I love New Orleans. I imagine I now know how people feel about Las Vegas. See, I don’t love Las Vegas. I don’t gamble, so that isn’t fun. I don’t really enjoy the clubs anymore these days, plus I don’t like to pay $20 to get into places. I also like my booze cheap and plentiful, which is impossible in Vegas.

But NOLA, oh NOLA, I heart it so much. I say this after spending four days there at the end of June. When the temperatures were in the mid-90s with like 80% humidity. Even in those temperatures, I still love it. (I also can’t complain about humidity in Chicago anymore because 40% is NOTHING compared to New Orleans.)

I enjoyed myself immensely. I ate well. I tried to see as much as I could in the little time I had. I think I saw and experienced all the city had to offer and I fell in love with it. Although, like Vegas, four days was like one too many and I was ready to get home and let my liver recuperate.

Saturday, once I landed, after standing in the world’s longest line for an airport shuttle, I decided to get some lunch and start exploring the city. I ate lunch at Mother’s (as recommended by Regan) and had a po’boy. It was deee-licious!

After lunch, I traipsed around the French Quarter. I OF COURSE ordered a beer because you can drink on the street there! Even at 2 o’clock in the afternoon! And you’re definitely never drinking alone in this city! THIS IS WHAT ET  MUST HAVE FELT LIKE WHEN HE RETURNED TO HIS SHIP!

I had pre-ordered tickets for the walking tour of the Garden District. I really wanted to be sure I saw that part of New Orleans, and this was the best way to see it all. It was a Haunted tour, which means they showed us the houses that are haunted and told ghost stories. I was afraid it would be cheesy, but it wasn’t. Our tour guide Carla was AWESOME and really loves her job.

And how could you not love walking past houses like this every day?

After the tour, I took a street car back to the hotel and got ready to go to dinner. I went with two of my co-workers and we had a great time. I got my palm read and a tarot card reading (more about that tomorrow) and then we began our Hurricane drinking. Whoever commented that Hurricanes were gross, you were wrong. I know everyone has their own tastes, but fruit juice and lots of booze? SIGN ME UP! And they are potent! They taste like fruit punch. Which is probably why I ended up trying to bump and grind random, unsuspecting dudes at the bar.

Sunday was the start of the trade show, and the reason I was in town. Our booth was near the Careerbuilder booth. On Sunday night, they had Top Chefs cooking at their booth. I spotted them the MINUTE I walked into the convention center and then about pissed myself from excitement.

Thankfully they were all so nice! Even Casey, who I was convinced would be a bitch! And Brian was ADORABLE in person! I forgave him for all those fucking ceviches. AND BLAIS! I actually yelled out BLAIS when I saw him. Clearly, I watch too much damn reality television.

I was so nervous to talk to them, but my co-worker forced me to take my photo with them. I’m so glad she did!

(You can see the rest of my photos here.)

After Sunday night, Careerbuilder had nothing as exciting, except a cute guy named Brendan. Who I stared at inappropriately for a few days. And then Twittered drunkenly about him. Not realizing that Careerbuilder is ON TWITTER. Let’s hope they don’t know how to use the search function.

On Monday night, after an early dinner, I went back to the hotel and realized that sitting in your hotel room at 7:45 PM on your last night in New Orleans was not allowed. So I decided to go out and get some souvenirs for my niece and nephews. And since I just happened to end up at a store down the street from Pat O’Briens, I figured since there was no line, I really had to go in and have an official Hurricane.

While there, I started chatting up the people sitting next to me. One Hurricane and a shot later, I was partying with them on Bourbon Street and having a freaking blast! I ended up drinking way too much, shaking my ass and thanking Twitter for telling me to get my ass out to the French Quarter that night! It was INSANE! Total New Orleans experience!

Before I left town, I made sure to have some beignets from Cafe Du Monde (HOLY CRAP THOSE ARE SO FUCKING GOOD!). And I pretty much decided that my bachelorette party (which according to the psychic will happen one day, and soon) will be held in NOLA. I already found the hotel we’re staying at. Save up now ladies!

And then I realized that the Tony Bennett song is so wrong, I didn’t leave my heart in San Francisco, I left it in NOLA. And I can’t wait to get back there so we can be reunited.

(I love Jay-Z. He is hands down one of the best rappers ever and knows how to make a hit record. And a fucking smart businessman. So naturally I love all his songs, even H to the Izzo. But is it true he is rapping about being a Jehovah’s Witness? HOVA. Like JeHOVAh. Not that I have good taste in music, I mean I’ll listen to anything with a good beat, but something about that just seems weird. But not celebrating holidays and birthdays also seems weird to me, so who am I to judge?)

This is going to be a short post because I’m tired. This week has been exhausting. I blame it all on the heat. Because the heat came out of nowhere, we didn’t have time to get acclimated. (I was wearing long sleeves last week!) (Maybe not, but it wasn’t in the 90s, there was no talk of heat indexes and putting coolant in my car was but a distant thought.)

Anyway, being out in this heat, even just driving to and from work, or walking to the bus stop, takes it all out of you. On top of that, we have a big event next week for work, so I’ve been getting prepared with all of that this week. So I’m tired. And I just wasted an hour-plus of my life watching the Real Housewives of New Jersey Reunion only to be told NOTHING! So then of course, I read their blogs over on Bravo’s website because you CANNOT END IT LIKE THAT! CURSE YOU BRAVO! YOU ARE JUST A PROSTITUTION WHORE!

So, back New Orleans. I leave on Saturday for Nawlins. I have never been to New Orleans. Ever. One of the drinking/partying meccas of the world and I’ve never been there. SHOCKING! I KNOW!

I’ve been getting recommendations from her. She lived there and grew up there and knows everything about NOLA. So I have a huge list of places to drink and eat at. I would also like to take a streetcar ride, preferably past the Real World house because I like to do that when I go to cities where The Real World was filmed. (I have a photo of the Seattle house. The Chicago one is apparently a gym now or something.) (Also, I’m almost 32, WHY DO I STILL CARE? And why do I remember the people that were on Real World New Orleans? Including that cute blonde who married Bailey from Party of Five. Why can’t I remember things that are important, but yet I remember that?) (There was also the gay dude, dating the guy in the military, and Julie the Mormon and Melissa, crazy, crazy Melissa. And was that the season with David? And his weird songs?)

ANYWAY, I need suggestions! I don’t have a lot of free time, since I am going for work, but I’m going to try and fit in as much eating and drinking as I can in the little time I do have. I’ll have a hurricane at Pat O’Brien’s because I think you have to at least once, but not outside because I’ll forget to get a refund on my glass and some hooligan New Orleans native will steal it from me (I’m from the Midwest, we don’t do those kinds of things!) (But also, we’re too drunk in Chicago to care about a glass refund.)

So leave any good suggestions in the comments! Thankfully Mother Nature is preparing me for the weather down there, since we’ve had the SAME weather in Chicago as New Orleans this week. So hopefully I’ll have some energy to meet locals and take photos and get passed-out-in-the-gutter drunk.

A girl has to have goals.

So you guys have opinions about those shoes. Or should I say OPINIONS. I loved reading all your comments. There would be a lot of “hmm, maybe with capris or a skirt would be better” comments and then you would have a bunch of “NO! BAD SHOES!” comments. I’m also surprised at how many people have these same shoes and actually like them. Decision? To be decided.

I agree with a lot of you that it is a lot of foot. I don’t know why it bothers me more than a flip flop or any other sandal. The only thing I can think of is that these cover just the middle of the foot. And then like the whole end of your foot is out there! In the open! With the possibility of stepping in Chicago sludge!

I’m going to try them with a few different things – long shorts, capris and a dress (not all those at once, though), and see. I also got a pedicure tonight, so that should help. I put off the pedicure for so long because it was like in the 60s last week and I was wearing socks. Then all of a sudden it’s 91 and I’m wearing sandals and people are looking at my bare toenails! THE HORROR!

Also, a tan might help. But that won’t happen since I prefer the indoors and SPF 75.

So as I was getting my pedicure tonight, I started thinking back to when I wore toe rings. Did anyone else wear toe rings? Why did I feel the need to wear a ring on my toe? Why would I encourage people to focus their gaze on my feet? (Although, a player at the 49ers, John Keith (who only those of us who worked at the 49ers know who the hell that even is), he used to tell me all the time that I had pretty feet. And then I would say “thanks perv, now move along and stop breaking like a God damned China doll!”)

Anyway, I remembered toe rings during my pedicure tonight because I always took mine off for pedicures. Because it was FINE JEWELRY, apparently. And I would wear it on my pinky finger, like an Italian mobster, until the pedicure was finished. That’s classy right there. Klassy with a K.

I actually only kept wearing the toe ring for one reason – because Steve Mariucci, the cute, former head coach of the 49ers, he would always comment on my toe ring. (I’m also pretty sure I’ve mentioned this story before.)

See I was in charge of taping his informal media gathering after practice every day. And then I would go upstairs and transcribe it for the website. It sounds like a mundane task, but when I was first asked to do it, it was one of the first times a woman was ever allowed on the practice field. In like the entire history of the organization. This was in 2000.

So I jumped at the chance. THIS! This was going to be my in, this was going to be my way to break down all those rules and the glass ceiling! I am woman, hear me ROAR!

I was told to just tape and not say a thing. I am woman, hear me stand meekly with a tape recorder.

Now if anyone of you have ever met me, or read this blog, you might guess that being quiet is NOT an easy thing for me to do. But this was my chance! I would do what it took to carve my niche, to create my place in history with this franchise. So I stood, every day after practice and held my little tape recorder and stayed in the background.

I found out a few years later from my boss that Mariucci, he did NOT like me being out there. He was against it from the very beginning. And it was Mariucci, or Mooch as he’s known, who gave the instructions for me to be quiet. Kirk, my boss, he could care less about gender. He always hired good people who worked hard and did their jobs. He’s a younger guy, so the whole Old Boys Club of not having women around, he didn’t buy into it. I was very lucky to work for a guy like Kirk.

As the practices went by, as I behaved myself and stayed invisible (I think), slowly Mooch started to warm up to me. Since I’m not shy, and I am blessed with a quick wit and a big mouth, he probably regretted the day he first talked to me. Because then, once I was spoken to, I had to talk back. And I could make a living at talking back. I’m THAT good at it. And once I started, I could not be stopped.

Because the years Mooch coached the team (while I was there) were some of the worst teams in Niners history, he got asked a lot of questions by the media that he didn’t want to answer. When he didn’t want to answer, he would look at the ground. When he looked at the ground, he saw a bunch of ugly man shoes and MY FEET! Specifically, my toes. And, you guessed it, my toe ring.

He was obsessed with the toe ring. He couldn’t understand the purpose. (Nor do I, years later.) But he would bring it up all the time. For awhile, he would call me Toe Ring. If I ever had a note or something from him, it would either say “Dear Toe Ring” or “Dear Sun Devil” (he saw the tattoo later on.)

So one year I decided to get him a Christmas present. I went to Claire’s and found the girliest pink toe ring I could find. And I wrapped it up and made this heartfelt speech to him, telling him I really wanted to get him something or some other bullshit. He, of course, laughed his head off and LOVED IT! And it sat on his desk for the rest of his years with the 49ers.

On the day he got fired, I walked into his office to say goodbye, with tears in my eyes because I knew not only was I going to miss him because he was one of a kind, I also knew that all the years I worked at becoming one of the boys, getting him to see me as a professional, not as some WOMAN, some walking vagina, who wanted to sleep with players, all that was walking out the door with him. And I was going to have to start from scratch.

But he told me that he was taking the toe ring with him and it would be displayed on his desk the next place he ended up. Although I’m quite sure it ended up in the circular file. But I still have my memories!

I bought these shoes a few weeks ago at Target.

I was looking for some black sandals/flats and I thought “Hmmm, these are different. I’m going to get them. Because I always get the same damn thing. And different doesn’t always mean bad.”

But then I brought them home and I couldn’t figure out if I really did like them. So I’m doing what any normal person would do, I’m polling the internet.

I even have additional exhibits.

Exhibit A

(Yes that is the string still holding these shoes together. I’m serious when I say I’m not sure if I should take them back or not.) (Also, I need to clean the mirror.)

Exhibit B

Exhibit C

These are pants I would probably wear them with quite often since they are too short for heels. I was also thinking I could wear them with capris, maybe? Or shorts? Or a dress?

I DON’T KNOW! I need your help, smart, fashionable people of the World Wide Web! What is the verdict on these shoes? Be honest, please. You won’t hurt my feelings. Well, you might hurt them a little bit, but I’ll just keep the crying on the inside.

But really, I’d rather take them back if the internet says so, then have them sitting in the closet gathering dust. I could do a lot with $20. That could buy a lot of cheap wine and Swedish Fish.

So bring your opinions, I know you have plenty, and leave them in the comments!

Saturday I had a hair appointment in the morning. After my hair appointment, which is basically in Indiana, I had to drive to my friend Jenn’s bridal shower, which was practically in Iowa. All during the heat of the day. Did I mention that I don’t have air conditioning? BECAUSE I DO NOT HAVE AIR CONDITIONING IN MY CAR!

(It has a leak. I fill it up with coolant and it usually lasts for about 2 weeks. But I haven’t filled it up yet this year because we’ve not been having summer like weather for all of June. Until now, of course.)

Needless to say, once I got to the shower, I needed a drink. Good thing I did my recognizance and found out there would be no booze at this shower. So I came prepared with a flask full of vodka. (Hi Jenn! Yes, I brought a flask to your shower! But I didn’t get out of control! I bet you didn’t even notice! Love ya!)

I made sure that it was indeed OK to bring a flask to a shower by doing what normal people do in this situation when you have perplexing question. No, not asking the bride-to-be. I asked Twitter.

Twitter responded with a resounding YES! And Nic was overruled! Which is OK because she’s just mad that she has to buy her alcohol from the state and pays more and can’t get it in the grocery store. I still love her, though. And her bid to turn me sober. If she had witnessed Drunkabella in action, she would reconsider.

There was actually champagne for a toast at the shower. And punch. Which I added the vodka too. Which later was a bad idea because there was citrus in the punch and my stomach was being ripped to shreds after a few glasses, so I switched to water. All in all, it was a decent shower. I won’t go into my thoughts about bridal showers (HATE THEM!) and what I will do at mine, in the event I ever get married, which isn’t likely (BOOZE! NO GAMES! NO PRESENTS OPENING! MORE LIKE A BACHELORETTE PARTY WITH CHINA AND PIZZA STONES!). But Jenn did a good job with the gifts. Her and her soon-to-be-hubby (I always spell fiancee like finance) Jerry were very fast and efficient. And the food was excellent and it was good to catch up with friends.

Anyway, that was more time that I planned to devote to the shower. I had to rush out of the shower to sit in traffic and drive back from almost-Iowa so I could be home for my blinds to be installed! REAL BLINDS! No more fitted Red Sheet of Brothelville! I was going to wake up to normal colored light and no longer think that I was living life in rose-colored glasses. Literally.

They took all of 10 minutes to install them. This is why I paid people to do it. Because 1) they did it right and 2) it would have taken me three hours to do it myself. We even bonded over the fact that they too had no A/C in their car. Weather – the Great Equalizer.

After they were installed, we had a ceremonious folding of the Red Sheet of Brothelville.

The red sheet now goes to join his other compatriots in the Box of Sheets and Towels Which Has Yet To Be Unpacked. Before we put the Red Sheet of Brothelville away, I made sure the cats gave it a proper salute.

Kitty Kitty, of course, wasn’t convinced that Red Sheet needed all this pomp and circumstance.

Whatever CAT, you are now afraid of BLINDS! Add that to your fucking list, you pussy.

But aren’t they pretty?

Wow, yet another post about my cats and about blinds. I can’t believe I don’t have suitors knocking on my door to ask for my hand in marriage. I’m sure Jason would agree.

But hey, then at least that’s one less bridal shower I have to sit through.

See, it was very hot in my house last night. According to the thermostat it was about 79 in my tiny shoebox of a condo. And since it was storming and pissing rain outside, all the windows were closed. (Good news, though, no more leaks!) So I felt like I was suffocating. I thought about turning the air conditioning on, hesitating only because it was only about 60 outside and really, if it is that cool, the A/C is a tad unnecessary, no?

But I was sweating and I knew I wasn’t going to sleep well. So then I slapped myself and was like “hey jackass! Isn’t this why you wanted a place with central air in the first place? Put on your big girl panties, stop worrying about it and just turn the damn thing on!”

So I was all “you’re right self. And boy, you sure pack quite a punch! Have you been working out?” And myself answered “no, this is the arm I use to lift all those glasses of booze to my mouth, so it gets a lot of use. Who needs a gym when you can get these guns from drinking?” And then I laughed “oh self, you’re so witty.” And myself was all “stop fucking stalling and turn on the damn A/C!” “OK SELF! Don’t be so fucking pushy! GEEZ!”

At first I thought just the fan would be OK. But I’m not too sure exactly what that is. Is it just re-circulating the hot air in my house? Is it pulling air from the outside? It wasn’t that cool anyway, so the conversation I had in my head about where this air was coming from (the upstairs neighbor’s bathroom?) was moot.

It was like sweet, sweet nectar blowing out of those vents when I turned on the air conditioning. All those years of suffering in that apartment, with only a window unit, were so worth it. Being cold when I sleep, in the summer, and not having to worry about a puddle of water on the floor from the condensation is a beautiful thing.

That is until I heard an oddly familiar sound.

“MEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW. MEEEEEEEEEEOW!”

Kitty Kitty has this meow that is only reserved for when she’s scared or hurt or SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT DAMMIT! I am quite familiar with this meow. It’s the meow I heard when we drove across the country in my Nissan Sentra and she spent the entire trip under my seat, never eating or drinking for three days. It is the sound she makes when we go to the vet. It is the sound she made when we moved into the condo and she lost her fucking shit and peed on EVERYTHING!

I do not like this sound. Not one bit, I tell you.

After hearing this meow, I went to find her. She was cowering on the bed. I picked her up and calmed her down. She seemed to be OK, so I put her back on the bed. And then there was that MEOWING again. She was frozen in one spot. She would not move out of the bedroom. Because outside the bedroom? The CLOSET OFF DOOM!

(Right outside my bedroom door is a closet with the heating and air conditioning thingys and the water heater. See below.)

I tried everything. I showed her the inside of the closet “see Kitty, nothing to be afraid of.” And then I forced her outside the bedroom, which was quite comical and she ran past that closet like her tail was on fire. I gave her treats. I told her it would be OK like she was a human and that would help! I TRIED EVERYTHING!

So then I said fuck it and I went to bed. She wasn’t leaving the bedroom, actually she wasn’t leaving the window sill in the bedroom, so I figured we would be fine. She seemed to have calmed down a bit and the meowing was at a minimum.

Some time after I got in bed, the a/c went off because it had cooled off enough. She clearly got comfortable with this and was like “whew! That was one horrible fucking nightmare! Thank God that is over!” And then she proceeded to go to bed.

And then 2 AM rolled around. “MEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWW! MEEEEEEEEOW! MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

The a/c kicked back on. And she was taken back to that horrible place! Where things made noise! And “OMG! HUMAN! Are you hearing these things coming out of that closet? The whooshing? And air blowing? WHY ISN’T THAT OTHER CAT AWAKE? WHY IS NO ONE SCARED THAT WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE? I MUST WAKE THEM NOW! MEEEEEEOOOOOOWWWWWW!”

So I woke up. Because that shrill screeching? Like an infant crying. It’s impossible to sleep through it for any length of time. I got up and I called her over and I petted her and I tried to calm her down. And then I told her to fuck off because I needed my sleep and it was a fucking air conditioner for pete’s sake.

Tonight it is cooler in the house and not raining, so I don’t need it on. But the next time I have to turn it on, you best believe I’m recording that ear-piercing howl with the new voice memo function on my phone so you can all FEEL MY PAIN.

I can’t wait until the first time I have to dog-sit for my brother and introduce these stupid cats to Bella the Pug. But how could they be afraid of this pug’s mug? Seriously.

One of the errands was doing my weekly grocery shopping. As I was driving home from the grocery store, I got into a bit of an altercation. I will preface, I’ve got a bit of The Rage when I drive. I may have been known to give people the finger, or lay on my horn until it stops working (true story!) or follow people who piss me off, just to make them shit their pants. I do realize this is the STUPIDEST thing to do and that one of these times, I’m going to get shot. But I am getting better. I used to be really bad. Until some dude fucking kicked my car door in at a stoplight.

Anyway, on Sunday there was a street fest near my grocery store. Which meant most of the east/west streets were closed and everyone had to take the ONE east/west street that wasn’t blocked. It took me like 30 minutes to go 2 miles on the way to the store. So on the way home, I figured I’d go further south before I cut back west. It would have taken longer, but it didn’t matter because it meant I would not be sitting in traffic. On a Sunday.

So I was driving south, planning ahead of time to turn right on a street named Lawrence (like my dad!). But I grew impatient with the stop lights and stupid people, so I figured I would turn right sooner than Lawrence, to get on the side streets. I came up on an intersection and the light turned red, so I screeched to a halt stopped. I figured now was as good a time as any to turn right. So I checked the traffic and figured it was OK to turn.

BUT, as soon as I turned the corner, I realized I was turning onto a one-way street and I was GOING THE WRONG WAY! Since I made some weird-ass wide turn onto this one-way street and didn’t want to be hit head on, I decided the only thing to do, the safest thing to do, was run the red light and continue going back South. There was NO traffic on that one-way street, so I did not put anyone in harm’s way.

I was really shook up about it. I am a rule follower. I don’t do things like that, especially things that could end up hurting people. I am as impatient as a toddler, but I can WAIT at red lights. I abide by the rules of the road.

As I continued South to Lawrence, I was freaking out and talking to myself saying “I can’t believe I just did that. I can’t believe I ran a red light. OH MY GOD! THANK YOU JESUS! I’m so glad no one was hurt, including myself!”

I pulled up at the light on Lawrence and it was red, of course. So I waited for my chance to turn right. When all of a sudden I hear someone shouting over the music coming out of my radio. And it isn’t me singing along with Kelly Clarkson. It is something entirely different. And then I do something stupid, I turn toward the shouting.

Next to me, on a major street, at a major intersection, is some asshat who has decided it is HIS business to tell me that I was wrong for going through a red light. NO SHIT SHERLOCK. And he scolds me. And tells me about how people could have been hurt and I could have been T-boned by the traffic. Complete with hand gestures to show me what that would look like if my car was his one hand and an imaginary car was his other hand. T stands for TOOL. To which I should have said, “not possible jackass. The only way I was going to get T-boned is if someone else was going the wrong way down a one-way street. I ran a red light to avoid the possibility of being hit HEAD ON. WORSE THAN BEING T-BONED, FUCKWIT!”

I didn’t say any of these things. I was still so shaken up byt the whole thing that I apologized profusely. Along with placing my hand to my chest, showing just how sorry I was and that I honestly didn’t mean to do it. I’m a poor excuse for an aggressive driver.

And then the motherfucking cocksucker WAGGED HIS FINGER AT ME! And then the light turned and he continued on his merry, pretentious way in his stupid Mercedes. And he’s lucky, considering the part of town we were in, that he didn’t get a gun pulled on his ass.

I was SHOCKED. Between the red light running and the jackass and his finger wagging, I got ANGRY. I was so mad at myself for letting that asshole talk to me like that. Like he’s fucking Barney Fife and making a citizen’s arrest. What good does scolding me do? What’s done is done. If he was paying any lick of attention, he would have seen it wasn’t intentional. Fucking people, you know?

I’m glad that I didn’t do anything in retaliation. Like I said, not the best part of town, even during the day. And while Pretentious McWaggyPants  looked like a royal douchebag, he totally could have been packing heat in the back of his pseudo SUV. So it is for the best that I just call him names on my blog and Twitter.

At least it makes me feel better.

Skyler is actually one of the youngest in her class. The class is for three year olds, but the cut off was September 1. And Skyler’s birthday is in October. But after taking another session of her dance class from last fall, which is just called Creative Movement because it is for little ones, the teacher said Skyler was good to move up to the real class. The class with a recital, where all of us could come watch her perform and she would have a costume!

So since she is 3 1/2, she’s been practicing this routine once a week for the last nine months. Understandably, she started to hate ballet. Probably because she was tired of hearing the same damn song over and over and over. So to get my stubborn niece to actually participate in the recital and be a good girl, cake was promised. (One of the many ways we’re similar, Skyler and I, is our love of cake.) But when they went to the high school auditorium for dress rehearsal earlier in the week and Skyler saw the big stage, she was ready to perform. She was ready to show the world her mad ballet skillz!

It was literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. The show was comprised of eight different dance classes, including Skyler’s. They were all the younger kids, most of them Skyler’s age or just a year or two older. Just watching all the cuteness made my uterus ache. But none were cuter than our girl.

They danced to Here Comes the Sun by The Beatles. Skyler was very serious and very focused while she danced. And was singing most of the words to the song.

Afterwards she got some flowers and we gushed all over her at how cute she was and how well she performed! Our prima ballerina. She was all smiles and loved the flowers.

And of course, I was the proudest Auntie in the entire auditorium!

You can see the rest of the photos here. The ones at the actual recital are crappy because we couldn’t use the flash and we weren’t super close.

Here is the video, if anyone wants to watch. It’s only about 3 minutes and you will get a toothache from the cuteness. Or maybe you won’t because you’re not related to her.

Skyler Ballet Recital June 2009 from kristabella on Vimeo.

Anyway, in that post, I basically pissed off Spring. Because she was a big fucking tease and never came around. And then a funny thing happened, some time around the end of May, Spring came. But see, usually in Chicago, the end of May is when we see our first 90-degree days. And from Memorial Day on, it’s summer. Hot, sweaty, change-your-shirt-three-times-a-day, stock-up-on-deodorant summer. People are turning on the A/C, breaking out the bathing suits and complaining and wishing for the days when it was cool and you didn’t sweat through your clothes blow drying your hair first thing in the morning.

But that hasn’t happened. Not even close. Right now, on the evening of June 10, it is in the 50s. Last night? I had to close all the windows and put on a sweatshirt because it was chilly! ON JUNE FUCKING 10!

I’ve been back in Chicago since 2005, so this will be my fifth summer back in the Land of Humidity. And every summer I’ve lived in the city, by this time, I’ve installed the window A/C unit and have turned it on at least once. I actually remember buying my window A/C unit on Memorial Day about three years ago because it was too fucking hot and I just couldn’t take it any more. This year on Memorial Day? It was rainy and barely got up to 65 degrees.

So clearly, my post about Spring really set off Mother Nature. She is not having any of my insubordination. And she’s going to make me pay. By wearing sweaters and fleece jackets in June. DURING THE DAY. And hiding the sun from us just long enough that we forget where we put our damn sunglasses. And then have to drive home from work all squinty.

This is either payback for that post or she saw me trying on those 2 new bathing suits I bought and just put out a preemptive strike for all of the world. She saw the display of massive chunks of pasty white skin, riddled in cellulite and said “Nuh, uh. No way. NO ONE needs to see that.” And she cranked down the thermostat.

Lest you think Mother Nature is fucking around,  remember that I was living in a third-floor walk-up with only a small window air conditioner that I couldn’t run all the time because I don’t have piles of gold in my closets, and it was HOT all the time. Living in that apartment, I would have KILLED for it to be this cool for as long as possible. All I dreamt about was the day I would live some place that I had central air. Now that I have central A/C and do not have to worry about the SUFFOCATING HEAT INSIDE MY HOUSE anymore, now that bitch Mother Nature turns the weather cool and I can’t even turn the A/C on because it’s too cold outside for it to even kick on. Oh, the irony! I HEAR YOU CACKLING, MOTHER NATURE!

YOU WIN THIS ROUND! NOW WARM THIS BITCH UP! A-SAP!

I bet she can’t wait for us to all start complaining about the heat and humidity once she gives up this little game of hers. We get it Mother Nature! You’re powerful! GAH. We totally get it. You win. Now give us summer, for the love of God!

I don’t really like strangers. I love new people who find my blog through other friends. I hope they stay around awhile. But no one like trolls.

Which is why I am not the biggest fan of StumbleUpon. I love when people Stumble my posts. In theory. I love that someone thought it was funny enough, or well written enough, that they wanted to share with EVERYONE ON THE INTERNET. It warms my cold, black heart.

But the problem with sharing it with everyone is that you don’t know who is going to stumble upon your post and what kind of asshats might read you blog and figure they have some not nice things to tell you.

I’ve been lucky. I know of plenty big bloggers out there who get stumbled and then get a ra shitstorm of comments from trolls who just love to make people feel like crap. Thankfully, I’m a Q-list blogger who no one knows and who hardly gets Stumbled. Which means, no douchey comments. Generally.

Someone (or someones, whoever you are, thank you!) Stumbled this post, where I re-enact the cats’ puking incident. It is one of my all time favorite posts ever and I laugh whenever I think about it.

But Jason, I don’t think Jason found it funny.

So does Jason think I’m single because I’m hilarious and take time to caption my cats photos? Or am I single because I take photos of my cats? Or am I single because my life is so pathetic, I have nothing else to talk or write about besides my cats? THEY ARE MY REASON TO LIVE!

Also, I’m not sure if having Bacon as a section of my website was pathetic, or it made me less pathetic in Jason’s eyes. And of course Jason left his email address as Jason@hotmail.com, which is probably fake unless he was the first Jason ever to have a hotmail email address. Which probably makes him more pathetic than a single girl who writes funny posts about her cats.

So, just for you Jason (and for Ali too, who loves people who talk about cats), I post this video, which I find oddly hilarious. This is Kitty Kitty cleaning her chin fur.

And now, Jason, I give you something to really make fun of me about. You’re welcome.