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It was official. A Rockstar weekend was being born.

Issue Date: Friday, May. 25, 2007

Hi. Miss me? Have I been gone long enough from your warm (and furry) embrace that you are starting to sing Donna Summer songs into a hair brush and weep openly because of that spot in your heart where I used to be?



Okay. So, yes. I have been gone for a while. I think the last post was 5/8/07 and today is 5/24/07. That is like a bunch of days, and while I have never been one to post daily or even weekly, this large gap in time makes me want to create a place on my site for travel schedule (maybe in place of the guestbook? because that thing is shit.. and no one can even sign into the members area page to edit all the spam because you get a ERROR page and.... ::sigh:: ) so you guys would know when I was going to be gone and maybe even which city I would be in so you could call me for drinks and we could get tipsy on long island iced teas (mike – mint juleps) and make fun of my hair in the humidity and then say inappropriate things loudly so that old ladies suck their breath in through their teeth because we are absolutely ghastly (mike – British Clergy in tittie bars). But then I thought that you guys really wouldn’t care about my travel schedule... you just want to hear about the stuff that happened when I got back (I am updating! Melinda... See?). And this run on sentence has been brought to you by the letter R as in ROCKSTAR Weekend in Chicago and the number eleventy.

Oh, I also downloaded Google chat onto my blackberry so I CAN and WILL open it up whilst traveling and see if anyone loves me. They normally do. So I feel all justified and then start singing “My Love” from JT’s FutureSex/LoveShow album. People who are around me are lucky if I take em to the bridge and bring my “Sexy Back”, and then get I get my sexy on and then my boss fires me... again.*

*Oh, the Thursday before we left for Chicago, my boss very proudly showed me his new phone. I noticed it had a camera feature on it and tried to take a picture of my hand flipping off the phone so that could be the screen that popps up when I call him. He snatched it away from me muttering, get this... “Dirty Baptist.” Hee!

So, enough with the wasting time.

Chicago rocked my face off.

Let me walk you though how this whole thing went down. On 4/26/07 this one Google chatted me and was all, “What are you doing on the weekend of 5/11/07?” I replied, “My birthday is 5/11.” She was all “I didn’t ask when your birthday was, bitch.” She didn’t say bitch, but it was implied. She continued, “I asked what you were doing that weekend.” I admitted that I truly did not know, nor did I know if Mister had anything spectacular planned for my birthday. MY BIRTHDAY THAT WAS ON THE 11th? Did I mention that part? Did I also mention that I turned 35? Did I mention that this was a big deal? THIRTY FIVE. It deserves caps bitches. Yes, I just said bitches. And I meant it. I’ll say it again. I have the power.


Okay so I was all, “Alright, I don’t think anything is planned, why?” She said, “Because you and Mister can come to Chicago for a Rockstar weekend with us.” So I called Mister and sprung it on him.

self: “HI!”
Mister: “Hi?”
self: “So... I was thinking...”
Mister: “Should I be nervous?”
self: “No, this is going to be awesome.”
Mister: “O...kay....”

Why is he so suspicious?

self: “Do we have any plans for the weekend of my birthday?”
Mister: “Well, I was thinking that we could go to dinner and look for your bike...”
self: “Wanna go to Chicago?”
Mister: “What?”
self: “Chicago... go to... for my birthday weekend.”
Mister: “Just like that?”
self: “Why not? We have points to stay for free, we have award tickets to fly for free.”
Mister: “It’s like two weekend away.”
self: “Right! And we’ve both already taken off that Friday for MY BIRTHDAY. Right?”
Mister: “Right, okay.”
self: “So, you’ll go? Wanna go... can I go ahead and book it?”
Mister: “I don’t see why not.”
self: “YAY! Okay, will email you with specifics.”
Mister: “Bye...” [he said unsurely]

It was almost like I was saying. “Hey! My love, my life, my darling, I would like to have a fruit bat for dinner and then apply leeches to my forehead for a good old fashioned blood letting this evening, are you in?”

Mister may not like for people to move his cheese, is all I’m sayin.

So, within moments of the initial squee, I had free parking lined up, two free plane tickets lined up and two free nights stay right next to the Hancock building on the Miracle Mile booked. I am fast (bitches).

She called me on the phone at work with this one on the other line – conference call style. I was squealing and they were squealing. I sent my information on the flights and the hotel to them and we tried to convince this one to come. Yes, it was Mother’s Day, yes she had to go to Vegas in a few days... pah... COME TO CHICAGO! WE LOVE YOU! And that’s when my director walked around the corner and whispered, “I can hear every word you are saying.” “Oh, sorry.” I whispered back and continued to squeal and squee.

The next day I got a Google chat from this one with this message, “I may not kill you for not mentioning the Chicago weekend.” I was all, “I would have told you if it had been more than 12 hours since I decided to go myself...” and tried to talk myself out of the wrath of the pocket gay. He is feisty indeed. Do not cross him, you will be sorry. And then you will want to put him in your pocket at take him and his fabulous blazer and shoes home with you. Just a warning.

So we talked him into coming. It was official. A Rockstar weekend was being born.

Squeeing was in the cards.

My CA twin was in, so were these guys, this lovely woman and her beau, and I would also got to meet and hang out with this chickadee.
The Chicago contingent was labeled out as such:
Poppy and Tam.
Jen Trance and Bullshit.
This lovely lady.
There were a few others coming but most of them I had not met before unless they attended the Green Bay shindig back in March.

Before I could even wrap my head around the fact that I was going to see my favorite people (as Melinda calls us, her tribe)... my tribe, I had my parents in for my birthday dinner, and then my niece’s birthday party, I had a conference to attend, a planning meeting to facilitate, a staff meeting to attend, have my birthday pedicure and dinner with my darling sister and then pack for the trip.

I refused (quite haughtily) to take Misters hoopty ass suitcase as I didn’t want him to bust another knee and I didn’t want to drag the behemoth around at all. So we packed quickly and quietly on Friday morning the 11th. I used my Eagle Creek® Black Pack-It® Folders in medium and large and got all of our stuff shoved into one suitcase, a duffle and a carryon for each one of us.

While on the plane the seat attacked Mister’s ass and ripped the pocket almost fully off of his jeans, (thank goodness he was wearing boxers) so on our pit stop in St. Louis we both whipped out our blackberries and went to work finding a Big and Tall men’s clothing store near our hotel in Chicago. We found one and called them, found out if they had the Polo jeans in his size, what time they closed... yadda yadda yadda. We landed in Chicago, grabbed a shuttle (hung on for dear life) were dropped off last, checked into our room and then hauled ass across the street to make it to the store before it closed.

Rochester Big and Tall.. and their super sales lady Cheryl? We love you! Mister got a pair of jeans that fit him awesomely, a jacket because it was freaking cold ya’ll, and then two pairs of shoes. It was a whirlwind shopping trip and we hadn’t been in the city for an hour.

Later that evening we met up with mike, then picked up Melinda, then hopped on the blue line to take us over to the Pontiac bar for live band karaoke. We stopped at a noodle house for dinner and then walked across the street at like 10 p.m.. The gang started arriving and as I gazed around at my tribe, kissing and hugging all of them and introducing them to Mister I felt so at home. I was in a cold garage somewhere in Chicago, but wherever the tribe is, it feels like home.

I noticed a pretty, tiny little thing at the end of the table. I had not introduced myself except briefly so I went to go say hi and found out how she had fallen in with our merry group. She said that she and this one had been corresponding and I (stupidly) asked her, “Are you on the web... do you have a journal?” She told me who she was and that is when I did a quadruple take, cursed three times fast and probably spit on the wee super star with my eloquent surprise. I had been reading her since before Moses parted the red sea and there she was sitting next to me wiping my peasant spit off of her diaryland royalty glasses.

I can not tell you guys how cool she is... so I won’t try. But, meet her, drink with her, share a smoke and a joke with her... you won’t be sorry. Love you mimi... sorry for spitting on you!

After the live band Karaoke (which rocked) we all hailed a cab for the ride home. Mister, mike and I left early because we are pussies, but we made plans with Melinda to catch her in the morning for breakfast/brunch/whatever.

We all met downstairs that next morning and walked over to the Cheesecake Factory (taking a break here... will pick back up tomorrow morning 20 minutes before I have to leave for the long weekend on Friday)....the Cheesecake Factory is in the bottom of the Hancock building and is decorated in what mike deems, “The Early Vulva Period”. Seriously, it was like eating lunch enwombed in a large vagina. That sounds so vile when I look back at that sentence but seriously. No. Seriously. The pillars were all tongue-like and the booths were like sitting in a Georgia O’Keefe painting.

But Mister, mike, Melinda and I happily ate our munchies and then made the decision to forgo the aquarium (we have Sea World in Texas, Melinda has the freaking San Diego Zoo and some other animal stuff where she lives... and mike didn’t care) for the Art Institute of Chicago.

We walked over, Mister ran to get some cash, smokes and I think mainly to just be able to walk around on the streets of Chicago looking all bad ass without his wife... who was at that moment trying to get mike to hump the brass lion (well, just one of them) in front of the museum.

I did not succeed in getting mike to hump the lion. It is a pretty big lion, so I just wrapped my legs around its tail and humped the tail and smelled some brass lion balls while Melinda happily clicked away with her little camera.

I am very shy.

We did a very quick tour of the Art Institute** and then went to meet Weet at the Hootchie Store where everything is awesome and like four dollars. Mister thought we were going to get shanked*** in the store and was very uncomfortable because of the ladies pushing and shoving to get to the cash register. “The line is back THERE, bitch.” No, no... no one ever said bitch. But it was totally implied. I almost got this awesome belt and some cute shorts and some sunglasses, but we had to get back to the hotel and eat dinner, iron a shirt, reapply makeup, get dressed and get a cab before 6:35. Well, that and the whole notion of getting shanked at the register, so I put everything back and we broke for the door.

**Quick like bunny, small veer. Okay, you know how you feel that you have to see everything in a museum sometimes. Traveling with my mother and sister in Paris they patiently went through the tour at the Louvre and then were all “Alright, Let’s go SHOPPING!!!!!!!!” I was very adamant about staying for a whole day... by myself... so I could soak up the art and where I was and not have to be rushed. I would have liked to have done that at the Art Institute, but alas, we had to run. Speaking of running... I don’t know why I thought about this... but one time we were on a road trip and my mother was watching the map as my father and I drove. She yelled out from the back of the van, “OOOH! Can we just drive a little bit up highway [whatever]? Kansas is right over there and I have never been to Kansas before.” By this time in our lives as a family we had been to almost every state except ND, SD, WA, OR, AK and I think KS. (Since then, I have spent more time than I wanted to in Kansas.) So my father dutifully drove over to highway [whatever] and when my mother saw the state line she squealed and bounced up and down in her seat. My father? Pulled over onto the shoulder. I looked at him, he winked and said, “Momma? There’s your state line. You want to go to Kansas?” She replied, “YES!” He told her to get out and run for it. And. She. Did. We picked her up on the other side of the state line and she and my daddy were both laughing, “Y’all are SO mean!” Heh.

***Also, was schooled today by Weet with this explanation. Weetabix: “the correct term is ‘shank’. That's the verb. A shiv is what you shank someone with.” Also, that “All Bitches Must Tip.” Remember these words my little loves. They are wise.

So Mister and I went back to the hotel, did our cleaning up, ironing and we ate room service while rushing around as we had tickets to see the Blue Man Group while everyone else went to a fancy schmancy dinner.

We had THE BEST time. Mister is a drummer or was while actively in the Marines so he is all about the percussion and he thought it was fantastic how these blue painted men who wouldn’t move their faces or speak even one word could convey emotion, will, humor and everything else. The show was great. We sat on the back row with Mister on the end (no seat in front of him, room for his legs) and when the time came for the toilet/crepe paper parade, one of the men in the group basically sat in my lap to get to the toilet/crepe paper. So they unfurled these huge rolls of paper and it was up to the audience to move it all forward while the black lights were on and it was all very surreal.

I was yanking paper and handing it to [read: throwing it on] the people in front of me. Mister was doing the same thing. I had turned to my left, and with Mister on my right we unfurled and unfurled and the next thing I knew Mister accidentally grabbed a (large) handful of my hair and was trying to pass me, my head, or my hair up to the front of the theater. It didn’t all come out, and I didn’t fall over and he was very apologetic about trying to pass my head to the front of the audience. But over all we had a great time... I highly recommend that you all go to Chicago and see it at the Briar Street Theater immediately.

I saw it in Vegas with my mom at Luxor, so this was a much more intimate show.

We left there and with the help of Mister’s Blackberry 8800 and its handy dandy GPS (hate) system we were on our way... to being lost for like the third time. We finally turned around and walked back the way we had come, down a street and looked over to this Starbucks (I am not even kidding when I say you can not swing a dead cat without hitting a Starbucks on almost every corner). Inside of this particular Starbucks were a group of our merry little tribe. (PS, Melinda, that is the perfect word for our group. I miss all of you. Call me, love you... mean it!)

Mister and I popped inside to say hello and to grab a coffee. They were closing so we got kicked out. We were just up the street from Club Berlin (which had a serious crush on Björk) where we were going to meet the rest of the crew as some of the Chicago locals were meeting us there and the boys that went to a baseball game were meeting us there as well. So we all shuffled down the street, losing mike in the process of him going back to the hotel (::sniff::) and we got to the door. I think we were the first people in the place.

Everyone showed up eventually and we all danced and got sweaty and took pictures of Weet trying on the gloves of a cross dresser (Wendy, in her smokin red dress, totally pulled off the black leather gloves better than he did), we smacked asses**** and got nondancers to dance or at least act like it. When it was late, Mister, Melinda and I shared a cab back to the hotel.

****Now mike calls me a “Dirty Ass Smacking Baptist”. Totally going to start a new site and call it that very thing.

Sunday morning found Mister, mike and I back in the big vagina for brunch.

Not sure why we were so drawn to that place, but I am sure it is Freudian. Or at least because it was close.

Then mike, Mister and I went to Bloomingdale’s where I got the lipstick that I was coveting from Melinda. (Surprise!) And a glorious pair of Merrell shoes with teeny zippers. Mister took off to go to the Field Museum and mike and I headed to get his mother some chocolate from the Godiva store.

After the shopping, mike and I went back to the hotel where Weet picked him up to take him to the airport (noooo! Don’t go!!!!) and I waited for Mister to get back from his Tsavo maneater mission. We packed up in a cab, got to the airport and had a very uneventful flight home.

I... never wanted to leave.

It is strange. I had never met these people until March of this year in Green Bay. And a few I met for the first time during the Rockstar weekend in Chicago. One thing is for certain, I miss them all and have since the moment I stepped foot into the airport.

I want to build a commune somewhere with temperate weather where a wealthy benefactor will give us shelter and amazing food and drinks and a bar for dancing and karaoke. Where we can be creative and write down our ideas, dreams and thoughts without the pressures of everyday life. Where everyone is a rockstar. Where we can sleep in and order caramel frappacinos and have discussions until 5 am if we want. I want the drama free love of these people around me. I want the healthy relationships that start from these kinds of friendships.

So, thank you. Thank you all for being such wild, crazy, lovely, kind, generous, deeply thoughtful, anal retentive, glorious, beautiful and most of all... my friends.

I love you.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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