ChgoRed, Girl Editor

Oh, 'Bama

I mentioned earlier that part of the Reverend's Borders-leaving bounty (aside from some thermal cups), was a poster of Barack Obama.

Let's put it this way: If you are ever in need of some positive attention, you should get yourself a 3' x 2' poster of Barack (mounted on foamcore, so you can't roll it up), and just carry it around with you for a while.  You will be amazed.

Smiling, pointing people on the train.

Smiling, pointing people on the bus.

Smiles and turned heads and friend's-shirt-tugging while walking down the street.

Thumbs-up from a random cabbie.

Waitress who speaks just enough English to ask, "You vote for him?"  Smiling, of course.

And that was just in the hour or so getting him home. 

Now that he's here, we need to figure out what to do with him.  However, we have no doubt about the power of his kind, beneficient smile.  As if the people on the street weren't enough, Sunday morning, we caught our cat Mimi LICKING the poster.

We had no idea she even followed politics.

Changes A-Comin'

Last night, my husband brought home all his stuff from his office. Who knew the man had printed out so many Dinosaur Comics strips?

Tomorrow, I will pick up the little cake I ordered. Then I'll head up to Evanston to get the man and mark this as the second job we've closed out together.  Plus, he needs my help carrying home a cardboard Barack Obama promotional sign. (Despite my hopes, it's not actually a stand-up cardboard Barack. That would have been so cool.)

Then we'll come home, eat cake, and try to figure out what happens next. The next few weeks promise adjustments.

The last time I was the sole breadwinner, I was also the sole bread-eater. In other words, I wasn't married and had no furry dependents. The last time he was unemployed (pre-candy store), we were still living in separate apartments. So this time will be very different. For one, he'll be home every night of the week AND every weekend. We've had four years of a retail schedule, and although I hated it, I got a lot of me-time alone in the apartment.  I'm not sure if I can handle giving that up. On the other hand, I have heard numerous promises about "...dinner ready when you get home..." and "I'll be able to do a lot more housecleaning..."  I admit—I kind of like that part.

Like I told my sisters, I'm not really scared or nervous. It's more a feeling of...being strapped into the roller coaster seat. Like, "Well, I think I know what to expect. Sort of. Here we go..."

Also, there could be screaming at some point. Hopefully not too much.

Mighty Fine in '89

"I wonder what they'll look like now
Or if they'll recognize me
I wonder if they'll even show up after all these years
See how much we have changed so quickly
Ain't we lucky though
Just lucky to be alive
Class of '85" —Todd Snider, "Class of '85"

That was the song on the iPod this morning, and it reminded me: the reunion IS closer than I think.  It will be 20 years next summer. Loveland High School class of 1989.  As the stickers on our notebooks said, "Mighty fine in '89!"  Woo!  Awesome!  Etc.  Am I going to the reunion?  Well...that is the question.

I skipped to the 10-year reunion for three reasons.

1) A 10-year high school reunion always seemed pointless.  You're only 28—what the hell are you getting nostalgic for?

2) All the materials I got about it made the whole thing seem kinda low-rent and rinky-dink.  Well, they did.  I'm not schlepping all the way to Colorado if one of the events is a bring-your-own-food barbecue.  Which I couldn't bring food for anyway because...

3) I don't drive.  My hometown has no public transport and no cab company.  Naturally, all the reunion events were in separate locations and would have required driving to various places.  I suppose I could have taken the organizers' advice and asked someone for a ride, but really, if we haven't talked in 10 years, I'm not asking you to haul me around town.

The conundrum is that I've always assumed I would go to my 20th high school reunion.  Now, though, I'm weighing the driving issue (which, I know, could be resolved by next year).  Plus, there are plans for a big family reunion down South next year.  If I can only pick one to spend my time and money on, my family is going to win.

Questions for the readers:
Did you go to any of your reunions?  Did you like them?  I'm split between thinking it will be fun, and finding it out it will be like Prom—i.e., an overhyped not-fun weekend that is mostly a letdown. My Prom was a big suckhole of suck, so I'll be happy to avoid one of those again.

Rains, Pours

So this is my week. Husband resigning, both cats sick, giant report to work on at work, and me with a summertime head cold that has me feeling like my brain has been replaced with a cinder block. Seriously—this morning when I got on the bus, I tried to put my coins in the slot where the fare cards go.

In the midst of all this, I got a phone call yesterday from the company that bought my great-grandpa's church. As expected, they are tearing it down. Unexpected: Some of the interior pieces will be going into an Irish pub in Elgin. This is especially ironic considering that the great-grandpa in question was a Dry. A prohibitionist. A high-up member of the Anti-Saloon League.

They called to find out if I still want one of the windows—specifically, the window that memorializes the preacher's first wife.

I do. But: logistics? The thing is big. I will call today and see if I can find out exactly how big. Also, old and made of glass.

Anyone feel like lending their car or renting a truck with me this weekend? I'll buy the pizza and the gas.