Did you send me a Valentine yet?

I spent the better part of the weekend (Saturday a.m. until...Monday evening) curled in a ball and wishing for a shotgun. Recently having been afflicted with a vicious cross between food poisoning and spinal meningitis (and, having made up a disease, unable to be CURED from such), it was a lousy way to spend 72 hours. Add insult to injury (literally, someone called me fat- okay, I made up that part), it was a whopping 65 degrees outside. Which would, roughly, be an 80 degree temperature hike. Le sorrow.

The best part about being that near death is the amazing dreams you get to have. I fell asleep in the midst of a Demetri Martin standup special (no fault of Demetri's- it was indeed special) and had an incredible two hour dream wherein Demetri and I became extremely close. That is all I will say. When I awoke and realized that I had somehow paused the On-Demand show, I continued watching. This time, however, it was with a fond nostalgia. "Oh, Demetri," I said. "You haven't changed a bit."

And since P.J. has been understudying for a show up at Piccolo Theatre AND preparing for the Foreign Service Exam, I've had the odd sensation of being the last person in Chicago. The last grownup, anyhow. Between spending days with all these people under 6 years of age and writing for about two hours an afternoon or evening...and then yelling goodnight to the cats (yup) and arising to a strange man-shaped lump in the bed (the same one, usually) and having our only face-to-face convos be when, admittedly, I am not at my awesomest...well, it makes a gal start to feel a little socially inept. 

Tuesday, however, reached almost 70 degrees and suddenly it was all 'Hello Dolly' (minus the singing or storyline) to Chicago! Jack and I played at the park, mailed [handmade] Valentines across the country, cleaned my hall closet, donated bags of things to Village Discount Outlet, finally got my wedding gown preserved (they asked if two weeks was okay- I told them there was no REAL hurry), got a bunch o' dry cleaning done, opened every window in a 2 block radius and made Jack run around his neighborhood until he begged to go lie down before dinner. No! I yelled, It's Spring!

Today, not so much. It is froze.

This week brought about the extremely important discovery that noise-cancelling Bose headphones are excellent at keeping sound OUT...but not a great deal of sound is kept IN. Case in point- when one's iPod freezes on a song, refusing to let one change it or lower the volume, it's pivotal to have a set of headphones that won't let even the tiniest bit of Michael Bolton out for the train to hear. (Ever seen a train full of disbelieving, snickery or plain ol' scornful eyes burn pretentious holes into your face? Yeah, throw a little 'Steel Bars' at them.) In this case, three words are clutch: Unplug Headphones. Quickly. 

Cinchy.

Also this week, I've learned that a perfectly normal umbrella that never acts out in the most normal of settings (i.e., dry, in a closet) will choose a thundery commute to lose its handle in a "mud" puddle, blow out and then back in (a la Mary Poppins), drenching the holder with rain and God knows what else from the "muddy" reattached handle, then inexplicably decide to shorten itself by four inches on the pole (regardless of what the holder does or does not do), making the holder look like [s]he's carrying a dwarf umbrella, and THEN miraculously go back to a non-Poltergeisty umbrella...just as the rain lets up.

I guess that's not so much a public service announcement (because you cannot, CANNOT prepare for that kind of thing) as it is a fun anecdote. It seemed way more helpful in my mind.

And I'll end on a highly-charged-this-is-gonna-have-adverse-reactions kinda thought: have you read about the girl who's auctioning her virginity for like 3.8 million dollars? Regardless of the moral implications (it's completely wrong) or the psychological (this is the new "reality" star), I'm most concerned about the legality issue. Is this not the EXACT definition of prostitution?

(Disclaimer: Mom- I'm no longer puking, the dream about Dimitri was G-rated, P.J. didn't get me a shotgun, the man-lump IS Peej, I'm not all alone in a bad neighborhood, I let Jack take a nap, I'm wearing that warm scarf/wrap you got me, I don't wear my headphones when I'm walking alone at night, I fixed my umbrella and I agree that we should feel sorry for the virgin girl for having low self-esteem and an obviously terrible home life.)

Phew.