Solitary

I sit on a bench by the Lake. I’m directly behind and a few steps up from a solitary old fisherman. He has white hair covered by a white baseball cap, a stoop by his shoulders, and he is wearing a jumper with the words “Extreme Rebel 72” printed on the back. He looks like he has been there for hours but for all I know he may have just sat down 10 minutes before I arrived. Fishing in itself has always seemed a lonely, solitary sport to me. I watch the old man latch a worm to the end of his fishing rod. I want to approach him. “How’s the fishing?” I would ask, as clearly he hasn’t caught any fish and it seems more tactful than, “How many have you caught?”

But after observing him for a few more minutes I decide to leave him in his lonely fish reverie. I feel he would resent my presence if I made myself known instead of welcoming it. After awhile he stood and cast his fishing wire out into the lake. Seagulls soar overhead always on the lookout for food. I see one not far out from the old man take a nosedive into the water. At first it seems that the bird has been hit by something mid-flight but as I see his head bob up from the water I realise he is hunting. For fish. Same as the old man. They are both seeking the same thing in vastly different ways and tools.

After ages I decide to move on, the wind is picking up and a chill is in the summer air. I leave the old fisherman with the distinct feeling that he won’t be successful in catching a fish and it makes my mood dip a bit. I long to call out “Good luck!” but fear he will see me as patronising. Standing up I take one last glance and with “Extreme Rebel 72” staring back at me, I make my way to the sandy beach and eventually towards home.

Double

Holy cannoli, Batman. Chicago's been overtaken by Gotham. For the past few months the holy grail of Hollywood has been walking amongst us mere mortals whilst they shoot the sequel to that other recent B-man movie.

The bf and I glanced to our right one day in April and saw that an old bank building no longer in use was now Gotham's city hall. Then in May the downtown area was blocked off entirely when I was in a panic trying to retrieve my mobile (left accidentally in a cab and then dropped off very inconvienantly at the Hyatt at the opposite side of the city). No one was getting through according to the snotty PA, "We are having high speed car chase scenes being filmed. No one's getting through until 6am." And no amount of me growling, "How the fuck are people staying at the Hyatt supposed to get through? Eh? Eh? Tell me!" seemed to give any sway to letting me pass and pick up the phone. Bastards. It doesn't matter that we weren't really staying there. (By the way, I really did swear at the PA and said that. Bf will tell you. Honest. Usually I hate confrontation but panic changes me. Not into a raging beast-like but enough that I can swear at people. And tell white little fiblets.)

In the last two weeks, there's been a surge of the Beautiful People aka The Stars aka The Actors aka The Artists. They're camping out in (and I'm just being honest here, not jealous, mind) quite shabby digs. Their trailers are smaller than the trailers in the trailer park where my cousin lives. But these have big black stars on the front of trailer doors indicating where the "important people" are sleeping. Plus there's a whole trailer devoted to being a "school." And a whole effing lot in the Loop at Franklin and Washington Streets is filled with minute white vehicles and a whole lotta black cables. Lights, too.

I walk past there everyday on my way to work. I noticed one of the black stars said "Bale Double." And no sooner did I notice that then I crossed the street and saw a gorgeous specimen that looked quite possibly like the big B Double himself. He was triapsing across the street with a massive McDonald's coffee in his hand. I only mention the Double because yesterday I was walking past the trailer mecca on my way to the blueline and I almost got smacked in the face with the Double's door. It was definitely the McDonald's coffee guy. He said, "Oops, sorry!" then closed the door and walked down the street (towards McDonald's.) My forehead was only a few inches from the door so I was still a bit shocked but mumbled, "S'alright." The door was open and shut before I knew it, he was gone, and I was left standing rigid in the middle of the street for a couple of seconds.

Bloody Batman. It's nice the film industry appreciates Chicago but if I were one of the actors I'd petition for better places to stay in. I've heard hotels do quite nicely.

Mot du Jour 2

Discombobulate

Besot is out the door and discombobulate is in residence.

I like the actual word more than its meaning but that's a good one, too. It means to confuse, disconcert, upset, or frustrate and is obviously an Americanism. Like whatchamacallit.

Things that discombobulate me:

Jesse Jackson (He's partial to hypocrisy. Must be the politician bit.)

Blue cheese (I feel uncomfortable eating blue food. I don't know why. It feels unnatural.)

Sunnies worn in clubs (Obvious.)

Shirts that say one size but fit like another (You buy a certain size, it should be that size. Rumors of fitting rooms exist but I don't believe them.)

High heels (Sexy, yeah, but uncomfortable- Hell Yeah. Plus one can't dance for 7 hours in heels no matter what one says.)

Interestingly, whilst discombobulate is an actual word in any actual American dictionary (don't know if it's in the Oxford or Macquarie or whosits) the word combobulate doesn't exist! Am confused or discombobulated, if you will. Obviously, if there's a dis in front of a word there must be a word that exists without the afore-said dis. This is also true with un or in, I think. But combobulate is definitely not a word! What kind of crap is this? I feel cheated in a way I can't explain. Whatevs.

Discombobulate is a funny word. Am a bit combobbled about the non-combobulation of the word combobulate but don't worry, I'll get over it.*


*P.S. I had a really discombobulating weekend and therefore I hope my silliness can be forgiven for today's post. Will re-gain non-silliness control tomorrow, possibly Friday. Maybe July 24th. I'll get back to ya.

Dizzy

They hug and kiss. Then they get confused and blinded for a moment and bump into things. A hip against the wall, a shoulder in the chest, all the time giggling and giddy. They move around the place together as if crazy-glued. Don't let go. An arm reaches out to take off shoes. A shirt is unbuttoned. They slide together and get muddled as teeth grazes skin. Don't let go. Evening shadows are cast upon the wood floor. A dog is heard far off down the street. Arms find their home round others.

Order

It was a beautiful, sultry day last Sunday. I was a bit hungover but determined to enjoy a lovely day in my neighbourhood. I went to a cafe that I used to frequent but haven't in awhile. Recently it's been turned over to different management and I can really tell. Everything is a shade off. The servers seem high and forgetful. The coffee is a bit crap. And the food portions are not what they used to be. Overall, the relaxing little French cafe has been turned into a lackidaisical American one.

I ordered what I used to order under the last ownership: a mushroom and feta omlette with hashbrowns. After a long wait in a basically empty cafe the server took his fine time delivering my food and when he did he hesitantly pushed it at me as if he knew that it wasn't up to standards, good or otherwise.

His bloodshot eyes focused in on me and said, "Anything else?" I looked down at my barely there mushroom, spinach, and american processed cheese omlette with a spoonful of hash browns. I looked back up and cowardly said, "No."

Ok, it wasn't what I ordered. It wasn't enough to fill my rumbling hungover stomach. And still I couldn't muster up the courage to say, "I didn't order this. Please take it back and give me what I actually want. And while you're at it get yourself some visine and a redbull because my 90 year-old great aunt could've brought this to me faster."

Why, why, why can't I bring myself to berate people who disappoint me? While I seethe inwardly I can't help but think, 'Well, I don't want them to be embarassed and I'm just going to cause a scene. I'll just eat it and get over it and I won't come here again. But maybe they'll get it right next time? Oh dear, this isn't what I wanted..." But I just smile and choke down the unwanted food and give a nice tip and leave. Perhaps someday I'll get the guts to tell these wasted college kids to go stuff themselves, then walk out without leaving a tip or eating the food or even ordering for that matter.

SD 2

This is what I'm talking about. Beach fun. Lake Michigan ain't the same as the Ocean.
I like birds. Dirty pigeons (aka flying rats) aren't my favourite but they were funny drinking water out of the tap. Surfers are bobbing up and down in the Pacific behind. Kinda like birds.Ooh, I'm getting sassy in the water! So much fun. We got a bit carried away with the water shots. Probably worth getting crispy as hell. The rest of the photos are here. Or should be. Am having difficulties uploading at the mo.

Shower

Babies.

Up the duff. Up the pole. Bun in the oven. Knocked up. Expecting. Preggers. [Insert your own baby-made phrase here]

This stuff scares the poo outta me. I have a baby shower to go to this weekend and it just reminds me of how Not Ready I would be for a mini-me. For the latter half of my childhood I lived in a small town where the norm was to graduate high school at 18, get married after the graduation ceremony, and then kick a couple of kids out by the time 20 rolls around. I ran away from that. Far, far away. Worse than the boogeyman.

I had a close friend give birth a few years ago and she told me, "It's agony. I'm not going to lie. Everyone lied to me. They said it would be ok but IT WASN'T. The worst thing ever." That really makes me want to change my mind...

So no babies. Down with babies. But not in a murdering type way, obv. Just a preventative one. No moody swings or weird food cravings (the lady I'm going to fork over pressies to tomorrow has recently had a craving to eat her own body lotion. No joke). Nothing worse than a bawling, screaming, tantrum-throwing toddler on public transport with snot running down its tear-stained face. On the upside I do like little kids who smile a lot, are quiet, and have heads shaped like spuds. The best part about kids or babies that are Not Mine is that I can Give Them Back when I don't like them anymore.

Hurrah for being baby-less. May it stay that way.

Bali

Just read this article. I'm not one to be frightened of travel, especially to a place so popular as Bali in Indonesia. However, I am definitely wary about this country.

Before leaving Australia, there was a big hoopla over the "Bali 9". 9 Australians had been caught smuggling drugs out of the country. Also, another big deal was made over Schapelle Corby, a young woman caught with drugs and possibly staying in a Balinese prison for the rest of her life. Now an Ozzie dj is in trouble. I can't figure out if these people are just unlucky, a bit daft, or full-on arrogant. It makes me worried. What if someone was innocent (as Schapelle Corby claims) and weed was planted on them unknowingly? That would suck.

Why are drugs such a Bad Thing in Asia, particularly the South East and Indo? Yes, they are harmful but do not the majority of people who consume them keep to themselves? I don't quite understand why it is a firing squad offence to be caught with a tiny bit of pot in one's pocket. What about legal drugs? Can one be prescribed vicodin in Bali? Or valium? Is that ok?

Thousands of tourists go to this island country day in and day out, I'm sure. I want to go there someday. It looks beautiful, hot, and exotic. But it's a bit disconcerting to think perhaps if I'm not super-careful I could get planted with something. I'm just being a worry-wart, perhaps. It's gotta be better than that last minute weekend get-a-way to Iraq, right?

Happy

It's been a very good weekend. I caught up with my friends and danced, browsed art, drank a bit, ate a bit more, and talked a whole heaping pile. On Friday I forced my fatigued self to go out and see Christopher Lawrence. He's a very talented dj and is #4 in the world, #1 in America. His music gets my body moving involuntarily and before I know it I'm moving fiend-like on the dancefloor. Everyone seems to be infected and we all understand this is Good Stuff.

I was lucky enough to meet Christopher Lawrence through various circumstances (and no, they were perfectly innocent ones!). We had a quick chat that kinda went like this:

Me: "Hello! It's great to meet you!"
CL: "Hi! It's great to meet you, too!"
Me: "This is very exciting!"
CL: Laughing, "I know!"
Me: "Love your work, babe. Keep it up!"
CL: "Alright, I will!"

Idiot that I am I couldn't think of anything really great to say but he was gracious enough to have a friend take a photo of us. I am looking idiot-like in the photo but I don't care! Ahhh! It's Christopher Lawrence! Very lovely person. The rest of the weekend was filled with neighbourhood festivals, drinking beer in the sunshine and spending money I don't have. All the requisite elements of a great weekend made an appearance.*


*This isn't my line. It's someone else's, someone I shall call P.

SD 1

I really like this shower wall at Pacific Beach. Octupi art is cool.
Bf is obsessed with making the shoes in his hand into a gun via photoshop.
Oh, yeah. Here's the great sexy leg lamp. So tacky it's gorgeous. I want one.
California's take on all things? Best slogan for a gym that I've ever seen.

More soon...

Settle

One of the most challenging things in life for me is deciding where to settle. Or indeed, if I even have to settle. Perhaps it is an option. It seems to be something that everyone just does when they've grown up, gotten a job, a partner, kids, house, etc.

I don't know where I want to live for the majority of my life. Does anyone, really? Some people do, I suppose. I think they're lucky. I'm always struggling with my desire to go into debt on my credit card and hop on a plane with all my ruck-sacky possessions to see where I end up. For like, years.

401K? Retirement? Huh? I get sucked into that youth mentality of being immortal and never growing old. But I know that's a fucking sham because there's already slight crow's feet near my eyes and I'm only 24. Okay, alright. I know I should settle somewhere but the question is: How long can I put it off? And where?

I don't know yet.

Crispy

Back from the land of sun or erm...lack of it at the moment. It was cloudy when we landed on Saturday morning into San Diego. The hotel receptionist informed us that actually, yes, 'May Gray' and 'June Gloom' is what's on the City Weather Menu. Explains cheaper airfare, perhaps...

Alright, so we're a little disappointed but on the up side there still are palm trees and a massive ocean (viewed from hotel room) and lots of surfy-seaside shops, restaurants, bars and what-have-you. After pottering around the beach for awhile and a late arvo siesta, the bf and I have a wander round the Gaslamp District in downtown San Diego. It's really laid back and sexy. Lots of little shops sprinkled in between groovy bars and hip restaurants with Mexican type plazas nearby.

We settled on a Steak/Stripper restaurant that had this great leg lamp (reminiscent of 'A Christmas Story'). You could grill your own meat in a cozy, sex-vibed environment. Interesting stuff. The Mai Tai's and Long Island Ice Tea's were a bit too strong, though. Beer probably would've been better.

In the morning we were going to go explore Balboa Park but oh no, the City had other plans. The San Diego Marathon was taking place and EVERYTHING was blocked off. It would've taken effing yonks to reach downtown. Thank sod we were on a beach and the SUN decided to push past the June Gloom and grace us with its presence.

It's BEACH TIME!! I yanked on my bikini, grabbed my beach towel and sunnies, then raced to the sand. We realized once there that I had left the sunscreen in the room. Bf went in search to find it while I lazily reclined in the treasured sunshine. Muy stupido I was to find out later. Bf seemed to take aaagggesss. So I went into the water. Effing cold at first but you get used to it. There really is nothing like swimming in the ocean. I overheard someone make a comment that day, "It's incredible once you're out there. It's like a machine!" I suppose it is like a machine in a way, those waves never stop and that's the best part of being in the ocean, for me, at least. That and watching the surfers.

I put on sunscreen twice after getting out of the water but it was no use, apparently. Damage already done and all that. I am as crispy and fried as KFC. It hurts to move. Really dumb but got caught up in the excitement and heat of the moment, yadda yadda. Am slathering on the aloe vera every half hour.

On top of all this fun stuff, I seem to have collected a lovely throat infection. Well, the bottom line is that I had a really great time on my mini-break to SD. And it was worth all the pit-stops and pit-falls along the way. Too bad it wasn't for longer but there's always next time, hey?

Photos will be up on next post. There was more but I'm all tuckered out now and too lazy to blog it. But soonish.

WTF?

Bugger! Buggity bugging bug. Buggit it big time! The weather in San Diego for the weekend is an effing 65F/18C! In Chicago it's going to be 83F/28C. Fuck. I should've stayed here for the warm weather and oh BUGGER. I didn't pack anything warm whatsoever. It's too late to go home and get stuff. I'll be borrowing a really, really big sweater from the bf. That should do me. Right? Argh.

Pushover

I don't like confrontations. In fact, I dislike them so much that I am a self-proclaimed escapist. I would usually rather run and hide than face any catastrophe head-on. Because I'm cowardly like that.

But you know, one can only be cowardly or run away for so long before having to eventually take one's head out of the sand and peek at unpleasant situations and people. I wouldn't say that I've been so much a pushover but I have been somewhat easily blown into directions that I resent and then I give myself an ulcer because I don't vent my anger onto the proper people. For some irrational reason I find myself wondering if my point is actually valid compared to the person I'm fucking pissed off with. And you know what?! It bloody well is.

Today I have had enough. I went into my office and had a discussion with the head honcho about my issues that have steadily been burning a hole in my stomach. Et voila! A tap with my magic office wand and she agreed! I got recognition! And things are Going to Change. So she says. But enough of wimpy Kat. I am Super Kat and must be addressed as such. Or maybe not. Kathryn's fine, too. You know, I'm not picky. It would be nice, though. Just saying.

I still might run away to a different continent once in awhile. To get away. Not due to any pushy-over stuff, though. New phase and all that.

Ill

You know what I'm talking about. That tickle in the back of your mouth. The swelling glands. Achy limbs. You try the mind over matter thingy telling yourself, "I'm not getting ill. It's not possible. I take vitamins for chrissakes!" But you feel yourself eventually succumb to the inevitable.

"ALL RIGHT!" You might screech. "I'm sodding well sick! Happy, now?"

Well, I'm bloody not. I leave on a mini-break to sunny San Diego tomorrow morning and I am feeling the onset of illness. Why, oh why did it have to happen now? Well, why not, really. It's because I've been so effing happy recently, isn't it? This is the universe's way of balancing me out. "Go on your mini-break." I can hear it hissing, "Let's see how much fun you have in the Pacific if you can't breathe!" And then it will cackle with malicious glee whilst rubbing it's massive universey hands together.

Uh huh. Well, I've got news. I'm not gonna lay back and take it. No way, it is a deathmatch between me and that grubby bacteria taking over my body. Its colonies are not going to be in residence here. Medicine, water, orange juice, and chicken noodle soup = a cure. See? I'm a man with a plan. Er, woman. You know what I mean.