2005-07-07 - 9:59 p.m.

London

Poor London. I can't even come close to imagining what it would be like to be on the el and have the car behind me blow up. Chicago's not as high on the list of terrorism targets as New York, London, or Washington D.C., but it has to rank at least nearly as high as Los Angeles and higher than most other cities. I don't think of commuting to work via bus and el as something that could kill me, but we've all come to see that no place is really safe from these psychos.

I thought these posts were interesting and/or touching...
Leonie
These two posts from Andrew Sullivan
Susie Sunshine

On a lighter note...

I found the title to the car we're selling! It was (as you all SHOULD HAVE KNOWN AND TOLD ME, jerks) on the floor underneath a Simpsons Monopoly game, two old newspapers from when the Tigers won the 1968 World Series, and two baseball gloves from the '40s or '50s. I mean really. How did you not know that?

I got a few amused emails about how my taxes were in our old brew kettle. Since you all seem to find it so funny, why don't we go through the Night of the Tax Breakdown.

Disturbingly, this breakdown happened the very day Dawnie posted about hers. Because obviously, she is a smart one and I avoid doing things that she has not done first.

Night of the Tax Breakdown
Overview: We had our taxes done by a professional this year, and had to find them in order to get next year's law school loans. Which is, you know, how we live in an apartment vs. a cardboard box. In our apartment, however, the office (and by "office," I mean, "paper-ridden hell-hole") is filled to the brim with books, papers, cords, and various other crap.

Me: I've looked! They're not in a file. I don't know where they are.

My husband: Well, there's no way we can go up to Wisconsin before we find them.

Me: (grumpy) (grumbling somewhat quietly) This is not my fault. I try to keep the house clean and things just pile up and I don't know which of your stupid law papers are junk and which aren't and the pile is three feet high. (loudly) I told you I've already looked and I DON'T KNOW where they are.

My husband: (goes into back room) (bumping, banging, things flying around)

Me: (sniff) Stupid house. Always messy. Haaaate. (sniff)

My husband: (walks out of back room HOLDING TAXES) (smiles) I fucking blame you for this!

Me: (didn't see the taxes he was holding) (shock) (speechless) (SOBBING)

My husband: (horrified) Honey! I'm holding them! I thought you saw them in my hand! I was kidding!

Me: (SOBBING)

My husband: (panicking) Do you want to go to Gertie's? We'll go now! Chocolate malt!

Me: (SOBBING) IT'S ALL A HUGE MESS AND WE CAN'T FIND ANYTHING AND LOOK AT ALL THE SHIT ON THE TAAAAABLE...

My husband: We're both tired. This is the first night I've been home before 9pm this week. And it's hot. We'll be fine. It's okay.

Me: (sobbing quieter) yes. hot. too hot.

My husband: (flips through taxes) Aww, look! It has the documents from when you paid off your one student loan! Look at your cute old signature with your maiden name.

Me: (sniff) (sniff) (little smile)

My husband: And guess where I found them.

Me: (stares blankly)

My husband: In our old brew kettle! Obviously. I mean, where else would we store the taxes?

Me: (little smile) So wait, what was that about Gertie's?



Since then, I've been working hard to fix up the house. I have about two thirds of the kitchen done, so you all get treated to a picture of it.


Also, a freshly bottled batch of Berliner Weisse. Two weeks and it'll be all ready!


Also, what the hell is my plant doing with that protrusion it just grew? Click and comment if you know...

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