Today was the first weekday in a long while with nice enough weather for me to finally eat lunch by the lake. It’s only two blocks from where I work, so I had plenty of time to hang out next to Lake Michigan, eat lunch (greens with tomato and marinated tofu today– so classy, I know) and watch people run, rollerblade, walk & swim by. To the people who are out there in their tri-suits, swimming against the waves: GO YOU. I also discovered a completely adorbs Farmer’s Market only a block from my building, right outside the contemporary art museum which also happens to have free admission on Tuesdays. Between my work’s free gym and the surrounding areas (H&M, I’m looking at you– sorry, paycheck) there’s plenty of things to keep me occupied for my full lunch hour.

And on the days it rains and I’m too lazy to get into the gym? You can bet I’m looking up flight prices to Vegas like a FIEND.

Happy birthday to my grandfather and most vocal blog supporter who is celebrating a pretty big number today! (You’d never know it, though. He’s a handsome devil who doesn’t look a day over 65.) I wish I could have joined in what I heard was a fabulous celebration, but it’s unfortunately a pretty long drive and I’ll be heading back to Iowa next weekend. NPH is moving for his job on the first of the month, so I get to repay him for helping me move in by doing the same for him. Thankfully he has far less furniture and shoes to haul than I did.

This weekend, Roomie Lauren paid Fergs, Chi-town & myself a little visit which coincided nicely with the Pride activities happening literally outside my front door. And now, some photos, since the only words to sum up our time together would be food, booze & snarky girl-time chatter.

Oh, and tonight I made brownies from scratch as well as pressed, marinated and grilled some tofu for lunches this week. Ausgezeichnet!

I’m not sure about myself, but Fergus Jackson is settling into Chicago just fine. Every walk outside the front door is an invitation for dozens of passersby to stop, pet, ogle, coo, squeal, or just do a double-take at this handsome hound. I get asked if he’s a “hot dog doggy” or a Dachshund at least daily, and grown men bend down in intersections and call him “Baby.” After we walked past a group of people on our daily walk to the lake yesterday evening, a man yelled out, “Girl, that’s a pretty dog!” Another guy said he was sure he’d seen Fergus in commercials (don’t think I haven’t looked into it.) I greatly enjoy that it’s more often men who melt over this 10 month-old ball of terror (he’s mellowing, I swear) much more than women do. What they don’t realize is that the last thing this basset needs is more attention. He knows he’s a pretty/beautiful/baby hot dog doggy, and walks around strutting his overly-long stuff accordingly. Luckily, we live in a very dog friendly area, so he’s made lots of friends. There’s many on the block and in the building, and we’ve met a lot of old pooches. Yesterday it was a 15 year old beagle, and today a 15 1/2 year old Scottie (I think?), neither of which wanted anything to do Fergus. My favorite so far is Mack the bulldog, because Mack is severely overweight and seeing the two of them together is just humorous. Well, humorous now that I’ve become one of those people who dedicates entire blog posts to her dog and makes sure it’s lights out by 10 p.m. I might hang up some wall mirrors I got from IKEA before I hit the hay, though. Oh, and I’ve switched from taking the L to taking the bus to and from work. If you were looking for exciting life updates, you’ve got the wrong girl.

Happy Father’s Day to the best dad I’ve got, referred to in some circles as Papa K. In fourth grade, he was the first person to ever paint my toenails. He took me to Legally Blonde 2 (bless him- what a terrible cinematic experience that was.) In second grade, he took me out of school for an afternoon to go shopping for Christmas dresses. He sent me flowers at school on opening day of the play in which I was the lead. Sophomore year of college, he same day express shipped mini liquor bottles, brownie mix, and a card that said “Fuck him” after my first boyfriend broke up with me.

My father is also the person who caught me smoking in high school, questioned my 2 am drunk dials to a boy he referred to as Skateboard Loser when they showed up on my cell phone bill, and still puts the fear of God in my heart whenever he summons me to his basement office.

Sorry I can’t be home today, Dad. I’m over here trying to put your 22 years of advice into something resembling a grown up life. I’ll come back soon so we can split some kettle corn and watch your favorite Tosh.0 clips. Love ya.

If I were to ever get a tattoo- which is not at all likely since I can’t wrap my head around the permanence of one– it may very well be a quote from The Departed (which is for surely my favorite movie, and yes, we’re watching it right now.)

So far I’m thinking, “No one gives it to you, you’ve gotta take it.”

…though I do enjoy, “How’s your mother?” “She’s on her way out.” “We all are- act accordingly.”

In retrospect, I could just write a post on all the best lines from this cinematic masterpiece, though you could also just visit IMDB for that.

I need to tell you about the meal I just had. It was at Rocks on N. Broadway, and I can’t stop thinking about it (yes, I’m food obsessed, get over it.) I had the Rocks Burger, their signature item, and it was the best burger I’ve ever had, In-n-Out Burger included. Pretzel bun, bacon, pepperjack cheese, onion strings, lettuce & tomato. I die. They have many different options of fries for the side. I got the Greek fries- regular fries tossed in lemon juice, oregano and feta cheese. Heaven.

NPH got the Leroy Brown sandwich: homemade mac n cheese, BBQ pulled pork & onion strings on texas toast. Seriously. He got buffalo fries- fries swimming in buffalo sauce, natch. I tried it, you might imagine the blissful feelings it created.

If you’re in Chicago, go to Rocks. Especially on Sunday mornings when they have specials on mimosa pitchers for your hangover. If you’re not in Chicago, come visit so we can go to Rocks. The end.

Yes, I’ve moved in. I’m grossly, ridiculously in love with my apartment. It doesn’t look like any other I saw, the moving in and unpacking was surprisingly painless, and apparently I’m automatically a Cubs fan based solely on proximity to Wrigley (two blocks.) I feel this location is slightly wasted on the fact I couldn’t give a shit less about baseball, but I suppose I make up for it with my enthusiasm for the other establishments in the area.

Work is, well, work. Kayla imparted some sage wisdom (she’s like 30 now, an acceptable age to start spouting life advice) when she reminded me it’s called work for a reason. It hasn’t come exactly easy which can be very frustrating to us first borns. (Almost as frustrating as typing this on my phone since my apartment doesn’t have Internet yet. My first world problems are so mentally taxing.)

I rea

I spend a lot of my time tired and hungry and rushing towards the Red Line hoping I don’t get on a car full of people ready to assault me for my iPod. It would really show those mutters though when they only get 40 songs, half of which are Spice Girls jams (seriously overhauling my iTunes is like 152 on my list of things to do.)

Oh, to end this post that in retrospect has been very whiny, I HATE having a gas stove. Not only did I set off the smoke alarm the first time I tried to use it, I am just positive that it’s slowly leaking CO2 into the air and one morning I’ll wake up dead. And of course you can wake up dead, haven’t you seen Scary Movie 3?!

Alive? Check.

Functioning? Barely.

Hugest, weirdest, craziest, most stressful time in my life? You betcha.

…and I still haven’t even moved into my apartment yet! Soon, though. My name is officially on a lease– I’ll be in before next week after some maintenance is finished.

I’ve essentially become best friends with NPH’s family. The only part I don’t like is how long of a commute it is from their suburb into the very touristy part of the city where I work.

Until I move, my life is a cycle of getting up super early, riding the train, working, riding the train, eating, sleeping, repeat. I know, so glamorous. Afterward, it will be less riding the train and more… TV watching? Far too exciting to handle, beware.

To my family who’s been wondering: I have not yet signed any lease, and I haven’t moved to Chicago more than the boxes piled in the backseat and trunk of my car. I start my job in two days, so technically I’ve moved, but I’m still hanging out through the graciousness and hospitality of NPH’s family. When it does come time to settle for good (this weekend???) all my stuff is all packed and just waiting in IC for a moving van.

I was going to embed a video from last week’s episode of South Park, the best few minutes of television ever to air in the history of cable television, but Viacom pulled it from YouTube. Just know that Slash was on as some sort of mythical Santa Claus character, and I’ve never been more proud.

One large pat on the back goes to me for remembering to continue updating you on my apartment hunting saga.

When we last left off, I had only seen two places. Thankfully, that number has at least tripled, and I feel much more optimistic about the fact that I most likely won’t be sleeping on a park bench when I begin my job in a week (!!!) Last night, I saw a one bedroom in Buena Park that restored my faith in the Chicago rentals market. It quickly became the top contender, though I still had a day full of appointments to get through before making a decision.

I woke up quite early on this rainy morning to look at a few places in Logan Square. One was a hell no from the beginning, but the second was AWESOME, but not worth it location-wise (close to public transporation, kinda sketchy neighborhood.) And then, I found it. IT. The place. The place. (Or so I thought?) Right next to the lake– like RIGHT next to the lake– dishwasher, huge bedroom and living room and larger kitchen, air conditioning, elevator, fitness center. The catch: they only take dogs up to 20 pounds. Now, I will be the first to tell you that getting a dog in college was dumb with a capital D, but I’ve made my bed so will now lie in it. And to be honest, I’ve gotten pretty attached to that hound, and I don’t want to live my life in Chicago without NPH and Fergus. (And for those of you wondering, he’s visibily not 20 pounds, and will only get bigger. Fergus, I mean. Well, Neil, too.)

Disgruntled, discouraged, I went to view my final place. It’s actually really great, and made me much less sad about possibly have to do my dishes by hand. It might not have a dishwasher or a lake view, but getting both of those things on my first time out would just make me spoiled! It’s actually closer to downtown, and is in a much more “happening” (yes, I just threw down vocabulary expected from only a geriatric) neighborhood than my above dream apartment. I will sleep on it, and see if the other place is willing to take my adorable hound, as my realtor really wants me to do so he doesn’t lose the sale. Either way, I really hope to be back in Iowa City at some point tomorrow because, as lovely as this has been, I just wanna go home. Which I won’t be able to call that for much longer. Sad face?