embankment

7:50 a.m.: Pulling out of the driveway, there was a LOT of snow on the driveway [first Polar Vortex of 2014]. It was beautiful, but I was driving slowly.

I was probably pushing it at 18 miles per hour.

8:00 a.m.: I was approaching a stoplight at a very busy street. I was on a pretty busy route. Even more so at rush hour. I started slowing down well ahead of when I normally would. There was a fancypants car stopped at the light ahead of me. I needed to get into one of those left-turn lanes that sort of breaks off toward the left. This is usually full of cars and there's a very low corrugated divider thing that outlines where the angle to getting in this lane is. Many a morning people drive right over this and into the lane so they can get to the front for the left-turn arrow.

Pretty quickly, I realized that my car was not going to stop before kissing the the back end of this fancypants car. So I guided my car to the left, hoping the low, corrugated divider would slow me to a stop right where I needed to be. The whole area was covered in a foot or more of snow, but I relied on memory to pull it off.

It was a genius move, if I do say so myself. My car smoothly slid past the fancypants car and into the left turn lane. Unfortunately, I forgot that the low, corrugated divider turns into an actual median closer to the light--this is a busy intersection, after all. Instead of coming off the divider and into the lane, my car kept sliding all the way up onto that median. Which is just high enough that my wheels couldn't get any traction.

I couldn't move.

I was a sitting duck there, with less than 2 feet on either side of me to running traffic. I didn't dare get out of my car to investigate.

8:15 a.m.: I called my coworkers, who graciously offered to come over and give me a push, but I declined. The last thing I wanted was them to get stuck trying to rescue me.

8:20 a.m.: The police arrived. I sat there on hold with Allstate Insurance Company. For an hour. Apparently the system for getting a tow is that you get put into a "hold pool" of sorts. Contracted towing companies pick up, ask where you are and then say "oh, I'm in xxxville, that's too far," and throw you back on hold. I was sitting there, watching people pass by me, laughing, and being thrown back into the hold pool over and again.


This was right after using the windshield wipers. There was not a lot of visibility. Which is why the officer parked there--so no one would slide into me after the turn.


10:00 a.m.: After NINETY MINUTES, the police officer had enough and told me that I was a hazard. He was going to call their tow truck to winch me out. I felt like the world's biggest idiot. In 20 minutes the tow arrived, and the officer asked me to sit in his squad. This is the second time I've been in the back of a police vehicle--the first being in a paddywagon outside the Robert Taylor Home projects, no less).

The seats in those things are so deep and SO SLIPPERY.

The police officer suggested pulling my car out sideways. Because "that's how they pulled out the last one this morning." The tow truck guy disagreed. I believe his words were "This is 20th car I've pulled out this morning." And the cop was making ME feel like an idiot! This was happening to EVERYBODY that day!

10:30 a.m.: After the tow truck guy pulled my car out and into the gas station parking lot about 200 feet away, he gave me the bill: $150. "It would have only been $100 if you had called. This is the 'police rate.' " Pro Tip: Don't let the police call the tow; you'd think they'd get a discount, but really it's the opposite.

11:00 a.m.: I crawled my car the 0.1 mile home and worked from there.

And when we tried to get that money reimbursed by Allstate? All they would give us was a $100 reimbursement, even though it was their stupid system that forced the police to call his own towing people.

STRIKE TWO, Allstate. (Strike one was not covering the plumbing backup because we "declined" a coverage that they failed to even offer to us.)

the problem with parking: reprise!

So in seven years of NaBloPoMo, I don't recall missing a day. Until yesterday. This post will be post-dated till 11:59 just so my OCD self will not go nuts looking at the list later, but we all know the truth: I dropped the ball. It happens.

So here is my collection of parking woes from back when I had to drive downtown, park for two hours, sneak out of the big 5p.m. meeting, wait in line for 40 min to get into the lot, not get an official lunch break but eat whenever and stay in the dungeon till all hours. If you can believe it, I truly was thankful for that job.

2005: a review
In which I complain about parking. Here is a taste:

the problem with parking -- vol 3 (july 9, 2005)

the problem with parking is that, when you're in a hurry and you've been trolling for a spot for 10 minutes and finally find one that's dangerously close to an intersection and you accidentally move up too far, another driver can *claim* to think that you were signaling to turn, not park, and then pull a fried-green-tomatoes move on your ass.

then he'll just shrug his shoulders as you contemplate giving him the finger, wasting the entire appropriate finger-giving window, and you end up having to park down the street six blocks. that spot had been right in front.

you just come away wondering where the hell Tawanda is when you need her.

anger. pride. fear. relief. gratitude. guilt.

They say that when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. They also say that when you're involved in very serious situation, you may find yourself thinking of something random instead of something important.

I don't know much about the first one, but during the car accident Friday night while I was hanging upside-down by my seatbelt and calling for my brother, I kept thinking to myself, "Wow, those people who made the movie Crash got that one scene pretty damn true to life!"

***

Let me start at the beginning. 

I had Friday off because I was working Saturday. Jon always has Fridays off because he works long shifts Monday through Thursday. He was doing his thing and I was doing my thing, and suddenly we were snippety at each other, over something so trivial I can't remember what it is. I was getting all worked up on the inside about how he has yet to help with the thank-you cards and if he had just admitted to me that he didn't really want to, I'd be annoyed but they'd have all been done months ago and I wouldn't still feel guilty and is he going to pull this with changing diapers and giving time outs and homework--omg am I going to be the bad cop for life!?! On top of that, I thought he was taking too long getting ready. He said maybe I should go without him and I stormed out the door without so much as a look backward.

I had never done that before. I tell the guy I love him at the end of every phone call even if it's a 2.5-second conversation to say that he's arrived to pick me up. I ALWAYS kiss him goodbye like I saw my parents do all those years. We've even stuck to the whole "don't go to bed angry" thing. But I had let the simmer turn into a boil and was so angry. It was inane. And I knew it even before the door was closed behind me, but was too proud to turn around.

***

I went over to my parents' house--I had wanted to set up the Christmas tree before my mom got home because she always complains that no one helps her anymore. I've put this thing together like six times; a 10-year-old could do it. She got home, shook her head and pointed out that the middle part was never going to fit in the stand no matter what I tried. I then assembled the entire thing in 45 seconds. I had been struggling with it by myself a whole hour--checking the phone every five minutes to see if Jon had messaged me.

I was upset about being angry and I just wanted to hear Jon's voice. My mom called me out on it as soon as she walked in the door, and later my dad said I didn't seem myself. He warned me that it was a full moon that night and to be careful (he says that a lot). I left to go pick up my brother from the airport. Apparently they assumed I went to get Jon first and wasn't going alone.

***

It was 20 degrees out. There had been a dusting of snow in the morning, more like a layer of fake cobweb that people put out during Halloween all over the grass and the trees. The streets seemed fine. I knew I was off because of the argument, plus dad's moon thing, so I was driving extra carefully at the speed limit. Plus this horrible thought kept creeping into my head, "Just watch, self, you acted like a fool and didn't say goodbye to him, what if you got into an accident? He'd have to live with that." I know that sounds like something people say after something happens, and I admit that I have these morbid thoughts ALL the time and nothing happens, but it really was going through my head the whole day. Stupid spotted tongue.

***

My brother drives a fancy car that beeps at him if he doesn't have his seatbelt on. Oh, how I loathe that sound, and I had to hear it every time he'd call me on speaker when he was driving in Alabama. HATE. I always lectured and yelled, but he would never put it on--something about how it chafes. Seriously, it's a really annoying sound, I don't know how he could stand it. I got out of my car when I got to the airport, hugged him hello and slipped my phone into my coat pocket as he was putting his bags in the trunk. On the drive home, we were discussing dinner, the new-but-really-from-Madelyn's-wrecked-car stereo Jon had put into my car last week and other random stuff. I remember noticing that my brother put his seatbelt on as we were pulling away from the terminal and being thankful I didn't have to nag him. 

Everything was normal. I was still driving at the speed limit. I was in the left lane, there was a semi tractor-trailer next to my right and the shoulder to my left. The truck seemed like it was coming closer, my car drifted toward the shoulder--was there ice there?--I pulled it back to center. I heard my brother yell my name as it swerved back and forth a couple of times before I wasn't able to regain control. We swung around and hit the solid concrete median head-on, and my little black Altima flipped over onto its roof and slid, parallel to the median. The scraping of top of the car was such a distinct and disgusting sound. It all happened in less than five seconds.

Everything was foggy. There was this rancid, chalky smoke in the air. I had glass in my mouth. The airbag had knocked my glasses into my eyeballs so hard the lenses were smeared from the inside and they were hanging down at a weird angle. I kept asking if my brother was ok over and over, until he yelled at me to snap out of it. He was surprisingly calm, asking if I was hurt handing me my purse. I couldn't get the seatbelt off, but he was able and fell into the crushed glass on the inside of the roof. Something like eight people stopped to help us, one of whom yanked the door open, and--I'll never forget this--said, "It's pretty smoky, we didn't want you to choke. Plus this car could catch on fire any second. You guys better get out NOW."

I couldn't get my seatbelt off. People kept yelling for me to turn off the engine, but I couldn't get the key to move. The steering wheel and dashboard seemed a million miles away, as if I were fully reclining in my seat with my hair sticking straight up. I had no concept of the space where my legs were. I pushed against the roof to hold myself up so someone could unbuckle me, I don't know who. I was staggering around and couldn't stop checking to see if my brother was ok. He crawled back into the car to root around for his phone while I was panicking that the car would catch on fire with him inside. A very nice man named Pete who was on his way home to Indiana from his job in Wisconsin let us sit in his car until the police came.

***

As I was sitting there, all I could think of was what kind of horrible person could let this happen with someone else in the car, especially someone I love more than my own life? My God, the things this boy has had to face, how hard he's had to fight for his life, and it could have all been gone in a second? My brother had a pretty bad laceration to the temple, his left eyelid was purple and swollen to ten times its size, there was a burst vessel in his eye that made him look like it was bleeding, his shoulder, neck and leg were hurting. My face was bruised from the airbag, I was sore here and there, and I had glass in my mouth. Neither of us wanted to go to the hospital, but I knew that I couldn't force him to go if I didn't too.

I called Jon. He's not stubborn in a fight like me, he answered. He didn't have a chance to say hello before I apologized. The poor guy didn't have a car, or I'm sure he'd be on the road before I got past the word accident. I asked him to call and tell my parents gently and ask them to get him and come to the hospital.

I don't dare imagine the agony my mom was in, trapped at home, knowing both her babies were headed to the hospital in an ambulance.

The firefighter who looked like a caucasian version of my dad when he still had a mustache was so kind. He got me some water to rinse and spit out the glass, he took me where my brother wouldn't see so I could cry a little, then he reminded me that we both walked away from what looked like terrible, horrible wreckage. 

I refused to go in a separate ambulance, so my brother was strapped to the stretcher and I was strapped to a board on the bench. My brother knows his very complicated medical history, but so do I--they were asking me all the same questions but I kept waving my guy off and interjecting in my brother's interrogation: "Don't use tape on him, only paper tape, he's allergic! And advil! He has a pacemaker! Be careful with that leg, he had surgery there!" I was incredibly annoying. My brother gave me a look and I focused on my own questions, which were done pretty fast. Then the tears started rolling. 

"If I see one more tear, I swear to God I'm going to punch you and give you a real reason to go to the Emergency Room," he said, and then asked if they could please get his suitcase and laptop out of the trunk--that's his work stuff.

Before we took off, the kind caucasian dad firefighter said Jon and my actual dad had arrived. But we'd have to see them at the hospital. I sniffled the whole way over there.

***

Again, as we were rolling into the emergency room of this foreign hospital, it seemed like a scene from a movie--for as much as they get wrong, they manage to get this stuff eerily correct. I didn't know where my brother was, and I was as antsy as you can be when you're immobilized on a hard plastic board with a C-collar around your neck. And then Jon came in the door. Later, my dad.

I was fine, essentially just knocked around and shaken up pretty badly. My brother has a few pretty big bumps--they did lab work and X-Rays because of his medical history, and we were there a long long time before they'd clear him to leave. It's always hard to explain what his deal is to new doctors, but I was so impressed by the how in command he is about everything. As much time as I spent worrying, he spent joking with the staff.

Essentially, we are both OK. It very well could have gone VERY differently.

***

Here is what I know:

• I am alive, typing this instead of lying in a hospital bed or a surgical table or the slab of a morgue.
• My brother is alive, and insisted on going to Wrigley Field today to upgrade his season-ticket seats, but his friend kept an eye on him. 
• It was one car vs. a median wall; no other cars were hit or hit us.
• The exact same accident happened down the way about 30 minutes before our crash.
• A lot of people in my life care about me--50+ Facebook comments.
• The car is completely totaled, but it protected me to the very bitter end.

My brother posted this on the FB:

"Wear your seat belts!! They save lives including mine. Last night."

I don't think I would have been able to go on living if the seatbelt hadn't saved my brother last night.

a major award

My brother travels a lot for work, and often gets assigned to towns around the U.S. I'd never heard of, such as Truth Or Consequences, NM or somewhere near Cadiz, KY (I wish I could find that pic of the "Cadiz Laundromat" he sent me). He has to dress nice. But I guess because of the flights and hotels, there isn't too much leftover to pay the employees a whole lot. I guess he racks up airline miles, so that's a plus.

At the end of 2010, he called me to say he'd won an award from his company: "Most Traveled." Apparently, my brother had spent 40 weeks on the road, at 21 separate project sites. He was out of town for most of the year, but he made the most of it by taking side trips on the weekends. He's called me from the Staples Center, Vegas, the top of the Space Needle and from the Houston Rockets' game. A few times he even made it home to see us.

I'd asked him to send me postcards. At Christmas he handed me a stack of picturesque scenes from everywhere he'd been--not a bit of handwriting on a single one. That kid. Here is the lineup* of where he was, with side trips in parentheses:

10/4/09 Clinton, MO
10/24/09 Sibley, MN
10/31/09 Schuyllkill, PA**
11/15-22/09 Benton, KY
12/6/09 Dallas
1/16-23/10 Sibley, MN (Chicago)
2/6-14/10 Winnfield, LA
3/20/10 St. Clairsville, PA (Pittsburgh)
4/17/10-5/1/10 Truth Or Consequences, NM (Las Vegas, Los Angeles)
5/15-22/10 Okmulgee,OK (Chicago)
6/10/10 St. Croix Falls, WI
6/26/10 Chillicothe, MO
7/11-24/10 Lubbock, TX (Washington D.C.)
7/31/10-8/14/10 New York City
8/22/10-9/6/10 Walla Walla,WA (Seattle)
9/18/10-10/2/10 St. Croix Falls,WI (Chicago, St. Louis)
10/10-15/10 Watertown, NY
10/17-22/10 Rosemead, CA (Los Angeles)
11/1-5/10 St. Croix falls, WI
11/7-12/10 Coldwater, MI
11/28/10-12/17/10 Monticello, AK (Chicago, Houston)

The company gave him a little certificate along with his award, which was a $5 Starbucks gift card. I'm sure he took his time to figure out just how he was going to spend it.

***UPDATE***
Apparently I overlooked this postcard, which was in the pile of blank ones:

 

Texas Tech University, Lubbock, TX

And here was the verbose message on the back: 

"This is some statue on campus in their Quad I guess."

* I tried to check the spellings, but sorry if I misspelled your town.
**he wanted it noted that it was 14 straight 12-hour shifts

and there's nothing you can do about it

Last Friday, my coworker was driving along with her two kids in the car, minding her own business. She was crossing the intersection on a green light as one is supposed to do, when a vehicle to her right decided to just jump on into the intersection. Apparently that driver didn't happen to see the HUGE WHITE TRUCK my friend was driving and slammed into the passenger side, where her son was sitting. Everyone was fine, save for the possible broken ankle of the son and the seatbelt marks on everyone, but the huge white truck was completely totaled.

That same day, another coworker of ours was in a five-car pileup. Hers was the first car stopped at a light. The fifth car was driven by an elderly man, who plowed into the fourth car hard enough to cause a chain reaction all the way to the front.

Both of these coworkers were obeying the laws, keeping within their limits and these boneheads just hauled off and caused terrible accidents. You can be the most perfect driver on the road, and if you happen to cross paths with some idiot, you could be seriously injured. The reminders that these things are possible at any time with no warning makes my brain hurt.

I know, cocooning yourself in the safety of your home is no way to live. But it's easy to forget that the world is a dangerous place.

the closer we get, the farther apart we are

So Jon and I finally attained our goal of being in the same zip code for what we hope to be a long long long long time. We've been here for almost three months.

HOORAY!

I continue to work evenings--generally 11:30a-8:30p. This will probably go on into the unforeseeable future as my shift is the least desirable/hardest to cover and my counterparts aren't going to be retiring anytime in the next two decades.

Jon got a new job.

HOORAY!

It's no longer in the city (no more getting up at the bootycrack of dawn to get him to the train). It's a not-temp position for a bit more money. He will be out of the house for about the same amount of time but be paid for more of those hours than before! And there's benefits!

HOORAY!

But this is a Cadiz post, so of course there's a downside, right? He starts at 4a, gets home at 2:30p and will be sleeping by the time I get home. I am sleeping when he has to get up. At least when we were in our various forms of longdistance we could talk to each other in real time.

wah, waaaaaaaaaaah.

I know, I know, this is an awesome development. It really is. Did you check out the font sizes on those HOORAYs? There are people with even crazier schedules than ours, some of whom have kids. I'm certain we can make this work, even if it means one or both of us has to take two naps instead of a full night's sleep. And there are always Sunday mornings, which have generally been pretty great.

But I can't help but feel like we're stuck in a Paula Abdul video.

are you there, blog? it's me, Cadiz

I realize that I haven't posted for more than a month. Here's an update on what's been going on:

1) I've been working a lot, and freelancing--which is awesome because

2) We're trying to save for a wedding, tentative date in 2013.

3) I miss H. Because I work evenings, I often pass out mid-conversation and by the time it's the one weekend day I see him, I can't remember anything I had wanted to say.

4) I dumped my Realtor, who had my condo listed for 637 days (at what he said was "the right price") with a ton of showings but very few offers. This is my fault for being too distracted by staying gainfully employed to continually check up on him.

5) My new Realtor took a look at the activity in our building for the time my place was on the market and gently explained that it had been listed far too high for far too long and was actually being used as a bargaining chip for other units to be sold at a better price.

6) Eight of the 12 units for sale in our building are short-sale/foreclosures and the unit one floor below mine (same layout, very nearly the same view) is priced at 100K less.

7) So we must re-list at 50K less than what we had been asking for.

8) This amount is dangerously close to what I still owe on the loan, which is nauseating considering how much I put down originally and what I've paid off in the last five years.

9) So there is a possibility that everything we've saved for the wedding will go toward getting rid of the condo. And I may still owe on top of that.

10) We will likely be unable to turn around and buy another place, as previously hoped.

11) I am extremely upset about this (what with my life savings vaporizing even after having done "everything right"). I can't really complain because I'm certainly not the only person in this situation, and I am better off than a lot of people because I have a job with health insurance.

12) In other--GOOD--news, H and my family got me an iPhone for Christmas! Which means I can do nearly everything (but post, apparently) from my phone without the old dialup. This brings joy to my life, which I can really use. AND because H and I have combined our plans, I end up paying less for a smartphone than I did for the non-smartphone I had. Everybody wins!

13) My brother says he will move back to Chicago when I get pregnant. Like I need any more pressure. But it is still a sweet sentiment.

14) I like my job, which is a very good thing indeed.

15) Everyone at work thinks I have this sunny, cheerful personality. Little do they know how pessimistic I really am.

16) But the people I love have their health! And for that I am so grateful.

17) And I'm doing yoga every day, which makes me feel nice. And sore.

18) I get to see my mom's smile during the day, and if things are quiet enough I can catch the sound of her laugh as I'm walking by. I cannot explain the boost I get inside when I hear it--as if there IS a chance that things may turn out okay after all.

Sorry to be such a stranger lately. I'm going to carve out some time this weekend between freelancing, taxes and emptying out the condo (so it looks bigger) to leave the comments I've been meaning to make while I've been checking out your posts on my reader.

i'm pretty sure he's messing with me, because if not, my brain will implode

"Yeah, I don't think I'll be coming over Friday night."

"Why? Are you going straight home to suburbia?"

"My flight gets in at 4:00 and Dad gets off at 4:30. He's coming to pick me up."

"You realize that Dad works in the far northwest suburbs and it will be like 6:30 before he gets anywhere near picking you up at that time of day, right? You should just take the blue line from O'Hare downtown and have dinner with me and H. It's not like you're going to have any luggage; you're just coming home to drive your car back to Alabama, right?"

"True, but I might have to check a bag."

"Why? You won't even be in town for 24 hours!"

"I'll be carrying liquids—shampoo and stuff."

"Okay. Let me get this straight, you're coming HOME for LESS THAN A DAY and you need to bring SHAMPOO? You're coming HOME! Not some cheap motel with no complimentary cleansing products! HOME!"

"I need it."

"Can't you just put some into a smaller less-than-3-ounce bottle and carry it on?"

"I don't have a little bottle."

"Can't you GET ONE?!"

"No."

"Okay,  you know what? Just sit at the airport and wait for Dad. You could be enjoying dinner and perhaps the new Batman movie with us, but whatever."

"I did want to see that movie... Let me get back to you. I might come downtown after all."

streamlining

As you may know, my condo is on the market. And while it's not exactly going excellently (still isn't sold), we've had pretty steady potential-buyer traffic and a few offers, ridiculous as they were (If a buyer can only afford to pay 93% of his/her cash offer up front and promises the last 7% in five years, why the hell wouldn't s/he try to buy a home that's the 7% cheaper outright instead of toying with us?). We love the place; it's small but cute, and located in the juiciest, most touristy section of downtown Chicago. It also happens to be across the river from my former employer. The reason we're selling is because it is no longer affordable—three layoffs between the two of us, working part-time, taking a less-lucrative chance on a startup that will hopefully pay better later, the craptastic job market, the even more craptastic housing market and starting over across the country has put a pretty ginormous crack in the old nest egg. And from what my realtor says, the reason it's having any trouble selling is because people could get more space for the same price if they're willing to travel about 2 miles out of the way. So much for that awesome return I was expecting on the prime location.

So we're biding our time. And streamlining. Cutting nonessential expenses, being extremely choosy about attending events and cooking every meal at home. It's going pretty well, but tricky when you don't have an extravagant lifestyle to trim from and are fussy with your spending habits to start with. Of course I'm sweating over it—worrying is my favorite pastime, after all—and obsessing about streamlining takes up all hours not spent concentrating on work or watching several episodes of The Office in a row (Thanks, Apple, for making Netflix's View Instantly unlimited). 

This streamlining business has spilled over to all other aspects of life: cleaning out the pantry, tearing out what's interesting and recycling old magazines, storing work files in a more efficient way and reorganizing email labels in my five accounts. That last one includes all the posts I had up before Blogger labeled posts/comments emails with the post title, so I have hundreds of them personally tagged with titles. Getting rid of them one by one is making my head spin, but it takes my mind off the worry. In the process, I get to look back over all the stuff I wrote back when my life was so completely different, consisting of searching for parking (don't even have my car anymore), commuting three hours a day (now it's a 15-minute walk), talking on the phone with H (now he's usually in the same room) and not having a social life (well, not everything has changed very much).

Looking back at two tons of comments over the years is a reminder of  how supportive you guys are and that you always give great advice. Got any tips for streamlining/putting my mind at ease? I found a gray hair last week, and I could really do without finding any more.

And I will neverevereverever do it again.

After nine months, I finally managed to miss the bus. On a day I woke up earlier than usual! (Figures.)

Standing on the corner at 7:03 am, I wasn't sure what to do. My first instinct was to cut through some back yards and try to catch the bus as it came back around out of our subdivision. But I think I hesitated too much because as I headed that way, I heard it rumble past. Then I tried to head toward the main entrance to our neighborhood, and watched it sail away on the other side of the elementary school—there was no way I would have been able to cross that soccer/football/tag/ring-around-the-rosy field in time. 

I had heard that there was another bus, at around 7:30 am. But the one I normally get is the only route that passes through my neighborhood. There is a busy street that separates our subdivision from another one, so I figured I'd head over that way. Unfortunately, I have no idea what route it takes over there because my bus picks those people up before they get to me and drop them off after I get off. 

I had my Pumas on, so I figured I'd give the 3.5-mile walk a try. I've always been curious as to how long it'd take me to hoof it, it wasn't terribly freezing out this morning and I do a lot of walking downtown as it is, so it probably wouldn't be an issue. So I set off, holding a single-serving pizza box with leftovers from last night's dinner. 

The thing about walking in the city is that there's so much to look at, you don't realize you're exerting any effort. But trudging past the field used in the header for this blog (which is a barren expanse of dirt at this time of year) wasn't nearly as interesting as downtown Chicago. I plodded along. I didn't realize until it was too late that the flimsy cardboard pizza box was coming open at the side and after a thump, I saw my lunch face down on the concrete. So I had to take a detour to find a garbage can.

I got about 3/4 of a mile away and was waiting on the corner for the WALK signal when my bus pulled up to the light. I guess it pays to be friendly, because my driver was on his way back from dropping off my normal crew and recognized me. He waved. I said Screw walking, and skirted through the cars at the light to get on. I had to ride through the entire route, so now I have a good backup plan in case I miss the bus again. The weird thing is that I got on the bus about 40 minutes later than I usually do, but because I didn't have to wait long for a train, I got to my office only ten minutes later than I usually do.

Too bad I'm moving to the city in two weeks, after which the lessons learned on this particular excursion will be completely useless. And so it goes.

my train delay made CNN

But I'm thinking it's only because an officer on call captured the crash on his squad-car video camera.

The action starts at 22 seconds. 

Ole boy was lucky he got out in time. It was a pretty fiery crash. And I would have been on that Metra train if I had gotten to the station three minutes earlier.

Again, thank God nobody got hurt.

not my lucky night

Last night it looked like I was going to get out of work earlier. I packed up my stuff at 5 pm and ran for the bus, hoping to get to the train station in time to hop onto the 5:26. I missed it by two minutes.

The next train was the 5:49, so I waited around with my Sudoku and got on when the train pulled into the station at about 5:38. The guy who sat next to me had a crunchy leather coat that made a lot of noise every time he moved. I started reading my book.

At about 5:55, the train stopped, which is odd for an express train that usually doesn't make its first stop for about thirty minutes. The loudspeaker announced there was an accident up ahead and that they had no other information. Everyone grumbled a little, but for the most part we figured it'd just be a few minutes, like when there are track issues.

After six, a woman in our car called someone she knew who was on that 5:26 train. It seemed the train hit a car and the car was on fire. The lady in our car was speaking very loudly to relay the news to everyone sitting nearby.

At 6:30 the loudspeaker came on and essentially announced what we heard from our fellow passenger, adding that not only did the car get hit by the incoming train, but it was pushed into the path of the outbound train and hit again before it caught on fire. The fire department was putting out the blaze and we couldn't proceed until the police released the track. Leather Jacket told his wife on the phone that he was "effing annoyed" and was turning his newspaper pages in a huff.

At 7 pm, I decided to take a nap. But Leather Jacket was shifting around a lot. Noisily. I thought to myself, Self, this guy seems like he's a nicotine addict in need of a smoke.

At 7:30, I realized that there was a draft coming from my window (emergency exit) and wrapped myself in my hat and scarf. Leather jacket took out some gum and started chewing it in frustration. He started to relax. I'm willing to bet it was the nicotine kind.

At 8 pm, both Leather Jacket and I were leaning forward, snoozing into our hands. So were some other people. It was as though we were in a disaster drill or something.

At 8:30, the announcer said no one was hurt in the accident and that we might be moving soon. However, because we were on the center track, we would not be able to let anyone off earlier than the original scheduled stops. All of the people who were frantically trying to arrange pickups at various stops groaned.

At 8:45, we started moving. Then we stopped. More groans. Leather Jacket was on his third piece of gum and in a jolly mood. He began to tell me that the last time a train he was on hit somebody, the person didn't make it and that the transit authority actually let people off during the cleanup. He said police were walking around, covering things up here and there. It took me a second to process that. He was three hours late to work that morning.

At 9 pm, I got to my stop. A full two hours and forty minutes later than I was supposed to have reached my destination. I had spent more than three hours sitting in the same position. Fortunately, the buses were all lined up and waiting for us, so I still had a way home.

So the first night in more than a week that I had a chance to get home at a decent time, a drunken 72-year-old gets stuck in my homeward path. I'm happy he was pulled from the car before the trains hit, but it sure did throw off my evening.

one less thing to worry about

So Illinois finally passed the bill that saved my commute. I'm greatly relieved about still having a way to get to work, but I'm anticipating the punch in the face I'll get from the Real Estate Transfer tax hike later this year. Part of the drama leading up to this "doomsday" scenario was that the proposal (which included bumping up the real estate tax in Chicago and the sales tax in the city and collar counties). But at the last minute the Governor said he wouldn't sign it unless senior ride for free.

Don't get me wrong, I love seniors; crotchety as some of them are, most are pretty darn cute. But in the coming years, there are going to be a whole lot of them as more Baby Boomers tire of the 9-to-5. What's going to happen then? How high will the taxes/cost of public transportation jump to make sure all of that is still covered? It's already so expensive to try and live "green," am I going to have to start walking the 72 miles every day? Wait, will I even be able to DO that in a day?

And what about Social Security? I've been paying into the system; am I even going to have anything to lean on later? Oh crap, am I going to have nothing to live on in my twilight years because I didn't set up my 401k until three years into my first job and haven't contributed much since then? And what about when the country goes into a Depression? Waiting-for-Reports jobs are already starting to shrivel up (hell, I practically had four different jobs in a single year).

Oh my God, I should be taking night classes in electronics or iPhones to have some kind of backup plan! What if my kids won't take care of me when I'm old because they're in jail or something? What if I don't even get any kids? What if I never get married and end up living in some ashram somewhere with only one tattered sari because I'm the social outcast that Bollywood and the Auntie Patrol have insinuated I will become if I don't hurry up and make a family before the expiration date stamped on my ass?

And here I thought my worries were over.

how the mortgage crisis saved my morning

After several days of poor rest, I knocked out last night and had some of the best sleep in weeks. It was so good, I can't even describe it properly. And this morning, when I jumped out of bed to hit the snooze five times, it was more of a sprightly hop than the usual half-dead stomp. Getting ready, I even flirted with the idea of humming. In the MORNING!

I knew it was going to be a bad day. Because when I wake up in a good mood, something always goes wrong.

The thing about this bad-mood crap is that calling it out doesn't seem to keep it from showing up. I got on the train, hoping to hold on to my peaceful state as long as I could. What a joke. My train nemesis came and sat down behind me, in all her throat-clearing glory. I've learned to recognize her woven-out-of-seatbelts bag (which I normally would think was cool, but I can't bring myself to compliment it), and avoid sitting near her if I can. I don't know what it is, but those noises she makes just freaking blacken my chicken. And my cold, cold heart.

I was sitting there, fuming, trying to read about this psychedelic-plant researcher, but all I could think was When is she going to do it? Is she going to do it now? How about now? It's been a couple of minutes. AH, there it is. Is she going to do it again? It was driving me crazy.

But then the guy in front of me recognized someone on the train and started having a spirited discussion about the mortgage crisis. They drowned out most of the throat clearing. I realize that normal people are more annoyed about loud conversations than can't-be-helped bodily functions, but I felt a sense of relief. Perhaps my day can be salvaged, after all.

suddenly, $22 a day for parking seems attractive

So the State of Illinois can't/won't pay for mass transit. They're supposed to vote about it today, but the systems (buses and trains in Chicago as well as the suburbs) have already announced what the hatchet of cutbacks will come down if they don't get the aid.

As is, I stand outside in my neighborhood at to catch a 7 am bus to take me to the Metra train station in suburbia, which takes me to Union Station, where I wait for another bus (when it's cold) that gets me nearer to the office. When it's not terrible, I'll make the 25-minute walk. 

After the cuts, the bus from my subdivision to the station as well as Union Station to my office area will be gone. That means I either have to wake up (and make others get out of bed) at the crack of dawn to get a ride and walk the rest. I'll have to leave later, too, so someone will be able to pick me up when I finally get home. So my door-to-door time will go from 10 hours to something closer to 13. 

This is the kind of stuff that kills the buzz I had over being a non-car commuter.

if one of those lands on me, you'll find it in your eyeball

I do not care WHO you think you are, it is NOT okay to clip your nails during a crowded and herkity-jerkity train ride. Wait till you get outside, away from hordes of people! I have no idea where you were sitting/standing, but after I heard those clip-clip noises, there was nothing I could do to get back to sleep for fear there was an errant former piece of your body lodged in my hat or my hair.

I'm still shuddering thinking about it.

it's a bad day if i awaken in a good mood

I woke up today in a good mood.

I even got out of the house on time and relished the lovely weather--unseasonably warm!

I managed to choose the perfect spot on the train platform to stand at because when the train stopped, the door lined up right in front of me, so i got on first and had my pick of the best seats.

I sat down, fished out my monthly pass and settled down with an excellent and captivating graphic novel, in which I was engrossed for several minutes.

And then I heard it.

It was low and gutteral and came at me in unexpected bursts from the seat directly behind me. The train is nearly silent in the a.m., so every time it tore through my tranquility with a rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrip, I'd cringe and sit up straighter in annoyance. This woman had sat behind me before, destroying my peaceful morning ride with her just-when-you-thought-she-was-done-oh-wait-she's-not throat clearing. But I didn't know what she looked like to avoid her. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against throat clearing, sneezing or even repeated coughing. People need to do what they need to do. It's just hers that I cannot withstand: Quiet and painfully drawn out, not unlike the opening of candy wrappers reaaaaaallly sloooooowly in a darkened theater in hopes that no one will notice. And what's worse is that, to me, her particular throat-clearing sounds a lot like the noises very small children make when they're having difficulty trying to fill a diaper.

It took every atom of energy I had for nearly 35 minutes not to turn around and yell at the top of my lungs: LISTEN LADY, APPARENTLY YOU HAVE SOMETHING IN YOUR THROAT. WHY DON'T YOU PUT SOME EFFORT INTO COUGHING IT OUT AND DO SO IN AN ABRUPT, ALBEIT LOUD, MANNER? YOUR METHOD IS DRIVING ME FRICKING BALLISTIC! But instead I sat there, eyes glazed over, pretending to read but contemplating exactly how I'd word my bitter, hateful blog diatribe against her.

And then suddenly, it had been nearly ten minutes without a single rumble. I started to panic. What if throat lady could read minds and heard all the nasty things I was thinking about her? What if she's actually got an untreatable medical condition that causes her to annoy fellow human beings (the guy she was with was rocking some hugeass noise-canceling headphones)? What if this was the one incident that was pushed me completely into the Definitely Going To Hell category? I resumed full concentration on my book, and tried to think nice, apologetic thoughts.

But then she did it again. Just to piss me off. And the rest of my day hasn't been right since.

i need to hold my hippogriffs

On some of your blogs recently, I've commented about how I stumbled upon the whole Harry Potter phenomenon--basically this law professor that I admired and feared closed a complicated lecture with a p.s. he prefaced with "Now, hear me out." It was a little after the first HP came out and he had been reading it to his kids at bedtime. He confessed that it was the first of their books that he looked forward to opening every night and consistently kept reading after they'd fallen asleep. He said that even though it's a "kids' book," HP is an excellent read for anyone. I was so curious, I went out and bought it right after class. I stayed up all night, didn't do any homework and finished it in nearly one sitting.

Granted, I had the benefit of being the first person outside of that class to get hooked on what would become a billion-dollar franchise. (I'm sure if I hadn't discovered it so early on, the hype would have been an automatic turnoff.) I saw the first movie, but because they left out one of my favorite parts, I've been sour on them ever since. I get it; it's tricky to condense 900 pages into two hours of screentime, and I sure don't envy that job. But I still prefer the books--pacing is at your own discretion and no amount of CGI magic can top your own imagination. Plus, it's well-written (can't say that about a ton of books these days), exciting, unpredictable, and--with the cost of movies today--you get more entertainment for your money.

The last of the series comes out tomorrow, and I plan to be holed up and inhaling it as fast as I can so someone doesn't spoil it for me (last time around, somebody gave away the climax to a whole line of people waiting to buy the book). To refresh my memory, I've been trying to read the two that came before it, but I haven't been doing a very good job. And I think the frenzy of finishing on time is addling my mind.

* This week has been extremely busy at work, with my putting in 15-hour days three times and collapsing in exhaustion as soon as I get home. Last night I actually fell asleep early with the book on my face and didn't even notice for a couple of hours.

* When the train stopped in the city this morning, I was so engrossed I couldn't remember if I retrieve my monthly train/bus/El pass ($140) until I was almost all the way to the bus and didn't see it in the pocket of my bag. I ran all the way back to the tracks and went through 2/3 of the cars searching for it until the conductor announced on the intercom, "You have exactly one more minute, young lady!"

When I got off, defeated that I hadn't found it, he gave me a stern lecture about how I should either keep the ticket on a lanyard around my neck or just hold it in my hand instead of putting it into the little clip on the edge of my seat. He went on to say that I'd made them late getting back to the yard which really pisses off the engineer and these days money is tight for everyone and the chances of it being returned to Lost and Found are slim. Then he put his hand on my shoulder, looked down and me and said he hoped I'd learned my very expensive lesson.

I'm usually very good about holding onto that sucker and I thought I remembered taking it off the clip and putting it into my bag-- especially because the head of the sleeping guy in front of me was lolling dangerously near my ticket and I had to wait for him to shift to get it. Upon further inspection, it actually WAS in my bag, tucked between the pages of my datebook, which is why I didn't see it earlier. I still feel like I had to go to the principal's office for no reason, but at least I didn't waste my money.

* All that drama made me miss my bus, and another one didn't come for forty minutes. After I got on I was so distracted by the book that I didn't realize I should have gotten off until three stops past my office.

* After all the chaos of this past week, today is a slow day at work, and it's going to take all my will power to leave HP in my bag and focus on reports. But I'm sure I'll find a way to justify taking it out to the park for some catching up during lunch.

Despite all that, I still recommend ignoring the hype and giving the books a whirl to those who haven't already. You've gotta admit there's something special about a story that has got kids putting down their PS3s to pay attention. But after today, I probably should add a warning: READING HARRY POTTER MAY PUT A HEX ON YOUR BRAIN.

fashion-impaired in the a.m.

One definite downside to this whole working-days concept is that for years, my brain learned to shut itself off between the hours of five and nine in the morning, which is exactly when some key daily decisions need to be made. Mission Critical choices, such as what I'm going to wear.

These days I need to be up at 5:45 a.m. at the latest to make the carpool to get me to the train by 6:45. The express is so packed, I usually have to stand and wobble around in the aisle,walk, then wait at least 20 minutes for the bus before riding to my stop between 7:45 and 8 a.m., from which I walk four blocks to the office. It's a trip with quite a few stops, and a lot of in-the-public facetime.

That's cool with me, because I like the tranquility of getting to the office an hour early and organizing my day. And I don't mind the standing around and watching people. But it also means that people can stand around and watch me, too. So imagine my dismay when, as I stood on the platform waiting for the train and taking note of all the cute clothes my co-commuters wore, I look down at my own ensemble and realize that it's hideous.

I must have been half asleep when I decided the gray herringbone trousers perfectly complement my purple-and-gray patterned silk blouse. Except at 5:30 a.m., the tungsten light of the closet can be deceiving; my shirt is actually brown and purple. So I was people-watched during the train ride, the walk to the bus stop, the wait at the bus stop, the bus ride, the walk to work, all day at work and the reverse home in an outfit that didn't really match.

Of course I exaggerate. The brown is only readily apparent when you're within fifteen feet. But just like in that generic sidewalk footage of "Americans" that nightly news often runs with a voiceover about obesity or heart-attack statistics, there are A LOT of people walking around downtown in Chicago close enough to have noticed how badly I see color in the morning.

But I was fine; I don't know any of those people anyway. I buttoned up the black sweater I keep in the office for chills and kept it on all day, even though it was 91 degrees F today and so humid we were practically swimming around outside. I was even feeling pretty good about it until I caught sight of an old Dungeon colleague on the bus to the train. I gave her a hug and found out she takes the same train to suburbia, so we sat together and caught up on gossip and she told me she's taking classes at the community college to pursue a degree in--wait for it--fashion design. I was mortified. Especially after we had a lengthy discussion about how hard it is to find pants that fit, and how much harder it is to draft patterns that flatter your figure. I am fairly certain she has now deemed me a coordination cretin who puts together not only unmatched ensembles, but ill-fitting ones as well.

Something has to be done about brain dysfunction in the a.m. Perhaps I should have pp come over every weekend and set my clothes out for the week, because getting up earlier is definitely out of the question and I cannot be trusted to dress myself.