ENTIRE CITY of big babies blamed everyone but Darth Vadar and Voldemort for their loss. The even booed our hero, No Teef Keef (six of his choppers were pulverized in an earlier game). Rude!

As pleased as I was with their victory, I would appreciate if they could conduct any future melees in the street on someone else's block.

Almost every single patient on my schedule canceled today, which is good because it was nearly impossible to get in the front door. A sweet little granny with a bad hip and a cane was one of the three patients who kept their appointments. Apparently she's been firmly beneath a rock and was unaware that the parade was scheduled to iterfere with her appointed time. She did manage to enlist the help of two young men (which means that they were less than 70) who gallantly escorted her through the crowd.

These pictures were taken from my office window, out of which I was hanging while wearing my fair-weather-fan jersey and throwing ticker tape. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Summertime

Graduations, weddings, birfdays, gardening, summer camps, wardrobe changes, insect bites, poison ivy, school's out, fishing trips, family visits to the hillbilly kinfolk, all contingent on shaking the money maker to finance so much activity. I sat down with my calendar, stared for a while, and walked away feeling like I've been slapped on both sides of the head.
So much to cram into a few short months.

The fishing trip is the most exciting prospect, and I'm pretty sure I can piggyback it with a Seattle conference and call it business travel. Of course I'll have to round up my psychic, my brow tweezer, my shrink, my chakra fluffer and my sherpa because I don't go anywhere without them; who does, really?

OK, I admit that my inspiration for the last paragraph came from eavesdropping on the parents that one encounters at the local skating rink. This particular rink offers lessons to the many young, academically gifted (whether they want to be or not), all-round completely talented, beautiful and privileged young girls in preparation for their upcoming eating disorders. The mother involved in said conversation was distraught about how many nannies she could take on the European vacation; just one for the twins and the french tutor? or both twin nannies? Oh the painful dilemmas. If there is going to be casting for "The Real Housewives of Chicago" I would recommend they start their search at the skating rink or the nearby dance studio where the moms can also participate in the recital. What is up with all those giganto lips anyway? Do they have to plump up everything so that their geriatric husbands can find them?
bitchy catty me. sorry.

Chicago Architecture/Field Trip

I was the designated mommybot charged with chaperoning the third grade on their final field trip, which was a double-decker bus ride through our own fair city.

This means that I arrived drunk and passed a bottle of Jack around on the bus, and if one of the little tykes hesitated I said "shut up you baby, all the cool kids are doing it". Then I shank-eyed the teacher and told her she needed to learn how to control the little monsters, whacked her with my Gucci bag and passed out in the back seat with a lit cigarette. HAHA. Kidding. I gave up cigarettes long ago.

It is fun to be a tourist in your own town, because usually we're all too busy plotting our next crime to look up and enjoy the architecture, which in Chicago is truly magnificent. We had a perfect day to have both third grade classes trapped on one vehicle. This makes chaperoning relatively easy as they cannot escape.

If the kids were assigned to share the most memorable part of the tour it would be what is depicted in the photo below. And no, it's not the Aon building, nor is it the striking bandshell in Millennium Park. Try to guess.

Ok, I'll tell. It's the lack of the hat on the tour-guide's head.

Much to the delight of the third grade, his ball-cap blew off while he was in the middle of a Mies van der Rohe anecdote, those crazy German architects will getcha every time!

Of course the kids couldn't give a shit less about the architect story, but dude's Cubs had flew off and it was JOYFUL. Of course the fact that he demanded that the bus pull over and that he then proceeded to chase his hat in the wind through four lanes of traffic did not serve to quell the enthusiasm.

That is the part that will be remembered by the children of the third grade.

Just to share a little, here's the Hancock building, right next to Water Tower Place, aka "Where Oprah Lives".

The driver of the bus was obviously somewhat new to the job, because on the way back to the school (about 3 blocks from the Hancock) he managed to take a swing through the scenic projects. Maybe he was just trying to maintain some balance, I dunno. We did get a couple of salutes from the good folks in the Cabrini projects, fortunately firearms were not involved. Could have been bad for me, what being the chaperone I should have worn my kevlar after all, I guess

Why Chaz, Why?

I get it that she wanted to be a he; she had some gender issues and apparently always had a hankerin' for the ladies. She wanted to wear menswear with ties and big watches with altimeters and use aftershave. After she shaved. Her face.

I can live with all that; deep down she was a dude. My question, then is this: Why go through the whole reassignment thing then call yourself "Chaz"??? Chaz is the gayest gay name a gay ever had. Ever. To my knowledge, there is no straight man on planet earth named Chaz.

So is he a gay man now? That would take it to a new level of confusion for me.

The Clean Garage

t may not look clean, not exactly.

According to Mr. g.d. Bunker, standing there with his chest all puffed out, proud as an Amish kid with his first bong, it is all taken care of, cleaned up and sorted out. So rejoice &" just quit bitching"already.

Is it so horribly wrong for me to question why, if it's all cleaned out, can I still not park a car in there (four years and counting), or, for that matter, walk through it? In fact the only passage would be by using the ceiling joists like monkey bars & swinging through. Fortunately, I can do that with my toes; one of my more attractive attributes, although difficult if I'm wearing a skirt or carrying groceries. And the damn kids keep falling on their heads, those little assholes.

This is a minor detail which only the harshest of critics would notice, of course. You see, it's not that it's all completely cleaned out and finished, what do I expect a miracle?? However, it may as well be finished and clean, because he has gotten enough boxes and other types of containers that it could easily all be packed up and put neatly away. Duh! Problem solved.

The issue is, of course, that now in addition to all the shit that was in there in the first place there is also a tower of moldy moving crates, cookie tins, and hat boxes, so nothing has really changed. That is unless you're looking through eyes that are supplied by crazy brains, then you can see a beautiful transformation. I guess I've got some serious glue huffing to do.

Here is a random mother with her two glorious children in front of Soldier Field. This was for a little Saturday morning run. The weather was perfect, the course was along the spectacular lakefront, but that didn't help me with the last couple of miles. I was really only (hardly even) ready to run 6 miles, the extra four were some kind of cruel joke.

Unfortunately Mr. Bunker showed up to cheer us on and to reassure me that it's not so much that I'm out of shape, more just that I'm getting old. asshole.

He only came because he heard that they give away a lot of free stuff at the finish line; now he's got some Cliff bars and massage coupons which may now be added to his ever increasing heap-o-shit. He also grabbed up a few t-shirts even though they were not available in fat man sizes; he's planning on loosing a few pounds (so he can find a girlfriend) & expects that they will fit him soon enough.

I finished the dumb race and my legs still feel like they're on backwards. At least my kids were impressed--enough to fight about who got to wear my medal to school today, anyway.

I