Best laid plans.

Getting from Point A to Point B has never been so difficult. Three flights to get from The Second City back to The Country is a bit excessive by any standards, but then to delay flights, miss flights, get bumped over to stand-by status and end up spending more time in the airport than on an airplane is just plain ridiculous. Capital R. And in true City Girl form, it was a highly dramatic happening.

I have now spent 1.5 days in three different airports, run through the current airport four times (a literal run with sweat. gross.) and spent the night in a strangers bed. I think it would best be summed up with this timeline:

8:00am Knock back tea so hot it takes off the first few layers of skin in my mouth. Leave friends apt and go downtown with her to her office. Meet her boss. Mention that Long Beach State sucks. Find out it's his alma mater. (Awesome.) Come to the conclusion I will never work for this company. Don't find him funny anyway.
10:00am Hop on blue line to airport.
12:20pm Discover I have left important items at friends house. Leave The Second City and fly to Middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma. 
2:30pm Arrive in Middle of Nowhere and find out my flight is delayed another 2 hours on top of the 2 hour layover I already anticipated. No biggie. Still going home today. (Or so I think.) Also discover they are cow tipping champs. They have the shirts to prove it. Make friends with a commissioner for the AFL and his gay assistant. Find it ironic that a gay man works for the AFL.
6:40pm Land in The Centennial State, home of the Rockies, race to the gate, almost cough up a lung, and learn that I just missed my flight home. Ok. Not ideal. Not going to worry though. I have a friend who happens to be gracing the area today and call her up for a good time.
8:00pm Go out to dinner with friend and live it up! See a good chunk of the downtown area and decide that if I were to live here I would perpetually feel guilty about not being a hardcore outdoorswoman. But love the fact that everyone rides bikes and owns a dog. Decide I might come back someday for a visit.
10:00pm Run through the airport at break neck speed and see that the flight was delayed another 20 minutes. Realize I will indeed make this flight. Correction: Realize I will indeed make it to the gate in time to get on the plane.
10:13pm Arrive at gate hot, sweaty, tired while waving my ticket wildly in my hand and announce, "I made it!" Look over to see that the door is still open and I have a chance.
10:14pm Flight attendant tells me she gave my seat to a standy-by flyer. I tell flight attendant that I'm here. In case, she was talking to herself, is blind, has multiple personalities and has confused me as one of them or refuses to see me standing there in the flesh all hot, sweaty and tired.
10:15pm Flight attendant doesn't care about my appearance or physical state. Hands me a ticket for tomorrow and a discount for a hotel and sends me on my way.
10:16pm I start to lose it. Mutter an obscenity under my breath and walk away. Send out angry tweet in hopes of the CEO of United discovering a disgruntled customer.
10:40pm Get picked up by friend. Rent a movie. Notice that house is slightly cleaner than gutters in India before eyelids begin their final descent. Don't care. Fall asleep in friends bed for the night while watching said movie. (Actually, it is someone else's bed. Friend happens to be sleeping in it.)

Next Day
6:55am Roll out of bed and head for the airport. Again.
8:30am Call airline and tell them of my woes and the tragedy that had befallen me the day before.
8:40am Receive free flight voucher from airline. Twitter about how all is right with the world again.
9:40am Get told I will not make the flight home. Get sent to the other side of the airport.
10:00am Near tears, I call the airline again and negotiate my way from stand-by to a confirmed seat on the next flight home.
10:30ish am Blog about injustice.

My hair is greasy, my clothes look like they past travel-worn about ten miles ago, I'm hungry (but refuse to leave this gate for fear of losing my seat again) and need a nap in the worst way. And as luck would have it, an alarm just went off at the gate next to mine.
Terrorist alert?
Fire?
Tsunami in The Rockies?
Bring it on.

Just the facts, ma'am.

Alternative title: Know when to say uncle taxi.

Fact: I am smitten. I really do love The Second City. It has me baffled, turned around, full of genuinely nice people, clean streets, cool architecture and has me wanting more. I've had a chest cold that sounds like walking pneumonia the entire time I've been here and every day I would step outside into the heaviest, loveliest humidity I've ever experienced. It was like walking into a life-size humidifier. The only thing that would have put this city over the top was if I were to get a personal rub down with Vick's every day by Chicago's pet, John Cusack. (I guess I can let that one slide.)

Second City: You have a chest cold?
CG: Sure do. And it's the worst!
Second City: No problem! Just step outside and we'll see if we can't get rid of that hacking cough!
CG: Sweet.Thanks!
Second City: My pleasure. P.S. I think you're cute. 
CG: *blush*

I felt about this awesome all week.

Fact: I almost never take a cab when my legs will get me to my destination just fine. That is until I walked about 15 blocks in the wrong direction the other day and fell prey to the heat of The Midwest. While I appreciate the thick air opening up my lungs and making it easier for me to breathe, the sweat that accompanies that kind of weather had become unbearable the day I got lost and found myself standing in front of Wrigley Field surrounded by a sea of hot, sweaty baseball fans reeking of beer and hotdogs. I finally cried uncle taxi and flung my tired hand into the air. I probably would have hopped into a strangers car at that point if I thought they had air conditioning.

Ironically, isn't that what riding in a cab is all about?

Fact: I'm dreading going home to the land of no cabs and a lot more dirt. Sometimes I wonder if The Country is my real-life nemesis.

Fact: I have two bucket lists. One for the single life. One for life in general. The life list is about a mile long while the single life list has dwindled down to just a few things in the last year. Seeing Wrigley Field (and later seeing a Cubs game) helped to cross of an item on both lists which just made this city even more amazing in my eyes.

If this beach bunny can hack living through a real winter then I will seriously consider moving here. Stay tuned...

I spy with my little eye...

Today I saw...

Two girls flaunting unshaved legs. One guy with a neck beard that looked like a fur coat. The pavement a little bit closer after I tripped on an uneven sidewalk. One guy carrying his laptop in a child's pink backpack while riding a beach cruiser. Buildings that looked like brownstones which reminded me of New York. Rain falling in the middle of July. One guy shouting talking so loud I could hear him through my headphones. Squirrels zig zagging through busy sidewalks. The neighborhood of an ex-governor. A teenage boy skip (very uncool) through a crosswalk. A little girl scream down a sidewalk wearing a tutu and Tinkerbell shoes. A farmers market that sold more bread than vegetables. A very unflattering reflection of my windblown hair and flushed face in the store window reflections. An eclectic book cellar, full of hippies, sporting a coffee and wine bar. A manboy so tall he appeared to be on stilts. More yuppies than I could count. A group of very excited foreign exchange students noisily chattering away. An army of children in various parks playing baseball in 87 degree weather with 100% humidity. For, what I assumed to be, love of the game. A sea of runners seemingly unaware of the heat. A flirty Puerto Rican waiter who offered to share a piece of cake with me. A smile from a good friend at the end of the day.

I think I like The Second City. Almost as much as The First.

Life in The Windy City

I'm in The Second City this time and still day dreaming about living in a bustling environment, again. After a long flight and a 45 minute delay on the runway, I finally made it to my friend's apartment on the south side and have loved every minute of my last 12 hours here.

So far I've observed a few crazy differences between this city and life back home:

• They breed in bulk in The Midwest. I witnessed armies, called families here, march through the airport at heights I've only seen on TV during March Madness. 
• The weather is a mix of heat/humidity reminiscent of Florida and the snow scene from The Shining.The lack of sunshine for half the year is very apparent in the skin tones around these parts. It makes me sad for them and happy for me. I've never looked so tan!
• I finally saw The Average Girl. She is a normal size with nary a bony limb on her healthy frame. She walks around in a size 10 outfit with a content look on her face. And she boldly wears shorts, blissfully unaware that there are places in this country where women are wrapped up in diet crazes so strict they confine themselves to a painful size 2 or smaller. Not to mention, these women would never dare wear anything as revealing as shorts if they thought an ounce of cellulite could possibly peak out below the cuff. 
• There is nature in this city. It followed me here. I walked out onto the deck this morning, coffee in hand, and inadvertently disrupted a squirrel's fresco breakfast on the railing. I'm not sure who scared who the most.
• I'm pretty sure meat and potatoes is the mantra in this land. The variety of produce is quite a bit slimmer than I'm used to. Makes me wonder what people eat all the time. Casserole? 
• Prejudice still reigns supreme. I was warned last night not to ride the train off the red line. Whatever that means. All I know is that if I stray from that illusive red line I could get beaten or worse by another race. I love people. All kinds. My mind can barely comprehend this concept. I'm tempted to ride off the red line and hug a stranger. 

Onward, ho!

Lately, this City Girl has been tossing around the idea of moving. Again. This time to destination unknown, but possibly further north. As of now, I have no plans. I had no plans even when I moved to The Lake. I've been without a plan and goalless for some time now. Very, very unlike me.

My blood pressure has dropped, too. Also, very unlike me. Ha ha!

I wouldn't say that I dislike life in The Country, but I'm not overly excited to go back to it either. I'm...in transition. So for now, the house buying shenanigans are still a possibility as is the prospect of moving to a city (a city!!!) and starting a new life there.

Stay tuned...

No place like home...

I realized a couple of days ago why coming back to The Beach was so easy; why it felt so right. I was (or still am) staying at The Little Apartment. A friend of mine moved into The Little Apartment when I moved out and now I'm staying at her place as a guest. When I first walked in it felt as though I were walking into a new house. New decorations were on the walls and a different aura surrounded the place. And yet it felt so much like coming home. And at the best possible time, I might add. A time when I desperately needed a break from my life.

And so whether I am in The Country or back at The Beach, there is no feeling like coming home. And no place like it, either.

Much better, thanks!

Thank you Rob Hardin for this photo. Who ever you are...

Every time I hit the road (or the skies) it feels like a fresh start. A new life of sorts, new beginning. A completely different chapter in my book with the same theme throughout. I'm still me when I travel. I'm the same girl wearing heels, getting out of a cab as the one who goes running on uneven back roads in The Country. Almost feels like a double life.

When I was a kid I went through a string of fantasy careers in my head. I always thought I would be some big corporate yahoo with a giant expense account, living in a fabulous penthouse on the top floor of a fancy high rise in the city. Or maybe I would be a doctor running around the ER, wearing scrubs, saving lives. Or maybe, just maybe, I would be a spy. A double agent. Someone who leads two separate lives. One highly dangerous, one feet-draggingly normal.

I still want to be Sydney Bristow oh-so-bad!

I may not have become a spy (although, I'll never tell!), but I did get my double life. One on the road, one normal. And every time I hit the road I can't stop my mind from wandering. And I almost always come back to the same thought: Oh man...life isn't going the way I planned at all. Thank God! This is way better!

Actually, a lot of days are like this...

Last night I drove back to The Beach with a good friend. And as we drove by the water I felt as though the car got sucked back into a bubble. The bubble I used to live in. And I have never been happier to see this place. The place I never planned on leaving had it not been for my "rock solid" plans changing. Although, if I hadn't left the bubble for my double life I never would have experienced all the amazing places I've been since.

Couple days at a castle by the sea, anyone?

Thank you austindara.com for this last photo!