This is your brain ; this is your brain on drugs.

I wonder if the brilliant minds who brought us the frying egg PSA in the mid-nineties had any clue how much of an impact they would have. Granted, I'm not sure how much of the non-sober society has been influenced by the snap, crackle, pop of TV's most famous burning yoke, but if I may speak for the sober part of the population, I feel the catch-phrase: "This is your brain," etc. was quite a creation. It, among other things, has kept me off drugs so way to go, yolk people!

Not once, but twice today I had people whose brains were scrambled with cheese approach not me, but Ethan and: 1. Offer him money, and 2. Tell my 15-month-old (there was no eye contact with me--the adult) all about someone she was "really pissed at"...aaaand I could make out no other word after that. The first guy was on the train with waaaay too much alcohol on his breath, among other things, and the woman, much to my chagrin, boarded the very slow-moving elevator with me at the train stop. (Gotta love city elevators. When you're longing for a good, strong whiff of someone else's urine, those things never fail to disappoint!) Basically, there was no getting away from the fried egg weirdos. I love public transportation. I love Chicago...
I want to move.

For Rent

I am constantly on the lookout for someplace to live. I am not homeless, I am not desperate, but I am always looking. My last trimester of pregnancy was filled with hours, and I mean HOURS of online scavenging to find us somewhere to live in Chicago. Seriously, in my mind the words December, January, February, March of 2009 are almost synonymous with words like: gut rehab, updated kitchen, in-building laundry (pay), close to transportation, free credit check, some utilities included, and great location!. To this day these words parade across my brain like some strange song I dreamed up and can't get out of my head in the morning. It doesn't end. I've continued looking since the day we moved here.

Last May we found a beautiful new condo complete with every amenity we had dreamed of: dishwasher, washer/dryer, central air, covered parking, elevator, right beside an 'El' stop (also with an elevator--very important for mommies with strollers), I'm talking the works! The rent per month was at the top of our budget, but it worked for us, and considering we had one afternoon (and I mean ONE afternoon) to ( in person) find a place to live in a city we'd never visited before (Sterling had visited downtown as a kid, but nowhere else, and since we're not: A). Millionaires or B). Willing to live in a cramped studio last renovated in 1975 while still paying $1600/month, real estate downtown was a no-go for us), I'd say we got a superb deal for the money.

But we're itching for a change. The apartment has been great for a year, but there are little things like windows without screens that open out instead of up, and I have terrifying visions of smart Ethan climbing on a chair at 2 years old, opening the easily-opened window and...I don't even want to write the rest. Plus the hall carpets are always stained, the management is very hard to get a hold of, we're on a very busy street with a 15% visibility (thanks to the hoards of cars perpetually parked on the sides), left-hand turn out of the building which sometimes can take several minutes to make...blah, blah, blah, I sound pretty spoiled and fickle. We're just not feeling this place anymore, ok?! The biggest factor, really, is that with a rent like ours it's becoming very difficult to put any substantial amount of money into savings for a house in the future. And even though so many people in this city seem to be perfectly content to rent, rent, rent, rent, rent, rent, DIE---I'd like to BUY before I die, thank you very much.

And so I'm attracted to "For Rent" signs like a moth to a light, like a dog to a hydrant, like a pregnant lady to pickles, like a....you get the idea. Walking towards a rental sign feels frighteningly like an addiction. I tell myself, "This building isn't on a great street, it doesn't have A/C...and yet I have to get a closer look and even write the phone number down. That odd song starts ringing in my head again, the verses becoming longer: one month rent deposit, street parking available, contact Hal for info...actually, would you excuse me? I have to call someone about a rental I saw today. It's "in a great location!"

Tender

Where we spend LOTS of time

"It Starts..."

Can you guess which animated Disney feature this post's title is from? I'll give you a hint: No I won't. You should know. Bonus points if you can name the character. Sterling and I have a tradition of playing "Guess the Disney Movie" on road trips. It's not really competitive, seeing as how it's completely one-sided. It consists of Sterling saying a one-liner from some Disney cartoon and allowing me to tell him which one it's from. I get extra points if I can also guess the character/context, as mentioned above. In case you were wondering, I ALWAYS win this game. I'm thankful I married a cute guy who indulges my one-woman-game playing experience. He genuinely loves listening to me talk, too. How lucky am I?!

Now down to business. I've been promising my darling, talented, adorable, sweet-as-can-be, BFF sister, Heather (who is actually the only one reading this post) that I'd finally get with the program of other wedded women in the 2010's and publicly document my life on one of these terribly-nicknamed weblogs (when I hear "blog" I hear "blob" and conger up images of some cheesy Mystery Science 3000 worthy movie where a blue, semi-deflated workout ball moves independently, albeit very slowly, towards its unsuspecting prey, which happens to be a skinny young buck from 1958 and his overly-perky, saddle shoe-sporting girly friend named Susan. I think that's a real movie...). However, since I find so much delight in reading posts by my darling, talented, adorable, sweet-as-can-be, BFF sister, Heather, this blogging thing might just have some merit. Now to just find the time. I had a rough time as an English major since I feel like good writing comes in spurts for me. It happens about 15% of the time. The other 85% I feel like my words form together nicely in my head, but they're somehow not translated into my fingers. Is that odd? I should have chosen a different major. Yes, I graduated over a year ago, and I'm still a little stupefied over that decision.

And now the reason I've waited to blog for so long---my 15 month old is crying, so this must come to an end. Why is it that I feel so awake when Ethan naps, but as soon as he wakes up my energy takes a nose dive? I'm going on Day 2 as a single parent. Sterling's company is having a conference and all the employees are being treated to box seats at the Sox game tonight. Being a mommy is just as glamorous, right??