If they ever made a movie about my life...

I'd want my part to be played by Heather's hair.

If you love shoes like I do...

Check out my best girl's new blog here.

My mind is gone.

Last night I stayed at my sister's in the suburbs and inadvertently washed my hair with dog shampoo.

Anybody seen Scanners?

Yeah at about 2:00 p.m. today this was me.

The pull of night.

It's late.

All the warm bodies in the house are asleep. Leaving just me, alone. The waves outside are crashing just inaudibly beyond reach. It's unsettlingly quiet.

And dark. Too many big trees and too little city to set the night aglow. My computer screen is giving off an eerie whiteish-blue light and I can see my hands typing away at the keys but I feel disconnected to them.

I am alone. But I am not at all lonely.

And these detached hands just keep on typing.

There are windows in every room and in them I can see the vague reflection of my body and as I pace restlessly, my chest bursts with tiny firefly lights. They come out with the rain, lighting depthless dark with fleeting green.

And when I step out onto the porch it is almost two a.m. and I can see further into the pitch black night than I ever could in the daylight.

I am motionless, can feel the Earth turning on its axis. Slowly, pulling deeply, I can. Almost. Hear. My. Own. Breath.

I'll be here this weekend.

My most favorite spot in the entire world.

Eh.

Have you ever had the feeling that you *just don't want to go home*?

I've been sitting here, essentially finished with everything I needed to get done today. But for some reason I just don't want to turn my computer off, ride the elevator down to the lobby, walk to my car, get in and drive home.

Maybe it's because soon it won't be my home anymore and I'll have yet another home to populate with things and pictures and sounds to make it feel like I am supposed to be there. But in the end, I don't really. Feel like I am supposed to be there.

My home was a feeling I lost some time ago and I can't seem to find a replacement.
It scurries across the pages of books and floats above the memory of places I've been but I can't catch it. It makes it's way through my nervous system like the vibration of a window with a passing train. I remember what it feels like but it's just out of reach.

And now, it seems these cookie cutter surroundings of this anytown u.s.a. office lump me in with the rest of the complacent. Indifferent. My generation that assumes a thousand faces that borrow my own.

And I just don't want to go home.

Oh wow.

I'm a huge pussy.

I had my first dentist appointment this afternoon in four years. I know, I know...you definitely shouldn't wait that long.

The thing is, I have this irrational fear of the dentist. I have lived a somewhat charmed upbringing, with my parents footing the bill on cleanings every six months. Not to mention 27 years of sparkling, cavity-free teeth.

I've never had a problem. Not one.

This is why going to the dentist freaks me out. Because I know one of these days there is going to be this horrendous windfall when the tooth fairy lets out a big belly laugh and snorts, "You naive fuck! You thought you could get away with this forever?? Wuah ha hahaaaaaaaaa!"

Turns out, today was that day.

I should have known better when I walked to the dentist's office and found that it was right next to Durkin's. This was somewhat unsettling and comforting at the same time.

From the look of this place, I was fully expecting to get my first root canal from fucking Dr. Nick. Yowza. Hiiiiiii everyboooody!


The receptionist was nice and instructed me to go sit down in one of the rooms and I already felt nervous. Pretty soon after, the hygienist came in and took some x-rays and I explained to her that I was a little scared since I haven't been to the dentist in so long. She did little to quell my fears.

"Are you a regular flosser?"

"Um. Well. Hm. No."

"Ok, well that is not a good start."

She looked at me disapprovingly and then pulled some photos out of the drawer next to me.

"These are the advanced stages of gum disease".

I looked around me awkwardly, as if maybe I was getting punked. Nope. She was for real.

Finally she took some x-rays and then the dentist, Dr. Chen, came in. Ok, seriously, it was Hiro from Heroes. I'm not kidding. Dead on.

So Hiro asked me a few questions and we got underway. He looked at my x-rays and told me everything looks "really good actually" and I just have one little cavity to fill.

The blood drained from my face. I don't think he expected my reaction.

"A cavity? Really?"

I looked at him like a puppy dog that's just been scolded.

He sensed my nervousness, "It's really no big deal. It's very shallow, so I won't have to do much drill."

*Gulp* "Drilling?"

"Miss Gates, you won't feel a thing. The novocaine work very well."

My stomach dropped. My eyes wandered over to the hygenist's table and inevitably there was the needle.

I started tapping my feet against each other and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket.

He then explained to me the costs of everything and asked me what kind of filling I wanted.

"Ha. I don't know. The least expensive?"

If I'm going to be paying out the ass for this, I better be getting grilled out Lil John style.

I can't remember if I said that out loud or not.

So he puts this numbing gel on and then OUT OF NOWHERE plunges the needle into my gums without ANY WARNING.

"It's better you not see it coming."

He smiles and my eyes tear. Nurse Ratchett looks on like she is enjoying watching me squirm.

Finally the drilling starts and I actually laughed out loud at one point. He takes the drill out and asks me if I'm okay. I say, "Yeah, sorry about that. The sound of the drill is just really unsettling!"

After the drilling is over, the hygenist finished cleaning my teeth and gave me one hell of a flossing.

So that was it. My first cavity.

And it turns out, the only thing that hurt about the whole experience was my wallet.

Thanks to my parents for 27 years of inexpensive cavity-free living!

I'll play your heart like Playstation.

Yesterday I found myself commenting, "Oh, I play the aloof card a lot...it works everytime."

And there it was, right then I realized, I'm a game player. I can't help it. Ever since I found myself in that first blossoming relationship, all at once naive with optimism, then disillusioned by reality.

I never learned to crawl before I learned to walk.

But I wasn't born a game player. I just sort of...evolved into one. Out of habit? Out of self-preservation? I don't know. But I know that more often than not I find myself searching the console of my heart for the "Off" button on this game; only mine made it through the assembly line at the warehouse without anyone catching that it only had an "On" button. Screwed by quality control again.

I'm defective.

So I'm sorry guys, I owe you an apology. It's not my fault I'm this way, or it is.
All I know is that I fear I might always be this way, feeding you lines, playing your heart, never revealing too much, but anxiously waiting for that factory recall.

A friendly tip.

Get yourself one of these.



I'm going to dinner tonight here and getting tickets to see The Crucible at Steppenwolf all for the price of a carnival goldfish.

On the eighth day, god created Awesomefest.

Just laid to rest another successful Don Juan/Gates production. Here's how it went down:

PART ONE

*For the purposes of her mom not finding this blog again, from this point on I will now refer to said party as "Don" or "Don Juan" or "Dmbmeg".

Thursday, August 30

8 p.m. Make the drive from my office to Midway airport. Get in line at Arrivals ramp, cursing peak travel times.

8:45 p.m. Finally inch my way to the Delta Airlines terminal.

9 p.m. Make call to Don Juan, explaining she better sprint her ass to the front after baggage claim because I am not going around the ramp again.

9:05 p.m. Call again, threaten to take the guy standing next to my car home instead.

9:10 p.m. Spot Don and immediately start waving frantically so that Chicago airport cops stay the hell away with their whistles.

10 p.m. Arrive at home, ready to kick off Awesomfest8000 with a bang! Tequila shots! Male strippers! Gutter naps!

10:15 p.m. Order Chinese and On Demand movie.

Midnight: Tuck Don in, ask her to sing me to sleep like she did in college. She replies, "No dude, not tonight. I'm too tired."

12:02 a.m. Cry myself to sleep.

Friday, August 31

10:45 a.m. Awake to the soothing rubber against skin sounds of Don on the air mattress and my phone vibrating next to my head.

11:00 a.m. Don ambitiously goes for a run. I shower and wait for Kate to make her way through Cubs traffic.

12:30 p.m. Don Juan and I are showered and ready to drink. Kate arrives and we hop in her car and head to Wrigleyville all the while I bitch and complain that we won't find parking and we just should have walked.



1:15 p.m. Concede victory as we pull into unoccupied metered spot outside of Redmond's.

1:20 p.m. Cubs game starts, make cheesy ceremonial toast to commemorate another Awesomefest. I order a chicken sammie and tots. Don opts for the mozzarella sticks. Either way, excellent bases for a full day of drinking.



2:30 p.m. Kate drops us off at the Cubby Bear where we meet up with Don's brother-in-law, Pat. She whispers to me, "Don't worry, he'll pay for everything."

2:30-4:00 p.m. Proceed to drink 12 Miller Lites each. High five each other every ten minutes. Precede every sentence with "Dude".



4:00 p.m. Head over to Murphy's where we hang out with a lot of married people. We both comment that "this blows".

5:00 p.m. Take a lap around the back bar when suddenly Donn shouts, "Yo dude! You can't spell cocksucker without OSU!" to a guy in an Ohio State t-shirt. Introductions ensue, drinks are bought. Unwarranted fondling of my boobs takes place and I act offended.



5:30 p.m. Don spots a guy in a cow costume and calls him over. She proceeds to tell me to take a photo while she inappopriately handles his fake udders while onlookers gather.



6:00 p.m. Decide to head back home. I make an excellent drunk meal of pasta and Don has a hot pretzel. She proceeds to ask me for a Tylenol PM, so that she can be "on her best game" for another even more full day of drinking tomorrow.

6:05 p.m. I come back into the room with a Lunesta. She insists on taking it at 7 p.m., even though I tell her that's way too early.

7:00 p.m. We both agree that showering tonight is a must. Don hopes to finish shampooing before the Lunesta kicks in. She shouts from the bathoom, "Let the race begin!"

8:00 p.m. Don is passed out. I continue watching Hitch on WGN and then take my usual drug cocktail and join her in my room. I'm pretty sure I hear her mumble something incoherent sounding curiously like the Iowa Fight Song in her sleep.

Saturday, September 1

7:30 a.m. Alarm rings. We both lay in bed and groan in between bouts of "I don't waaaannna!" And "It's too eaaaaaarly...!"

7:45 a.m. Get in a cab and head over to Sedgwick's fully expecting a sea of black and gold outside the bar.

8 a.m. We pull up to the bar and there are two other people besides us waiting. Fuck! We could have slept two more hours!

9 a.m. The bar opens, Don Juan and I race to the front to sign up for the bus to Soldier Field at 12:30. We order a shit load of Bloody Mary's and opt for the Sedgwick's Game Day Breakfast. It's too early even for ESPN Game Day to be on TV. The scramby eggs are fantastic and I switch to mimosas.



10:30 a.m. People start to shuffle in. We are already fully drunk.

11:30 a.m. The bartender announces that the first bus will be leaving at noon. We immediately run out to the front to be first in line. The driver suspiciously stumbles out of the alley behind the bar.

11:45 a.m. Don and I storm the bus. I shout, "I get the one-seater in back!" Don screams something out getting drunk on a school bus as she slips her Bud Light into a brown paper bag.




12 p.m. We take off for Soldier Field. The bus driver wildly maneuvers around Lake Shore Drive and we hit game day traffic somewhere around Grant Park.



12:20 p.m. I look over at Don. She has a pained look on her face. "Gates, I gotta pee!" I mention something about being there soon, but she just waves me off.

12:30 p.m. I see Don ripping into her Bud Light can with her apartment key. She looks at me, "Gates, I GOTTA GO." I tell her she better not piss in that beer can on the bus as she shouts for our friend Mel to shield her.

12:45 p.m. I stare out the bus window as if nothing is going on. Meanwhile Don yells loud enough for the entire bus to hear, "I got stage fright! Somebody make a noise like running water!" I bow my head in shame.

12:55 p.m. We enter Soldier Field from the south (oh wow, that sounded dirty) and make our way to the stadium. The bus screeches to a halt as Don, in her I heart Kirk Ferentz t-shirt, sprints to the front and demands that Smitty our driver (I just made that name up, fyi) let her off there "Dude, I can't hold it anymore!!! I gotta peeeeee!"



1:00 p.m. Smitty pulls over and Don runs out yelling, "I'll meet you up the road!"

11:30 p.m. We get off the bus and immediately get in line for the port-a-potties. Considering people have been drinking Old Style and eating six different kinds of grill meats since 10 a.m., these are the most horrifying toilets you've ever seen.

2:00 p.m. I throw up in my mouth a little as I step out of the port-a-pottie. Don is nowhere to be found. I text her to meet me at Gate 9. She does, we rejoice.

2:30 p.m. We climb the 90 degree angled stairs to the top of Soldier Field to our seats. I am sweating profusely and amazingly, Don already has a beer. "Wasn't I with you the whole time? Where did you get the beer?" She is nothing if not resourceful.

2:45 p.m. Kick-off. We go nuts. Don drops her keys she is waving frantically on the woman in front of us.



3:00 p.m. I make the best decision of my life to stop drinking. Don forges ahead like a champ.

3:45 p.m. Iowa finally scores and Don buys her first order of celebratory nachos. By this time she is 14 beers into the day and I am fully impressed at her ability to not tumble the 3000 feet it is to the field below. The fat guy next to me is eating peanuts all over me and is using his binoculars practically on my lap.

4:00 p.m. Iowa scores again.

4:30 p.m. We revel at the romping of NIU as we make the long trek out of Soldier Field to Michigan Ave. to find a cab. Don grabs a random guy and argues with him about how Michigan losing makes the Big Ten Conference less credible. I smoke a cigarette while she verbally abuses said random.

5 p.m. We finally successfully hail a cab after walking halfway home. Enter Clark Dog. Exit diet.

6 p.m. We get home and immediately take our places on the couch.

6:15 p.m. Don leaves the couch for what I assume is the bathroom, but doesn't return. I check my bedroom and she is face down, passed out on my bed in full Iowa regalia. There are bead marks on her face from the black and gold beads we got at the bar at 9 a.m. I feel a huge sense of pride in the astonishing drinking ability of my friend and head back to the couch.

9 p.m. We rally and walk up to Durkin's for a $15 all-you-can-drink deal. Don assures me that she's "taking it easy tonight".

9:30 p.m. Don does her first of many Jaeger Bombs.

10 p.m. We spend two hours kicking ass at nudie touch. More Jaeger Bombs and sexy, 80's music video posing in front of the massive fan by the bar.



11 p.m. Things start to get hazy for me here. I decide its not cool to wear my shirt as seen below and belly up to the bar for another round of shots. Don Juan is still hanging in there with me, drink for drink.



PART TWO

TO BE CONTINUED BY I'M QUIETLY JUDGING YOU....

Hmmmmm?

Have I held you in enough suspense with this Awesomefest recap?

You're growns up and you're growns up and you're growns up.

Happy birthday to my wonderful roommate, Laura!



Here's to another year of delightful domesticity...

Go Hawks!

Awesomefest8000 in full effect!



Today we took on Soldier Field, tonight we take on Durkin's.

Megans 4,605,7129 Chicago 0.