…I should just give this all up.

And then – I find that I need to show you all where I’ve been. And hope that you’ll know that I miss you all.

Love,
Ree

—- Last Sunday. Foster Avenue Beach. —-

Late on Saturday mornings, we load up the bikes for a day touring Chicago. Sometimes it’s a leisurely trip – exploring neighborhoods and marveling at the changes a few blocks can make. Sometimes, though, like yesterday, it’s a balls-out ride through the city.

Two and a half hours and 20 miles after we left our courtyard, we were ready to lock up the bikes and call it a day.

Our route

We did get an opportunity to stop here for lunch after wheezing through the special effects smoke the filming of Transformers 3 down on Michigan & Wacker. (No, there were no Shia LaBeouf sightings, but we did see the crew parking lot and catering tables.)

And now on to the list:

• Leftover steamed vegetables and rice for lunch.
• This link that Mr. Hot sent me.
• Dog beaches.
• Listening to Shortman playing Johnny Cash on Guitar Hero.
• Wrap dresses for work.

—- Amazingly enough, my knees survived the ride. Pippin, though, echoed my thoughts when we got back. —-

I can haz nap nao?

I have a confession. I’m not a good summer blogger. (Pick that jaw up off the floor and don’t let that “duh” come out of your mouth, m’kay?)

By the time I get home from the office on weekdays, it’s after 6 o’clock – and the patio, a vodka/limeade, a good book and Mr. Hot are calling my name. On the weekends, in order to make every attempt at getting some sort of exercise, we’ve been tooling around the city on our bikes.

I think I need to start a new series here – something to get me writing again with some regularity. Scenes from Chicago bike rides? The crazy people I see on my street?

I’m working on it. But, in the meantime:

• Spending the 4th at Wrigley Stadium. Unfortunately, the Cubs lost.
• Ribs cooking in the slow cooker – I’m drooling on my keyboard here.
• Today’s the last day I’ll have to listen to the vuvuzelas on television. Right???
• Going to the beach yesterday. It’s only 15 minutes by bike.
• Shortman returning safely from Michigan after spending 4 days with his girlfriend’s family.

—- He drove himself there and back. I hyperventilated the whole time he was gone. I’m still not sure if it was because he had the new car or because THERE’S.A.GIRLFRIEND. —-

Wrigley Field, July 4th, 2010. Cubs 3, Reds 14.

If you get skeeved out by the thoughts of horror stories and want to barf when you hear about grossness, then – by all means – shut down this page and move on to something with flowers and unicorns and sparkly rainbow prettiness. Today? This is not that place.

Not long after we’d purchased our apartment, moved in, met the other unit owners and formed the governing body (a.k.a. condo association) hereafter known as the Fort Chester Tiki Time Wine Club, we received an ominous email. It was from one of the owners who is renting out his unit.

My tenant believes there’s a mouse behind one of the walls. She can hear scratching.

Our response was, “Find the hole and set a trap.”

We heard nothing else until:

My tenant hasn’t heard any more scratching, but now there seems to be a strange smell coming from her laundry room. We think the mouse died.

We toasted the poor animal, hoped for a quick decomposition (better than tearing the walls out), and thought about sending flowers. Or air freshener.

Unfortunately, not long after THAT, one of the other members of the Fort Chester Tiki Time Wine Club (who lives ABOVE the tenant with the mouse odor problem) started hearing scratching over HER head. A pest control expert was called out. One roof climb and $200 later, he hypothesized that squirrels were getting in through broken ceramic tiles over the sunroom section on the south side of the building.

His visit resulted in the capture of one Rocky-type creature. After another $50 to cart the vermin away, we figured that the board of directors of the Fort Chester Tiki Time Wine Club condo association would simply have to find someone to patch the tiles before calling that little episode done.

Ha. Shows you what WE know.

The next email:

My tenant is complaining about swarms of flies coming from the area around where the smell was.

Oh mah holy hell, y’all. These flies? ARE HUGE. And there’s hundreds. And they’re taking over the building. They’re on the windows in the stairway. They’re congregating by the mailboxes. The tenant has shut herself in one room of the apartment and refuses to go in and out the front door.

Everyone on that side of the building (opposite our side, thank gawd) are battling the monsters.

The mouse? Was either as big as a squirrel or WAS a squirrel – and if you read about this while sipping your morning coffee, then you know what we believe is happening within the walls.

The Fort Chester Tiki Time Wine Club held an emergency meeting last night to approve the further expenditure of $900 to get rid of the fucking flies. We thought about changing the name of our group to The Amityville Horror Money Sucking Pit We Can’t Afford Wine Club.

—- If green snot starts oozing out of the walls, you’ll be able to hear my screams. —-

Really. You need to see if there’s a root poking out of that molar on the left side of your mouth. When an errant popcorn kernel brings you to your knees, there’s something wrong.

Very wrong.

—- Did I mention I am a great big pussy when it comes to dentists? —-