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?

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. —-

We told Poopy the Puppy to behave himself, grabbed keys and cash, and headed out. The sun had come out of hiding, the puddles from the previous days’ rain were gone and the muddy spots had dried into cracked plaster spots. It felt so good to be in shorts and flip-flops again.

As we walked along Lawrence Avenue, sirens sounded in the distance. Looking ahead, we saw flashing lights at the front of the long line of cars that were stopped between where we stood and the bridge over the North Branch of the Chicago River. The screeching of the emergency vehicles coming from behind us was getting louder by the second. Fire engines. Police cars. An ambulance.

And then, there it was. The Chicago Police Marine Rescue and Recovery unit.

I looked at Mr. Hot and touched his arm as the realization hit me.

They found him.

One week, to the day, after an 8-year-old boy in our neighborhood fell into the river. After watching the news every morning hoping to hear that his body had been found and his family could have the goodbyes they desperately needed. After hearing how his distraught father had gone into the depths himself to try to find his son.

They found him.

—- Millions of goosebumps crawled up my arms in the heat while I tried not to cry. —-

• Mr. Hot just walked in with a pizza from the joint on the corner.
• Shortman called me today to ask me if he was looking at the John Hancock building. When I told him he was actually looking at the Sears Tower (I’m NOT calling it the Willis Tower…no effin’ way), I could give him directions and hope that he had on comfortable walking shoes*.
• Poopy the Puppy has learned to be a city dog. He ignores squirrels, but will gladly roll over on his back for a belly scratch from the kids in our neighborhood.
• I’ve been elected Vice President of our Condo Association. Of course, there are only six units and seven owners who live in those six units, so there wasn’t much of a choice.
• Also, volunteers were strangely absent.
• I am loving Jen Lancaster’s new book. My darling stepdaughter (who sent me flowers on Mother’s Day, ya’ll) is a sorority sister and thinks it is beyond awesome that I’ve met Jen and – ehem – had cocktails with her on Poppy’s sky-high deck.
• After multiple days in the 80s (temps, not the decade, yo), it’s now back to the 50s.
• I dream about cardboard boxes. Seriously, there is too much wrong with that to even enumerate.
• I may have had one too many vodka/limeades. (And considering I just typed vokda, you should just strike the “may” out of that sentence.)

I’m not going to make any more excuses about lack of posting. I’m now shooting for Memorial Weekend for an ACTUAL honest-to-gawd blog around here. Unless someone wants to come unpack boxes and decorate my house?

—- *Considering that after 40 years in Michigan, I barely knew how to get from Ann Arbor to Lansing, I consider this a great victory. —-

I promised pictures when I could get the ones I shot from my crappy little cell phone camera uploaded – so here you go.

One person who doesn’t entertain or spend more than 2 hours awake in it, that is.

The oranges actually do work, it’s the stove that doesn’t – although hopefully, by the time I get there on Monday, it will – the gas company is supposed to re-connect it (and I’ll pay). The pantry came with 1/2 bottle of tequila, though.

—- There’s a bathroom, too, but there’s no way to take a picture in a space that small. —-

Also, there’s no cooking gas. THAT is nearly impossible to steal, I think, so I am going to have to call tomorrow to find out how to get it turned on. Apparently, this guy did NOT cook. And, granted, he’s an actor who was working as a waiter and probably brought home all kinds of leftovers, but a warning would have been nice. Y’know, “Sorry Hotfessional, but I didn’t actually pay my bill for the cooking gas, so don’t stock up on a bunch of FOOD that needs to be COOKED.”

I had cheese and crackers for dinner.

There is a coffee maker though. And, a half bottle of tequila in the pantry.

There’s a dog barking outside, NPR is on the radio (the guy also had no television), the radiator is hissing (I hope it’s supposed to be making that noise), and I have a shelf full of someone else’s books to snoop around in peruse. I also have work that I should be doing, but I’m just going to ignore that for the time being.

What? Tell me you’ve never ignored that “to do” list. Yea, I didn’t think so.

I will take some crappy camera phone pictures to show you my new digs soon. Until then, just picture me sitting on the bed with my laptop tilted towards the window hoping that I don’t lose this signal. AGAIN.

—- I’ve never lived anyplace that had radiators before. Does it always sound like it’s going to explode off the wall? —-

Edited to say: I don’t know why my comments were turned off – and isn’t it just like me that I ask a question and then give no way to actually, y’know, get answers? They should be working now. Geez. And thanks to MommyTime for giving me the heads-up.

1 car splashing slush all over my pantleg on the way to work this morning.
2 people falling on their asses in the middle of the slick street.
3 meetings where people shook their heads sadly when I mentioned I was trying to fly home tonight.
2 flights cancelled before mine.
40 minute 1 hour delay of my flight. So far.
8 to 14 inches of disgusting white stuff.

—- 7,268 people waiting in O’Horror with me. —-