It's been almost a month since I stepped into the pages here at Ruby's View - and for that, I'm so sorry. I have no good excuse - I don't have ricketts, or carpal tunnel syndrome. I was not concussed by a random street thug, and my internet connection was fine.
I was, mostly, looking for jobs, working a bit, and doing some writing on the other site I've got going. And frankly, I couldn't bring the funny for y'all, so I had to take a breather...
But have no fear - I'm back!
I know, you're just waiting with baited breath for the update of all that has happened since we last met.
First, the important stuff: it's official "bike to the bar" time in Chicago. The temperatures hover frequently above 60 during the day, and that means that on a random Saturday night, you'll find me primping and preening, rolling up my right pants leg, unlocking the lucky hybrid bike I own, and pedaling one mile to my favorite bar: The Hopleaf.
The Hopleaf is a bar in Andersonville, the neighborhood just South of mine. It's got the best steamed mussels on the planet (in a lovely white wine sauce which even I can't believe I like), and over 100 beers on tap. They also carry my favorite American craft brews, from Dogfish Head in Rehobeth, Delaware.
I fell in love with Dogfish Head beers in New Hampshire, and then a little bit more in Maryland, and, well, I fell hard. Heavy beers with great flavor and over 8% alcohol made me funnier, smarter, and definitely more intoxicated than your average glass of bad hotel cabernet, and I am now known as "Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA Lover" in these parts. (Okay, that's a mouthful, but it really is the best beer ever.)
Anyway, when I'm at the Hopleaf, I can generally be found nursing one of these life-transforming beverages. Three weeks ago, my friend and I sat down at the bar after a night out. It was midnight, and there were two seats free (which is unheard of). We met the CUTEST bass player from Lexington, who also happened to be a whisky salesman, who was telling us just how much he wanted to dump his little 24 year old girlfriend who came with "a bullet train worth of baggage".
He, notably, claimed only to carry a knapsack of luggage. We took in the whiskey salesman part of his cover and figured he was carrying a footlocker, but who were we to judge? It was 1:30 by this time, and we were a bit intoxicated.
By 2:00 we had instructed him on how to get his favorite leather coat back (blackmail disguised as an open trade of belongings); and the best place to have the "it's not working" discussion (not at their shared place of work, maybe?). And we had a new, funny friend.
And by 3:30, we had unlocked our bikes, made an emergency stop at White Castle, and headed home to the birds singing in the trees.
Now, this weekend was nearly as much fun. A group of five friends and I met up at The Hopleaf again, talked for hours, left for pizza, and then two of us came back, again, for seats at the bar. This night's fun was a bartender from up the street who told me I had "leadership eyes" (which I think is the same as "tiny eyes devoid of makeup on a woman who looks like she can beat the crap out of you") and told my friend that she had a good heart. She also had on her sexy jeans, but we aren't going there.
Anyway, he was fun, but before we knew it, 3:30, last call, light's up, and I'm trying to figure out why my bike lock is being so stubborn. With an audience.
Two random guys (one mute, the other with hair just long enough to scream "I'm a writer") stoppped to give me shit for my inability to unlock the bike. I blamed the Dogfish, completed the herculean task, rolled up my pants to avoid snaggage, and got on the bike. After they tried to ply us with a trip to a bar open till 5:00, we headed back North to our respective homes, hoping to beat the birds.
It didn't happen. The birds were up and chirping by the time my friend locked her gate. As she called to confirm a safe arrival, I realized I definitely had the good end of this deal: her cats had drug the Ritz crackers we had taken to the beach, to her bed. Desperate for some buttery goodness (even the low-fat variety) they had scratched and scratched to get into the sleeve, with no avail.
So what I really learned on Memorial Day weekend is this: put away the crackers, step away from the beer, and always make friends at the bar.
Maybe not quite what Ruby would have wanted, but I think she might have enjoyed the weekend if she were here. Okay, except that whole biking thing....
Hope you're all doing well, and I'll keep you more up to date about life in the city...
Monday, May 25, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
City Living
People from Cincinnati often ask me how I like living in Chicago. I've been here more than 10 years now, and mostly, they assume I like it. They're right.
Chicago's the perfect city, in my humble opinion. We have great parks, the gorgeous lakefront, a (mostly) decent economy, good restaurants, theatre, music, and people. And we're still in the heart of the midwest. We can fly anywhere in the country in about 3 hours (with some exceptions) and we don't have to spend an arm and a leg to do it.
But city living is, frankly, city living. It means there are a lot of people in tight spaces. It means traffic, and a 10% sales tax (thanks, Cook County Board of Commissioners! I'll be voting you out soon!!!). It means an ancient public transportation system that is unworthy of a city our size. And, despite the fact that we have wonderful, amazing neighborhoods, it means noise.
I live in a beautiful old building in a two bedroom condo. There is a basement below me (no neighbors) and only one set of neighbors with whom I share walls. They're above me - and nice people - a couple, with a dog. The dog, per restrictions, is less than 45 pounds. He's pretty tame. The couple, without restrictions, are also appropriately sized. And mostly, they're pretty quiet. I think they're students. But, to be honest, when I was working and going to Racine, Wisconsin every day, I wanted to murder them. Every morning. Because they generally go to bed around 11:30 p.m. I went to bed at 10. Quietly. Them? Not so much.
Do you know what a dog leash sounds like when dropped on a hardwood floor from five feet? Or what a pocketful of change sounds like as it hits the floor and rolls around?
On concrete, it's nothing. It disappears into the abyss. But on 100 year old hardwood, with little insulation between floors, it's like someone playing the Liberty Bell in the room above. I tried everything. Ear plugs, alcohol, going to bed earlier, going to bed later. I slept in my second bedroom (their TV room above me). I laughed, I cried. I read. Usually by Wednesday night of a given week, I was so exhausted that I slept regardless of how loud they were.
Ironically, now that I'm out of work, I can't seem to hear them. Maybe it's because I go to bed after they do - but even in the morning, when I know they're running around up there, it doesn't phase me. I'm guessing that's because I can roll over and sleep for another 2 hours if I want to - which seems SO wrong, but is really SO right.
Anyway, that's not the only noise we get. Soon, it will be spring. (I know, where you live, it may already be spring, but until we get 10 days above 50 degrees in a row, I'm refusing to call it). That means open windows, and birds in the morning, and squirrels running around at night (yes, dammit, they are squirrels, they are NOT rats...well, most of the time. Let me live in my delusion, okay?) Anyway, the windows are going to be open. The occasional hoodlum will ride by with his H to the I to the Z to the Izzo blaring out the window (but he's rare, really). And other sounds will wander in - people walking home from a night out, bikers zipping up my street to head North. Did I mention the birds? Allow me to detour, because yes, in reality, this scene plays through my head on more occasions than I like to admit:
City Living Video: Take One
But you know what? They're not that bad. I live 3 blocks from the train, and when it's quiet, late at night, I can hear it roll by. When I was growing up, we always heard the trains - even though they were far away - rolling down along the Ohio River. It's a sound that I have always associated with home. And maybe that's why that noise - my kind of ambient noise - is not that hard to bear.
Don't get me wrong. I'd still like to play Liberty Bell to my neighbors some mornings (Saturday morning runs at 6:30 are REALLY fun in the summer!). But for the most part, I'm learning to live with it. Twelve years in, I've adapted. Sort of. Through ear plugs, alcohol, and a ceiling fan. I feel like Ruby would shake her head at me - what a softie her granddaughter is! But then again, maybe she'd be just as happy that I'm here at all - just a little bit far from home, living in the best city in the world.
A granddaughter can dream....
Chicago's the perfect city, in my humble opinion. We have great parks, the gorgeous lakefront, a (mostly) decent economy, good restaurants, theatre, music, and people. And we're still in the heart of the midwest. We can fly anywhere in the country in about 3 hours (with some exceptions) and we don't have to spend an arm and a leg to do it.
But city living is, frankly, city living. It means there are a lot of people in tight spaces. It means traffic, and a 10% sales tax (thanks, Cook County Board of Commissioners! I'll be voting you out soon!!!). It means an ancient public transportation system that is unworthy of a city our size. And, despite the fact that we have wonderful, amazing neighborhoods, it means noise.
I live in a beautiful old building in a two bedroom condo. There is a basement below me (no neighbors) and only one set of neighbors with whom I share walls. They're above me - and nice people - a couple, with a dog. The dog, per restrictions, is less than 45 pounds. He's pretty tame. The couple, without restrictions, are also appropriately sized. And mostly, they're pretty quiet. I think they're students. But, to be honest, when I was working and going to Racine, Wisconsin every day, I wanted to murder them. Every morning. Because they generally go to bed around 11:30 p.m. I went to bed at 10. Quietly. Them? Not so much.
Do you know what a dog leash sounds like when dropped on a hardwood floor from five feet? Or what a pocketful of change sounds like as it hits the floor and rolls around?
On concrete, it's nothing. It disappears into the abyss. But on 100 year old hardwood, with little insulation between floors, it's like someone playing the Liberty Bell in the room above. I tried everything. Ear plugs, alcohol, going to bed earlier, going to bed later. I slept in my second bedroom (their TV room above me). I laughed, I cried. I read. Usually by Wednesday night of a given week, I was so exhausted that I slept regardless of how loud they were.
Ironically, now that I'm out of work, I can't seem to hear them. Maybe it's because I go to bed after they do - but even in the morning, when I know they're running around up there, it doesn't phase me. I'm guessing that's because I can roll over and sleep for another 2 hours if I want to - which seems SO wrong, but is really SO right.
Anyway, that's not the only noise we get. Soon, it will be spring. (I know, where you live, it may already be spring, but until we get 10 days above 50 degrees in a row, I'm refusing to call it). That means open windows, and birds in the morning, and squirrels running around at night (yes, dammit, they are squirrels, they are NOT rats...well, most of the time. Let me live in my delusion, okay?) Anyway, the windows are going to be open. The occasional hoodlum will ride by with his H to the I to the Z to the Izzo blaring out the window (but he's rare, really). And other sounds will wander in - people walking home from a night out, bikers zipping up my street to head North. Did I mention the birds? Allow me to detour, because yes, in reality, this scene plays through my head on more occasions than I like to admit:
City Living Video: Take One
But you know what? They're not that bad. I live 3 blocks from the train, and when it's quiet, late at night, I can hear it roll by. When I was growing up, we always heard the trains - even though they were far away - rolling down along the Ohio River. It's a sound that I have always associated with home. And maybe that's why that noise - my kind of ambient noise - is not that hard to bear.
Don't get me wrong. I'd still like to play Liberty Bell to my neighbors some mornings (Saturday morning runs at 6:30 are REALLY fun in the summer!). But for the most part, I'm learning to live with it. Twelve years in, I've adapted. Sort of. Through ear plugs, alcohol, and a ceiling fan. I feel like Ruby would shake her head at me - what a softie her granddaughter is! But then again, maybe she'd be just as happy that I'm here at all - just a little bit far from home, living in the best city in the world.
A granddaughter can dream....
Monday, April 20, 2009
Distractathon
I think there should be a new Olympic event added to the next games.
Distractathon (n.)
Competitors will select from a series of events to distract them from everyday life. Including Watching Useless Television, Talking To Yourself, Cleaning The Kitchen, Analyzing Your Checkbook, and Catching Up On Junk Mail, participants will attempt to avoid all "real" responsibilities by using these Distracting Events. The winner will be the person who successfully avoids performing any real life work for a period exceeding 2 days.
Clearly, this is an endurance event. But I think that perhaps I'd win.
So what distracts you from thinking (or managing) everyday life? Is it the garden? Cooking a new recipe? Catching up on the neighborhood gossip? Admit it - you've got a "go to" for avoiding life - we all do.
And while it doesn't necessarily amount to an Olympic sport, it DOES keep us from dealing with the things we don't want to address. I'd argue that there is a place for it - some days, you just don't want to deal, right?
But, then again, maybe there's a reason there's no Avoidance Olympics. Because if we all avoided, for this long, we most certainly would NOT be the Land of Opportunity. We'd be the Land of Empty Gas Tanks, the Land of Past-Expiration Date Refrigerator Contents, and the Land of Shoes Without Soles.
I, for one, am off to make my kitchen The Land Without Dishes.
See ya on the backside!
Distractathon (n.)
Competitors will select from a series of events to distract them from everyday life. Including Watching Useless Television, Talking To Yourself, Cleaning The Kitchen, Analyzing Your Checkbook, and Catching Up On Junk Mail, participants will attempt to avoid all "real" responsibilities by using these Distracting Events. The winner will be the person who successfully avoids performing any real life work for a period exceeding 2 days.
Clearly, this is an endurance event. But I think that perhaps I'd win.
So what distracts you from thinking (or managing) everyday life? Is it the garden? Cooking a new recipe? Catching up on the neighborhood gossip? Admit it - you've got a "go to" for avoiding life - we all do.
And while it doesn't necessarily amount to an Olympic sport, it DOES keep us from dealing with the things we don't want to address. I'd argue that there is a place for it - some days, you just don't want to deal, right?
But, then again, maybe there's a reason there's no Avoidance Olympics. Because if we all avoided, for this long, we most certainly would NOT be the Land of Opportunity. We'd be the Land of Empty Gas Tanks, the Land of Past-Expiration Date Refrigerator Contents, and the Land of Shoes Without Soles.
I, for one, am off to make my kitchen The Land Without Dishes.
See ya on the backside!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Big Brother's Always Watching
About 10 years ago, I clearly recall sitting at a bar with a bunch of the girls on my softball team. We were accountants, and operations folks, who all worked (at one time or another) for Ernst & Young.
We got to talking about those "membership" cards that you got at the grocery store. In Chicago, it's a Dominick's or a Jewel card, and it gets you special deals and discounts at the store. One woman was adamant that she would NOT get the card, because she did not need nameless corporations tracking what she ate, and how often. She wanted her privacy to remain in her control, and to hell be damned if she couldn't cash a check at the grocery store.
At the time, I didn't think much of it. Some of my friends thought she was overreacting. Some figured what they ate wasn't ever going to be headline news. I just thought that it was too much trouble to go to the store and fill out the application for the card, so it wasn't an issue I had.
I changed my tune on that last year (yes, it took 9 years for me to break down and fill out the app.) I moved into a neighborhood with a Dominick's. In Chicago, Dominick's has better produce than Jewel; and it's a block away from my apartment. I figured, why spend all the extra money if I didn't have to? So I signed up, and took no notice of what I bought.
Then, I joined Costco. Costco's a membership club - I basically pay $50 a year to buy cheap electronics, wine, english muffins, and DVD's. And, occasionally, a large box of something chocolate that should last 8 weeks, but really lasts for two.
But last weekend, I had my day of reckoning with Big Brother knowing everything I eat. I mean, sure, I've wondered: does the fact that I buy Thomas' English Muffins (Multigrain, Low-Fat, one "point" on Weightwatchers) every two weeks send up a flare? What about my intermittent fish purchases? Are they indicative of someone who's not fully willing to commit to a diet high in Omega-3s?
But I digress. I came home, a week after purchasing my first, large bag of trail mix. I've been doing more walking and the weather's getting better, so I wanted to have a cheap bag of decent mix to take out on hikes. When I got home from running, one week later, I had a message on my voicemail. From Costco. Telling me that they knew that I had recently purchased my trail mix, and that it had pistachios in it, and that it had been recalled.
It was an automated message, yes. And it wasn't like they were standing in my kitchen. But I have to admit, it comforted, AND freaked me out at the same time.
On the upside, they warned me about the pistachio issue a full WEEK before anything went out on the news. Downside: I was reminded, yet again, that they know EVERYTHING you purchase.
I worked for a consumer products company briefly last year. I know the kind of data that is available on buying behavior. And I'm not sure, frankly, that I'm hip to being used as a marketing tool.
But if sharing my data just saved me from one sick day (which, for a girl who is underinsured at the moment, can be important), or from one day hugging the porcelain god - well, then, I think I'm just about reconciled with Big Brother watching what I eat.
At least until they tell me my chocolate is compromised. Then I think I'll just take to my bed, anyway.
We got to talking about those "membership" cards that you got at the grocery store. In Chicago, it's a Dominick's or a Jewel card, and it gets you special deals and discounts at the store. One woman was adamant that she would NOT get the card, because she did not need nameless corporations tracking what she ate, and how often. She wanted her privacy to remain in her control, and to hell be damned if she couldn't cash a check at the grocery store.
At the time, I didn't think much of it. Some of my friends thought she was overreacting. Some figured what they ate wasn't ever going to be headline news. I just thought that it was too much trouble to go to the store and fill out the application for the card, so it wasn't an issue I had.
I changed my tune on that last year (yes, it took 9 years for me to break down and fill out the app.) I moved into a neighborhood with a Dominick's. In Chicago, Dominick's has better produce than Jewel; and it's a block away from my apartment. I figured, why spend all the extra money if I didn't have to? So I signed up, and took no notice of what I bought.
Then, I joined Costco. Costco's a membership club - I basically pay $50 a year to buy cheap electronics, wine, english muffins, and DVD's. And, occasionally, a large box of something chocolate that should last 8 weeks, but really lasts for two.
But last weekend, I had my day of reckoning with Big Brother knowing everything I eat. I mean, sure, I've wondered: does the fact that I buy Thomas' English Muffins (Multigrain, Low-Fat, one "point" on Weightwatchers) every two weeks send up a flare? What about my intermittent fish purchases? Are they indicative of someone who's not fully willing to commit to a diet high in Omega-3s?
But I digress. I came home, a week after purchasing my first, large bag of trail mix. I've been doing more walking and the weather's getting better, so I wanted to have a cheap bag of decent mix to take out on hikes. When I got home from running, one week later, I had a message on my voicemail. From Costco. Telling me that they knew that I had recently purchased my trail mix, and that it had pistachios in it, and that it had been recalled.
It was an automated message, yes. And it wasn't like they were standing in my kitchen. But I have to admit, it comforted, AND freaked me out at the same time.
On the upside, they warned me about the pistachio issue a full WEEK before anything went out on the news. Downside: I was reminded, yet again, that they know EVERYTHING you purchase.
I worked for a consumer products company briefly last year. I know the kind of data that is available on buying behavior. And I'm not sure, frankly, that I'm hip to being used as a marketing tool.
But if sharing my data just saved me from one sick day (which, for a girl who is underinsured at the moment, can be important), or from one day hugging the porcelain god - well, then, I think I'm just about reconciled with Big Brother watching what I eat.
At least until they tell me my chocolate is compromised. Then I think I'll just take to my bed, anyway.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Things I learned today....
Unemployment occasionally has its advantages.
Today, my little sister (bless her heart) woke me up at 9:30 to talk about a trip she took two weeks ago. Since the trip wasn't changing between 9:30 and 11:00, I wasn't certain what compelled her to call at such an ungodly hour, but I did, at least, owe her a short chat.
Lesson No. 1 of the day: don't take your cellphone to bed.
Later, I made a yummy egg scramble with red and green peppers, spinach, and reduced-fat cheddar cheese. Then, when looking up the nutrition information, realized that "reduced fat shredded cheddar" is actually listed as a "cheese product" in my Calorie and Fat counter (circa 2005).
Lesson No. 2: "cheese products" have neither flavor, nor a place on your eggs. Just skip it and add more salt.
This afternoon, I found myself yelling at a lovely woman from Chase, who, apparently, I had confused with a scammer who called last week about "my account" and lowering an interest rate. This woman was merely checking to make sure that I knew my account had been transferred to Chase, from Wamu. Yeah, yeah.
Lesson No. 3: Don't paint all scammers with accents with the same brush. But don't give them any information on the phone, either.
And finally, this evening, after a successful day of Weight Watchering, and counting all my points, and eating perfectly healthy, I saw an ad for Dunkin Donuts while watching ER. Citing forces beyond my control, I found myself whipping up a batch of Ruby's Peanut Butter cookies without thinking.
Lesson No. 4: Don't leave the Big Girl alone with butter, sugar, and eggs when there's a Lifestyle Change afoot. It never ends well.
And with that, I'm putting the uncooked batter in the fridge, and going to bed!
Today, my little sister (bless her heart) woke me up at 9:30 to talk about a trip she took two weeks ago. Since the trip wasn't changing between 9:30 and 11:00, I wasn't certain what compelled her to call at such an ungodly hour, but I did, at least, owe her a short chat.
Lesson No. 1 of the day: don't take your cellphone to bed.
Later, I made a yummy egg scramble with red and green peppers, spinach, and reduced-fat cheddar cheese. Then, when looking up the nutrition information, realized that "reduced fat shredded cheddar" is actually listed as a "cheese product" in my Calorie and Fat counter (circa 2005).
Lesson No. 2: "cheese products" have neither flavor, nor a place on your eggs. Just skip it and add more salt.
This afternoon, I found myself yelling at a lovely woman from Chase, who, apparently, I had confused with a scammer who called last week about "my account" and lowering an interest rate. This woman was merely checking to make sure that I knew my account had been transferred to Chase, from Wamu. Yeah, yeah.
Lesson No. 3: Don't paint all scammers with accents with the same brush. But don't give them any information on the phone, either.
And finally, this evening, after a successful day of Weight Watchering, and counting all my points, and eating perfectly healthy, I saw an ad for Dunkin Donuts while watching ER. Citing forces beyond my control, I found myself whipping up a batch of Ruby's Peanut Butter cookies without thinking.
Lesson No. 4: Don't leave the Big Girl alone with butter, sugar, and eggs when there's a Lifestyle Change afoot. It never ends well.
And with that, I'm putting the uncooked batter in the fridge, and going to bed!
Saturday, March 28, 2009
God Said Ha!
Okay, just because it's too wrong not to share:
Last post: SPRING IS COMING.
Forecast for tonight: 3-7 inches of SNOW (YES, the FLUFFY, WET, COLD, WINTER-ESQUE white stuff) for tomorrow.
Number of people registered to run the "Shamrock Shuffle" 8K in downtown Chicago tomorrow morning: 35,000
Number of idiots running in the snow and slush, thinking they were going to be running in shorts and tanks: 10,000
Number of smartypants home in bed (just my guess): 25,000
Me? Snug as a bug in a rug. Screw spring. I'm sleeping in :)
Last post: SPRING IS COMING.
Forecast for tonight: 3-7 inches of SNOW (YES, the FLUFFY, WET, COLD, WINTER-ESQUE white stuff) for tomorrow.
Number of people registered to run the "Shamrock Shuffle" 8K in downtown Chicago tomorrow morning: 35,000
Number of idiots running in the snow and slush, thinking they were going to be running in shorts and tanks: 10,000
Number of smartypants home in bed (just my guess): 25,000
Me? Snug as a bug in a rug. Screw spring. I'm sleeping in :)
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Spring is Coming!!!!
And here, my best signs that Spring is actually coming to Chicago:
1. The boiler located underneath my unit does not run from 1:00 a.m. to 4:00 a.m. (interittently turning off every three minutes or so, then back on) all night long.
2. The Lake is no longer covered by icebergs, as far as the eye can see.
3. I can't leave my Diet Coke outside the back door for 5 minutes and have something that is ice cold. Dammit.
4. I actually have to use moisturizer on my arms, because there's a chance someone will see them and run, screaming at my dry skin. (No risk when it's cold as we Nannok of the North ourselves all winter here.)
5. The running gear bag no longer contains YakTrax, which are designed to grip the snow like chains on a tire. Dont' get me wrong, it doesn't mean I've put them away. But they're no longer "in the bag".
6. There's a serious increase in the postings on Craigslist's "Missed Connections" site, as people leave their homes and start looking for a lil lovin. It's spring. People have hope. Also, there has been a slight increase in the amount of men viewing my profile on Match.com. Note that hope doesn't necessarily mean ACTION.
7. David Letterman got married. Seems more like a "hell freezing over" moment, but hey, I'll take it as a sign of spring.
8. All the dog poo that people left in the snow during the winter is now lying on the ground, melting. It's lovely.
9. At least once a week, I wake up, and open all the windows without checking the temperature. Thirty minutes later, I'm a shivering mess. But at least I'm awake!!!
10. People are grilling. Really, is there any better sign than grilling? I think not!!!!
1. The boiler located underneath my unit does not run from 1:00 a.m. to 4:00 a.m. (interittently turning off every three minutes or so, then back on) all night long.
2. The Lake is no longer covered by icebergs, as far as the eye can see.
3. I can't leave my Diet Coke outside the back door for 5 minutes and have something that is ice cold. Dammit.
4. I actually have to use moisturizer on my arms, because there's a chance someone will see them and run, screaming at my dry skin. (No risk when it's cold as we Nannok of the North ourselves all winter here.)
5. The running gear bag no longer contains YakTrax, which are designed to grip the snow like chains on a tire. Dont' get me wrong, it doesn't mean I've put them away. But they're no longer "in the bag".
6. There's a serious increase in the postings on Craigslist's "Missed Connections" site, as people leave their homes and start looking for a lil lovin. It's spring. People have hope. Also, there has been a slight increase in the amount of men viewing my profile on Match.com. Note that hope doesn't necessarily mean ACTION.
7. David Letterman got married. Seems more like a "hell freezing over" moment, but hey, I'll take it as a sign of spring.
8. All the dog poo that people left in the snow during the winter is now lying on the ground, melting. It's lovely.
9. At least once a week, I wake up, and open all the windows without checking the temperature. Thirty minutes later, I'm a shivering mess. But at least I'm awake!!!
10. People are grilling. Really, is there any better sign than grilling? I think not!!!!
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