photo friday: oh, hello

27 Feb


In keeping with the throwback theme from last week, another gem I came across when sifting through Ireland photos.

Such a happy mug, and I bet he would have made a fine travel companion as we made our way from Dublin to Galway.

photo friday: throwback

20 Feb


A few weeks ago my laptop started acting like a jerk, and I had to call my friend Wild Turkey Dave to come over and help me fix it. Wild Turkey Dave is a genius with computer things, or it’s entirely possible that he’s not so much a genius with them so much as I am rather a non-genius with them.

Anyway, the point is I was moving photos from my laptop to an external hard drive and lo! What fun I had culling through pictures of times gone by. Some real gems in there that I hadn’t looked at in entirely too long, like this lovely scape from the Cliffs of Mohr when I traveled to Ireland with my family.

Photos like these make me long to grab my camera and hop on a plane and I might just need to go check my airline miles right now excuse me please and thank you.

conversations, part V

18 Feb

Having a dog in the house has been quite the adjustment. There are morning walks and evening walks, and much more concern about pooping than we’ve previously experienced in our lives. But Swede and I adjusted pretty quickly to this new lifestyle, because we are adults and have opposable thumbs. Apparently if you lack the latter, it hasn’t been such an easy ride, as the cats have been quite vociferous and insistent on letting us know their unhappiness. To which I simply shrug and tell them if they became more productive and contributory members of the household instead of the lumpy sponges that they are, maybe they would be able to have a say in who gets to live here.

Me: Listen, I know you guys aren’t happy that the dog is here. But I think it’s best if you would just accept the fact that she’s not going anywhere. Especially you, Fat Cat.

Him: Mrw.

Me: Yes, you. Your sister has partially accepted it. She only hisses at the dog 97 percent of the time now. And we all know that while she may be the smallest animal in the house, she’s also the most badass. Yes, she’s scared of shoes and air, but can you honestly tell me you don’t think she was a dictator in a past life and would just as soon shank a bitch as look at her?

Him: Mrow.

Me: Yes, I know I’m right, too.

Him: Blinkblink

Me: And another thing. I think having a dog in the house is going to be a good thing for you. You can learn a lot from her.

Him: Rwwwrrr.

Me: No, I disagree. Take, for example, this morning. Why don’t you take a page from the dog’s playbook? See how she has learned, in her seven months on this planet, versus your seven years, that if it is morning, she will get fed. She does not freak out about it. She does not plant herself on the far side of the condo and yell at the top of her lungs for food. She does not run full speed into the bedroom, yell in my face for food, and then run back out.

Him: Rwrrr.

Me: It’s rude.

Him: Mrw-rw.

Me: Yes, it is.

Him: Blinkblinkblink

Me: This is not the first time I’ve talked with you about becoming a person of excellence. Or cat of excellence, I guess. This is not even the third time we’ve talked about it. But it doesn’t matter what I talk to you about—becoming a cat of excellence, not taking swipes at the dog, not intruding on my bathroom time—it’s in one ear and out the other.

Him: Blinkblinkblink

Me: It’s the one thing you’ve got going for you—at least you’re consistent.

Him: Mrow.

The only one who will listen to him rant is the one he doesn't like.

The only one who will listen to him rant is the one he doesn’t like.

photo friday: city by the lake

13 Feb

Chicago Winter Night

Last winter the lake was an ice rink from Chicago to Indiana. This year, not so much. Mini-icebergs bob in the harbor, and I half-expect to see penguins floating on top of them, waving as you walk by.

Because really, that’s what Chicago needs: Penguins.

But then, doesn’t every city?


photo friday: remember when

6 Feb

Bill Bryson

Remember that time last summer when I casually tossed a Bill Bryson book on my Summer 2014 McPolish Reading List?

Yeah. I finally finished it.

And only five months after summer officially ended!

I think that may be a record.

It’s not, mind you, that I didn’t like the book. In fact, I enjoyed it quite a lot. But if you’ve ever read Bill Bryson, then you know his is not writing you can just zip through reading, or you’ll miss half of what makes it such a delight to read. Couple that with my reading it on the bus to and from work, a process which at most takes twenty minutes, and you’ll understand why it took me a solid seven months and eight library renewals to finish this book.

That said, I do recommend it for myriad reasons—the writing, of course, but also since it was published in the 90s, it’s a fantastic throwback reminiscence of how travel used to be, before cell phones, before the Internet, a time when traveler’s checks were the norm.

Pick it up, I tell you, and don’t rush the ride.

things i’ve been meaning to tell you: february 2015

4 Feb


Swede and I have been re-watching Gilmore Girls on Netflix—some may call it binge-watching, but why must we label?—and I’ve come to the realization that Lorelei is an over-excited, selfish harpy. I watched the series when it first aired, though not regularly. Mostly as it aired a week later in reruns on ABC Family. And viewing it that way, it’s hard to see these traits in a main character, let’s be honest. In viewing it week to week, you tend to give them the benefit of the doubt. But when you watch seven episodes in a row without stop and breaking only for the bathroom and perhaps another bowl of popcorn (PERHAPS), it becomes gratingly clear how much of an asshole Lauren Graham’s character really is. Also, both Dean and Jess are shmucks.


I am magic.

Swede has a habit of losing things, which is…well, this is nothing new. Swede and I have been together for five and a half years, and for five years, five months, three weeks and two days of that time I’ve known that he has a tendency to misplace things. But since he is with me, all is well, because I have an innate ability to find said misplaced items within three seconds of his searching, things that were thought to be otherwise lost to the abyss that is our condo. And do you know why?

Because I am magic.


A few weeks ago we went to see Hobbit 3. I remember seeing Hobbit 1, but I missed out on Hobbit 2, for whatever reason, and let me tell you something about the Hobbit you probably already know: It has given me an incredible amount of respect and love for Led Zeppelin. In addition to the additional love I grew for them once I finally watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I mean, you guys, I saw Gollum in the movie, and there was all this talk of Modor and when the movie was over, I was all, “OH EM GEE, THIS IS TOTALLY WHAT LED ZEPPELIN WAS SINGING ABOUT DO YOU THINK JRR TOLKIEN WAS OKAY WITH THIS?”

Also, I will be the first to tell you I am not responsible for the flailing of my arms and legs (otherwise known as How I Dance) when Over the Hills and Far Away comes over the airwaves. It simply can’t be helped.


All Canadian houses need to be remodeled. Except for those that have already been remodeled, which, you should know, are out of your price range. Canada, how did all of your houses fall into such disrepair? Do none of your citizens have house pride? Does everyone have a flagrant disregard for up-to-date plumbing? Because if we are to believe HGTV—and I think we should—the best houses to fix up are in the Great Country to the North. And not only is it the best area for fixing up, there are a lot of properties available. I’m not really sure why we’re not all moving there right now.


Spaghetti squash is not a substitute for pasta.

Neither are zoodles.

Don’t get me wrong: Spaghetti squash is amazingly delicious and I have no idea where it’s been all my life except in that bin over there in the produce department, but it’s not pasta. When you want the rich, thick carbohydrate goodness of loopy strands of bucatini or the squat, fat deliciousness of rigatone, the thin, almost see-through strands of spaghetti squash—WHICH IS A VEGETABLE—just aren’t going to satisfy. They’re just not.

I get it—if you’re into low-carb eating, spaghetti squash does kind of look like noodles. And I’m not going to tell you what to eat or not eat, all I’m going to say is that spaghetti squash, and/or zoodles, are not pasta. If you can’t eat, or won’t eat pasta, that’s okay. And it’s okay to miss pasta. I know I did. But don’t try and make spaghetti squash or those poor damn zoodles a substitute for pasta. Let them be what they are. Enjoy them for what they are, because they are delicious in their own right. LET SPAGHETTI SQUASH AND ZOODLES BE THEIR OWN PERSONS. OR VEGETABLES, BECAUSE THEY’RE NOT ACTUALLY PEOPLE. BUT WHATEVER.


photo friday: gratuitous puppy photo in 5…4…3…

29 Jan

I can’t guarantee that this blog won’t turn into another outlet where I display for all to see how stupid I am for this dog, like my Instagram and Facebook feeds have become.



You try and resist. You’ll probably fail, too.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 246 other followers