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#duhwinning

26 Dec

Pete and I went shopping for desks a few weeks back.

Here’s the one I picked for myself:

Here’s the one I picked out for Pete:

(Guess what my favorite celebrity meltdown of the year was.)

Animal Autism

1 Nov

Last week, Pete and I were just hanging out and talking, and I asked him how his day at work had gone.

“Well, it was actually really sad,” he said. “This woman who owns an animal shelter for dogs with special needs came in and was trying to drum up fundraising money for the holiday season. These dogs are so sick – some of them only had three legs, and others have autism, and some even…”

This is where I interrupted.

How, I wondered aloud, could a dog have autism?

“Does it not like to cuddle and plays the piano really well? Does the dog not make eye contact and is into patterns and maps?” I asked.

“Well, I’m not sure, but the autistic dogs have seizures.”

“I think you mean epilepsy, not autism.”

“Oh yeah. I think you’re right.”

So that conversation got me thinking. I’m not sure if animals can have autism or not, but I found a few that I really do think fit the bill:

Chicago International Film Festival

10 Oct

A movie about depressing Chicago winters? Yes, please!

Let me just start this story with the following disclaimer: My father cannot sit through a movie in the theater without complaining about how annoying everyone around him is and how THAT GUY is chewing way too loudly. I never thought I would become that person. A few days ago, I had an experience that made me realize that I am my father.

Pete and I were lucky enough to attend the opening night of the Chicago International Film Festival. We got free food (which I think we actually stole, and then encouraged others to do the same, but that’s besides the point), rubbed elbows with celebrities like Gary Cole and Dennis Farina and attended a star-studded after-party (we SWEAR Billy Zane was there).

It should’ve been, like, the best night ever, but it was kind of a flop. Let me explain.

The main feature of the night was the premiere of this new indie film, “The Last Rites of Joe May”. We were soooo excited to be sitting in a world premiere!

Then the movie started. It’s about this old man who has no friends or family. While in the hospital with pneumonia, his landlord thinks he’s dead and gives his apartment away to a woman with an abusive boyfriend. Because that’s not depressing.

Oh, and did I mention the film takes place in the middle of a Chicago winter? I have to live through that ish every year and really wasn’t in the mood to be reminded of the sad, sunless season that starts in just a few weeks.

So about 20 minutes into the movie, I realized this film was not my cup of tea and started spacing out. That’s when I first took notice of the woman sitting next to me. She was wearing a bright blue skirt and leopard print high heels which should’ve been a sign that she was going to be a handful. She had this little clutch with a snap that made this little “POP!” every time she opened it.  She’d “POP!” it open every five minutes, search around for her phone with it’s glaring white light, then “POP!” it back closed. And she kept “POP!”-ing her gum. I think there was something wrong with her jaw because normal bubblegum bubbles are not that loud.

And then there was this smell. Someone was wearing wayyyyyyyyy too much perfume. And someone (might have been the same person, not sure) took a dump in their pants. Not even kidding, it really smelled like someone had an accident in a perfume shop, it was so terrible.

And I sat through that for over two hours. I wanted to die and I kept rubbing my temples and rolling my eyes. By the end, I was in a really horrible mood.

The only good thing that came out of the evening was that Pete dropped his (stolen) beer bottle on the ground and it rolled all the way down to the front of the deathly quiet theater. The whole theater broke out into applause and Pete said he felt like a real celebrity!

Today is Pete’s birthday. And you know what the only thing worse than that stupid movie I had to watch? This commercial:

Pete’s been singing this song all day, and I can’t say anything because it’s his birthday and I’m not allowed to be mean today. This is just not my week.

Conference

15 Sep

Earlier this summer, I attended a conference for work in Washington, D.C. I was only gone for a days, but missed my fiancé all the same.

When I got home, he asked how my trip was.

I said, “It was fine, but there was this weird guy there who was hitting on me ALL week. He said I had a ‘beautiful spirit’.”

“Did he have brain damage?” Pete asked.

So don’t be surprised when I run off with the guitarist from Journey.

It starts with an “F” and ends in an “ootball”

8 Sep

Last week, I was sitting in my fleece robe on the couch in a little ball, watching “True Life: I’m in the Marijuana Business.”

Then Pete came home. And the worst thing in the world happened.

I believe it’s called “pre-season football”.

Without so much of a “hello”, Pete walked over to the TV, switched off my trashy show, and turned on the pre-season Bears game. Then he started chanting “Football! Football!” I wanted to puke.

I immediately threw a tantrum – balled up fists, arched back, flailing limbs and all. Even that didn’t catch Pete’s attention, so after about five minutes, I got up and sulked into the bedroom to watch Netflix.

It’s not even that I hate football so much – I love watching Iowa games and the fall weather is so crisp, it’s hard not to get into the spirit of the season! But what I do hate is being ignored for FIVE AND  A HALF MONTHS. Has someone ever given you the cold shoulder for that long? Because it’s pretty miserable.

Pete cannot be reasoned with when football’s on. Speaking in grunts and shoulder shrugs can only last so long before the conversation tapers off. I’ve even tried to talk to him in the same voice I used to talk to my old dog Mousse in, but I guess Pete isn’t a dog, because it doesn’t seem to work.

But on the plus side, at least I get a lot of reading done in the fall.

Engrossing Conversation

15 Aug

 

After a year-long hiatus from Facebook, Pete has rejoined the social network. It was at my request, because I thought that people thought I was just making him up. That I was one of those crazy baby-stealing ladies who tells everyone she’s engaged but really has seven cats.

Well, the moral of the story is be careful what you wish for because he’s back on Facebook, and the quality of our conversation has taken a nosedive.

For instance, the other night, I was reading a fascinating article about a runaway groom.

“Pete,” I said, “You have to hear about this. There’s a groom that ran away. I mean, he just up and LEFT! What do you think of that?!?!?!?!?”

Without even tearing himself away from his precious Facebook friends, Pete just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Sounds good to me.”

He had no idea what I was talking about.

Then, no more than one hour later, I walked into the bedroom, and there he was, curled up in bed, still on Facebook.

“Hi Pete,” I said, sitting down next to him.

“Nothing,” he replied.

That’s weird, because I’m pretty sure when someone says hi, you’re supposed to respond with a similar response – not “Nothing.” That’s something you would say if you THOUGHT someone had asked you what you were doing, since you weren’t really listening at all.

And so, Pete’s back on Facebook.

Power Outage

17 Jul

Pete and I experienced out first power outage in our new place last weekend. It was the day before that horrible storm that hit Chicago, I think it was just a brown-out or some kind of ComEd accident.

The two of us spent the day in bed, nursing our hangovers from the night before (I had gone out for a few drinks as a mini birthday celebration) watching 30 Rock and the Women’s World Cup on TV.

Pete was sleeping and I was wasting time looking at interior design blogs and fantasizing about Sub-Zero refrigerators when our electricity was cut off.

Then I heard our new neighbor. Within 30 seconds of the lights going out, he was out on the porch, demanding answers.

You would’ve thought he spotted a Nazi plane with the sense of urgency he had about our loss of power. The following is a transcription of the conversation that took place over the following five minutes. He was yelling and everyone else was talking in normal people voices, so I could only hear the following:

“IS YOUR POWER OUT?”

“OUR POWER IS OUT. IS YOUR POWER OUT?”

“HUH. I’LL BE DAMNED. THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD JUST LOST POWER.”

“HAS ANYONE CALLED COMED?”

“YOU KNOW, I THINK THIS IS THE FIRST POWER OUTAGE WE’VE HAD SINCE WE’VE LIVED HERE.”

“NO, I’M NOT WORRIED, JUST SAYING I CAN’T BELIEVE THE POWER’S OUT”

“I’M REALLY WORRIED ABOUT THE FRIDGE.”

“I CANNOT BELIEVE THE POWER’S OUT.”

“OH WAIT, WHAT? COMED’S IN THE ALLEY? THEY’RE IN THE ALLEY?”

“COMED MUST’VE KNOCKED THE POWER OUT.”

That’s how I learned why our power went out.

P.S. In case you’re wondering, why yes, I will be attending Stieg Larsson night at the library this week.

How totally amazing is that Led Zepplin cover by Trent Reznor?!?!?  And I CANNOT WAIT for the movie to come out.