Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

I turned and faced the strain of blogger user TS. Because of their spam comments, I had to add a feature for leaving comments, which will add a step to everything, but is a necessary evil in today's world of spam-o-rama.

So, an open apology to my readers who do leave comments, and will be forced to take an extra security measure to leave their comments, and a fond fuck you to user TS for forcing me to do so.

Happy Friday, everyone.

Pissing me off.

It happened yesterday, and I got a little pissed, but naively thought it was a one-time deal.

Nope.

Today, after making my previous post, I get this:

Large Firms Discover New Marketing Tool: Blogs
No longer viewed as just forums for law gossip or associate griping, blogs are becoming a marketing tool for large law firms eager to create a buzz about their practice areas.
Hey, I love your blog it's real great!

I have a american singles site/blog. It pretty much covers american singles and dating related stuff.

You should come and check it out if you get time :-)

That's right. A SPAM COMMENT!

I'm outraged. I'm pissed. If you are the person who is posting this, remove my blog from your list NOW. You are NOT permitted to post any comments on my blog at all. Please do not force me to remove comments altogether, as that would be a disservice to myself and my readers.

What could be the greatest photoshop contest ever.

Fark.com is one of my favorite websites, as you all know. This recent photoshop contest is probably my favorite thus far, in 2 years of reading fark. The theme? What if the world were run by goths?

Of course, I am not, nor have I ever been a goth, but this is just damn good.

Uncoordinated birthday plans.

Call it laziness, call it procrastination, call it what you want, but I've finally gotten around to making actual plans for the birthday:


As you might have heard, my birthday is coming up. More accurately, it's Tuesday.

I usually am on top of things and plan some get-together with some kind of drink special and all that.

Not this year.

Here is what I have planned, if you'd care to join me:

Saturday night, October 1, 2005
8:30 pm Drinks @ the Globe Pub, 1934 W Irving Park
10 pm My friend Ayman's band is playing @ Sylvies, 1902 Irving Park, $6 cover.
After that, I can imagine a lot of things happening, bowling, karaoke, you name it.

On the actual date of my birth, I'll be hosting Pub Quiz, as usual, at the Globe. 8 pm.

A musical I might just go to.

It is not a very well guarded secret that I am not a fan of the dramatic arts. I just don't like theatre. I used to, back in the day. I've even been known to be in a play or two. Now, however, I'm usually bored.

What's the one thing I dislike more than live theatre? Musicals.

Can't stand them- although there are extremely rare exceptions, but they're all films: South Park, Cannibal! The Musical, and the Beatles movies (in my interpretation, they're musicals- I'm not trying to start a debate with that).

I can see myself making a big goddamn exception for this, though.

And now it can be told: My Boston Trip

I thought I would be able to sleep in on Friday morning. No way. I had to wake up even earlier than I usually do. Blech. I got up, got to it, and got my ass on a train. I headed down to the airport, and saw immense lines for security. Oops. Glad I didn't procrastinate too much. I'm waiting in line, getting grumpy. I know when my flight is, and I want to grab some breakfast before the flight. No such luck.

I bounded my way to Midway's gate A4A, the least accommodating gate, next to A4B, in the world. They're basically a long corridor made of semi trailers, carpeted and with some seats along one side. I figured I was getting there just in time for boarding, which I was, but no. We're not boarding.

I grabbed a seat and started doing crossword puzzles, as my modus operandi dictates. I was bored. I was impatient. They were late. Our boarding time, according to my ticket, was 15 minutes in the past. Finally, they told us we were going to be delayed. Damn.

The people around me and I stuck up a conversation. Turns out each time they've flown to Boston, they've had problems. Myself, I only had a problem once, way back when I was flying there from Newark, and wound up on the tarmac for 2 hours. Finally, they get around to telling us that the reason we're delayed is that they cannot locate the crew. Hm. No pilot, no co-pilot, no attendants. The woman sitting next to me left to get some breakfast, something I should have done. Instead, I stayed put, and did more crosswords. 10 minutes later, a flight crew walks up, to the thunderous and rather tongue-in-cheek applause. They announced boarding, and on the plane I went. Oddly, the woman sitting next to me talking about all her woes flying to Boston was sitting next to me on the flight. We had many a pleasant conversation.

I finally get to Boston and head towards Harvard on the T. Sadly, I had just missed lunch, but at least I got to see Wendy and Joey et al and say hi. I bee-lined it to Charlie's Kitchen for lunch, then checked into my hotel, with hopes of a nap. No such luck, however, but there was quite a bit of ESPN watching as I tossed and turned.

It came time for rehearsal, so I showered, shaved, and called a cab. I got to know the dispatcher over the weekend, too. By Sunday morning, he recognized my voice. Not bad. I headed to the Charles, and met up with everyone. Rehearsal was rehearsal. At dinner, several of us decided to go for some of the more exotic drinks. My choice was the Scorpion Bowl, a drink that was not surprisingly, served in a bowl. It was large. It was tasty. It was full of rummy goodness. Pictures will be posted as soon as I get them.

Zoom-zoom back to the hotel for coffee, drinks, and dessert with the out-of-towners. I got to run into quite a few friends I met during last year's trip to T'ranna. I forgot how fun they were, but I had to cut my time short, as I had an appointment with the lovely, talented, and fascinating Ceerock. We headed to Grendel's for a few drinks, some very nice conversation, and some of the worst service I've ever had in a bar. Third time's the charm trying to get a glass of water in that place.

Finally, the big day was here. I had to try on my barong to make sure everything was kosher (yes, bad pun intended). I met up with Joey and we hung out for a bit, visiting various relatives and cousins and aunts and uncles and nephews and nieces. Everything was set, so we met up with Joey's friends for lunch at Legal Seafoods. Being from the Midwest, I'm not too keen on seafood. I know. What a crime. I had a Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad, and got a sunburn on my scalp. After lunch, I hurried back to my hotel for a shower, shave, and a little pampering before I was to return to keep the groom company.

I got back to the Charles, running late, and Joey and I encountered a bit of a crisis- the studs for his barong didn't fit. He asked for mine, which I happily gave, and started some fruitless searches for local men's clothing stores. Eventually I went to the concierge, who pointed me toward J Press. They were, I think, a little taken aback by my appearance. I was wearing dress shoes, dress pants, and Dutch (as pictured). This used to happen all the time, back when I had hippie hair and all that. Some folks just can't acclimate to anything outside of the norm. Then again, maybe it was a little weird for a guy to come running into their store, dressed as I was, bald, wearing sunglasses, and carrying a barong. Who knows?

It took a bit of work, but 20 minutes and 75 dollars later, I had cufflinks, studs, and a barong to boot. I headed back to the hotel for pictures and changed in the bathroom, as our "staging area" was not ready yet. Unfortunately, I do not have pictures yet, but as soon as I have one, I will post it. I have to say, I looked pretty damn good. So did all of us, as a matter of fact. I wish I had more opportunities to wear a barong, honestly. After pictures, we had some time to kill, a ketubah to sign, and yarmulkes to tape to bald men's heads.

Ok- just one bald man's head. Wendy did the honors herself, and while she put on the second piece of tape, I heard the now familiar click of the wedding photographer's camera. I CANNOT wait to see that picture.

The ceremony was beautiful. I was moved. Never mind that it was a definite one of a kind ceremony, it was just plain incredible. Indescribable. Some pictures are posted here, and you can read the transcript here (including AKMA's phenomenal homily), and see the program here.

The reception started with the happy couple retreating to our "staging area" for 20 minutes or so, for some well-deserved alone time. I found a bar and ordered a vodka tonic and mingled. Finally, Joey and Wendy returned, and the room was ready for the reception. Dinner, dancing, drinks. Toasts were given, and the band played on. Did I dance? Yes, but only with Wendy, and only when Joey was playing accordion. For reasons only known to me unconsciously, I thought that was important. Although I had a hard time not joining the conga line.

Inevitably, the reception ended. I headed back to Charlie's Kitchen with some guests, and partied until close.

Sunday morning greeted me with a nice hangover. Champagne, for some reason, does it every time. I stayed in bed a bit, and realized that my time in Boston was limited, so I went for a walk along the Charles River. The walk took longer than I had expected, and I was rather late to brunch, but I was there. I called Bosco, who was in town visiting his parents, and we went candlepin bowling. We had a blast. After bowling and a longer-than-expected foray of pinball, we headed to Bosco's friend's house, where we watched some football in the pinnacle of guy-rooms. He had a beer vending machine. In his house. I was thrilled beyond comprehension. I was rather unhappy about having to leave, but my flight back to Chicago beckoned.

I had such a good time. I can honestly say it was one of the best weekends I've had in a long time. Big thanks to everyone who was a part of it (except that shitty waiter from Grendel's)!

Busy.

I'm walking through my life right now with a innocent awe. Innocent, as I'm trying to retrofit my perspective so that I can more carefully study what I'm doing and how I'm spending my time. Basically, where does my time go?

I've been desperate to blog about this weekend's festivities, but haven't had an appropriate chunk of time to devote to that, or to all the other fun I got to have that weekend. Perhaps tomorrow. If not then, Thursday, when I arrive at my desk bright and early at 4 am.

It sounds worse than it is.

Anyways. Pub quiz is done, and the birthday is looming at 1 week away. I still haven't made any specific plans for Saturday. I'm too lazy or busy or scared to make actual plans.

Scartacular.

I came across this site this morning, via fark, and was fascinated. Many times I've been told that I should have gone to med school, or found some way to work in the medical field. Never really figured out why, but I like it when people think nice things about me, so I just smile and move on.

When I started going through it, though, I started to think about some of my many (dermal, not emotional)scars.

I have had, through the course of my nearly 32 years, 13 stitches. 10 are from my knee surgeries, three to sew up my head (third story). Don't get the wrong idea. If you're taller than me, and have the right light, you can see a 3/4 inch scar in the middle of my beautiful, bald, scalp. You might have to look for it, though. It's hard to see. The knee surgery scars are a little faded, but still present.

I've got other nice ones, too- one just below my left eye (learning to walk), two on my right ankle, one from my shoe coming off while playing catch, and cutting myself on a garden stake, the other from an epee going about 1/2 an inch into my foot. There's one on each wrist (not what you think it is, trust me), one by my right thumb, and one on each finger on my right hand. That, my friends, is a story worth retelling.

Let's set the way-back machine for 1997. I'm living in my apartment in the (at the time) less than desirable neighborhood of Rogers Park. I had gone out with some co-workers that evening, then headed home. I was watching TV when I remembered that I had some beer in the fridge, and that a beer would taste really good. I grabbed one, and headed back to my couch. Damn. They're not twist-off.

After a somewhat frenzied and fruitless search for my opener, I came across a pair of needlenose pliers. I decided, sadly, to MacGuiver the beer open. I started prying and finally got the cap halfway off, when I gave it one good yank, and popped the top right off. I was well into the beer when I noticed that there was blood on my jeans, and then noticed that I had cut each finger, in a row, based on how I held the pliers. I had to laugh at myself, as did my boss when I came in the next day with band-aids on each one of my fingers.

It should go without saying that I have since always carried a church key, on my keyring.

I'm sure I could dazzle you with more scar stories, but I try to reserve those. Maybe later. Besides, I've got a slew of things to get done before I leave for Boston tomorrow.

Country roads, take me home...

...to the place I beloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong!

I've only been to West Virginia once, and it was fun. I don't believe in heaven, nor have I been there, so I can't say that the comparison is just, but I'll take it anyways.

I have some crazy friends, and they hang out in some crazy bars. Namely Resi's Bierstube, which is just a hop, skip and a stumble away from my house. Good food. Great beer. And, as mentioned, a likely place to run into some of my less sane cronies.

A large percentage of these cronies are currently in Germany, specifically Munich, for Oktoberfest. When I get together with this gang of well-conditioned alcohol imbibers gets together, I usually plan on a very late night and a potentiall nasty hangover in the morning. When they go to Oktoberfest, I tend to turn my phone off. Not that I don't enjoy talking to them, but they have a tendency to be in the hall that happens to play Country Roads by John Denver every night, just before last call.

That particular song, for whatever reason, is intensely popular in Europe, as I've been told by more than one person. It is a habit for these friends to call my cell phone, although it is the middle of the day, so I can listen to thousands of incredibly drunk people in a beer tent thousands of miles away sing along to this wonderful song, which I file under my "guilty pleasure" musical taste. This habit, based on the repitition, seems to be becoming a tradition. Not that I'm not touched that they're thinking of me just before they "head for the rollercoasters," but it's rough on the psyche to hear such a good time on the other end of the line when I'm stuck at my desk, sober and not singing. At least it's entertaining.

They're also, is seems, dragging along a toy status of Jesus and taking pictures of it it various places. Here, Jesus is smoking. Not bad. Not bad. There's another where he's hugging a bottle of wine, and another where he's stuffed into a rather attractive woman's clevage. But I digress.

Back to the song.

Whenever I hear it, reminds me of two people, my 6th grade chorus teacher, and the lovely and talented Ceerock. My chorus teacher, way back in the 80's was apparently crazy about Denver, too. That, however, was a long, long time ago. Ceerock also has a special connection with that song, and she is now the first person I think of when I hear that song.

I, for one, enjoy the associative nature of memory. When I hear Patience, I think of my first love. When I hear Little Green Bag, I think of S, who is currently plotting calling my cellphone in a couple hours so I can hear Country Roads again. Before the big, nasty breakup this song reminded me of Red, but now this song does.

Isn't it scary how things change?

Ladies and Gentlemen: I am a sucker.

I'm a sucker for red hair. I'm a sucker for green eyes. I'm a sucker for blue eyes. I'm a sucker for brown eyes. I guess I like eyes. The last two women I've used the l-word with both had blue eyes. Someone should look into that.

I'm a sucker for a lot of things, and each and every passing day I am reminded of them.

This weekend I was a sucker for football, and I'm paying for it dearly today. My picks sucked, my fantasy teams are both in the shitter. Praise jah that hockey starts in 16 days. Hopefully I'll do better at that. My fantasy baseball team is playing for the championship. I'll be walking on eggshells for the next two weeks. Yuck.

I'm a sucker for time off, and I've got some coming up: not only the wedding of the 21st century this weekend, but I've taken my birthday off, as usual. And the day before. And the day after. A 5 day weekend. Not bad.

I'm a sucker for accents. This is why I'm constantly in bars with an Irish/English/Scottish feel, as I melt almost every time I hear the words "pint a black fer ya, Dahid?" Dahid, of course, is the Gaelic equivalent of my name, and while certain individuals use it frequently, others seem to spring it on me as a surprise.

I like that.

I had a friend who used the word behoove a lot. She has the most attractive southern drawl I've ever heard, and I've heard a lot. It was amazing. Portuguese, however, is the most beautiful spoken language I have encountered.

I'm a sucker for such a beautiful thing.

Nerd, Geek or Dork?

Found this over at Erin Go Blog:

Modern, Cool Nerd 65 % Nerd, 56% Geek, 17% Dork

For The Record: A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia. A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one. A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions. You scored better than half in Nerd and Geek, earning you the title of: Modern, Cool Nerd. Nerds didn't use to be cool, but in the 90's that all changed. It used to be that, if you were a computer expert, you had to wear plaid or a pocket protector or suspenders or something that announced to the world that you couldn't quite fit in. Not anymore. Now, the intelligent and geeky have eked out for themselves a modicum of respect at the very least, and "geek is chic." The Modern, Cool Nerd is intelligent, knowledgable and always the person to call in a crisis (needing computer advice/an arcane bit of trivia knowledge). They are the one you want as your lifeline in Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (or the one up there, winning the million bucks)! Congratulations! Also, you might want to check out some of my other tests if you're interested in any of the following: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Professional Wrestling Love & Sexuality America/Politics Thanks Again! -- THE NERD? GEEK? OR DORK? TEST

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 66% on nerdiness You scored higher than 74% on geekosity You scored higher than 16% on dork points

Link: The Nerd? Geek? or Dork? Test written by donathos on Ok Cupid

It must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.

I can't decide what or who to blame (my stomach or my customers), but I'm just plain grumpy today. I shouldn't be, either. We're all of 9 days from the big wedding, which means I get to a) go to Boston, b) see Wendy and Joey, c) stay in a hotel (I just love hotels) and d) get the fuck out of Dodge for a weekend. All good things, believe me. After that, it's the big birthday weekend, and I have made absolutely no plans for the big birthday party.

I usually rotate the location of my birthday party. I like to keep it in the neighborhood, so I have a quick stumble home. As Jen and her wonderful memory tells me, 4 years ago we held a barbecue at our old apartment. Seeing as we don't live there anymore, I think it might be a little risky to just show up with a horde of my friends and party. But the question still remains: What should I do?

As I told a friend of mine who asked specifically about my plans today, I think I might be a little anxious about putting a crooked number up behind that 3. That, or I'm getting anxious about turning older than my ACT score. Maybe I'm finally growing tired of my birthday- but I kinda doubt it.

Anyways, brightening my day right up is the new b3ta.com challenge- how to make church more popular. Full of good nuggets, just like the one above.

Nephew to be named later.

This weekend, my step-sister gave birth to a healthy 9 pound 8.5 ounce baby boy! As yet, they have not named him, but he sure is cute! Here he is, being held by my step-mother. This will, of course, mean that I get to start buying books and toys and all kinds of kids stuff all over again. Chicago Wolves bibs, rompers, etc. etc. Spoil 'em rotten, that's what I say. Welcome to the world, nephew to be named later!

Hey Chicago! Places for you to be!

When? Anytime in the near future.
Where? Handlebar, 2311 W. North Ave.
Why? Because of the information in this article. Good news about higher gas prices, my friends.

When? Tuesday, 9/13/05, 8pm
Where? The Globe Pub, 1934 W Irving Park
Why? The one-year anniversary of pub quiz at the Globe. Extra-special rounds, big surprises and extra-special prizes!

Has it been a year already?

On 6-6-66 I was little I didn't know shit
(in reality I wasn't born yet)

It has. Believe it or don't. One whole year since surgery number 3, the second on my right knee. This was the fastest surgery I have had. I was in and out in just about 4 hours or so, when my best friend came to meet me downtown after I was jarred awake, for the first time ever, by smelling salts. Now that definitely woke me up, and then they started plugging me full of Vicodin! Yummy! Moments later, I was being wheeled downstairs to my best friend's car! Outside! Drug-hazed reality! It was a crazy day. Fun, but still crazy.

and on 7-7-77 eleven years later still don't know any better
(now, I'm alive and well and living in St. Paul)

And look at how far I've come in the last year- got my first century under my belt, and hey, guess what? I found out a few weeks ago that I can finally kneel again. It's so good to have a fully functional knee back. What's next for me? I've got another century next weekend, which I am completely unprepared for, and a big wedding a week after that! Honestly, I can't wait to be back in Boston again. I miss that town somethin' fierce. I'll get to see some old friends and hopefully make a couple new ones.

by 8-8-88 it's way too late for me to change
(now, I'm a dangerous teenager)

And let's not forget about how much fun I'll have at Wendy and Joey's wedding. After all- I'll be dressed up in a barong and wearing a yarmulke! Pictures, of course, will be posted as soon as possible after that.

and by 9-9-99 I hope I'm sittin' on the back porch drinkin' red wine singin' Ohhhhhh French Fries with Pepper! Ohhhhh French Fries with
Pepper
(and here we are 6 years later)

Will I be sitting on the back porch, drinking red wine? Doubtful. I don't have a back porch, but I do have a nice amount of red wine at home. I do love the Trader Joe's. The question on my mind is whether or not I should cheat a little and sit on my front porch and drink some red wine? If I weren't supposed to go see 2 bands in 2 bars tonight, I'd be all over it.

Nuggets, updates, and the continuing story of, well me.

Long weekend + busy day yesterday = no blog for you!

I like fall. This is my favorite time of year. It is also when my birthday happens. That might have something to do with it. My birthday this year falls on a pub quiz night, and I've decided I'm going to write and run pub quiz that night, despite my preference to never work at all on my birthday. I figure running pub quiz isn't an actual job, even though sometimes I think it is.

In all honestly, I look forward to each and every Tuesday night I spend there. My quizzers are funny, nice, and die-hard trivia geeks just like me. They make fundraising fun for me. Plus, I get a kick out of being a "teacher." It runs in the family, after all.

My favorite conversation from yesterday:
Customer: Is [coworker B] there?
Me: He's on another line. Can I help you?
Customer: How long are you guys there?
Me: We're open 24 hours, starting Sunday at 4 pm through Friday afternoon at 5.
Customer: Is [B] there 24 hours?
Me: No, that's not really possible.

The best laid plans of Logan's Dave.
I had it all figured out yesterday: take the train home, start printing out pub quiz, then hop on my bike down to For Eyes to pick up my glasses. It was multitasking at its finest, and allowed me plenty of time to take a quick shower and eat before heading to the Globe. My printer, on the other hand, had other ideas, and ran out of ink. Dammit.

I revised the plan to include a stop at Best Buy, pick up new cartridges, then swing to For Eyes, pick up my glasses, and still have time enough to fit everything in comfortably. I hopped on my bike, and charged the 3 miles to the area both stores are located. The Best Buy phase took 7 minutes, most of which was spent waiting in line. No problem, as it was just after 5.

The next phase was For Eyes. I walked in, asked to pick up my glasses, and gave my name. The clerk went back and retrieved my two new pairs of glasses. The first thing I notice is that my new pair of super-sexy sunglasses aren't sunglasses at all, but regular, non-tinted lenses. After checking my records, I am offered the choice of either picking them up the next day or waiting the 15-20 minutes it takes to tint the glasses properly. After a quick consultation of the watch, I opt to wait. I figure it gives me a chance to get used to the new glasses. After 25 minutes of reading and crossword puzzle working, I'm bored, and I look up. The clerk tells me that it should be another 5 minutes or so. Harumph. I bury my head back into my crossword puzzle book, figuring I can work one more in 5 minutes.

I was right. I had time to spare before the manager walked out, holding one of my lenses in his hand, saying "hold this up to your left eye and try it out." I check it out. Horrible. I like my sunglasses dark. Very dark. Matrix dark. I elect to have them tint them overnight, hopefully achieving the desired results. Picking up one pair new glasses, 8 minutes. Waiting for the second pair, which didn't work, 36 minutes. Wasting precious time that could be spent eating and showering: priceless.

So today I will make yet another trek to the inconvenient location to pick up my day-late-and-dollar-short sunglasses. Joy of joys.

So long, little buddy.

Rest in peace, Bob Denver.

Why I'm a fan of Ray Nagin

I like politicians with balls. I especially like politicians who put it to the president plain and simple. Read this, if you haven't already. My favorite part:

I don't want to see anybody do anymore goddamn press conferences. Put a moratorium on press conferences. Don't do another press conference until the resources are in this city. And then come down to this city and stand with us when there are military trucks and troops that we can't even count.

Don't tell me 40,000 people are coming here. They're not here. It's too doggone late. Now get off your asses and do something, and let's fix the biggest goddamn crisis in the history of this country.

How I got my license.

The Driver's Services Station in Chadwick, IL is my preferred method of renewing the good ol' license. I've used it for my last 3 licenses. Chadwick, of course, is only 9.6 miles from my grandparents' farm, which is 132 miles from my house. Why would I go all that way out of my way for a license? Simple numbers. Chadwick has 500 people, Chicago has well, 2,869,121. The stations here take 2 hours. Out there, here's what happened:

10:22 arrived at the station. Had some problems with the lock, as someone accidentally locked the door.
10:22:30 heard from the desk clerk "we're trying to catch up around here." Took a number and had a seat.
10:26:15 my number is called.
10:26:25 I'm at the desk, and have informed the clerk that I need to renew and change my address. I produce 3 mailed items with my current address and my current license.
10:26:45 the clerk has pulled up my record. We have a conversation about my hair- whether or not I'll grow it back again. He manually enters 'bald' for hair color. I take a moment to be very proud. I pay the $10 fee.
10:27:25 my new information entered, I take the vision test, and pass with flying colors.
10:27:55 I'm having my picture taken.
10:28:05 I'm back in my seat, waiting for my new license.
10:29:30 I have my new license, and I'm out the door.

That's what I call service!

Sick of myself

I haven't blogged in two days. At least, not here. I've been too busy reading about what's going on in New Orleans, and wondering what the fuck is happening. I find it hard to write about myself when shit like that is going on. Now that the dust has settled from the Freudian battle inside my head, I can report that Id has defeated Super Ego in a narrow victory, and I'm going to talk about myself again.

Not that anything major has happened recently. Although I did finally go to the eye doctor yesterday, something I've been meaning to do since I was going out with Red. Everything seems ok with my eyes, and get this, my prescription is getting weaker with time. You read that right- my eyesight is getting better with age. Not that my sight is particularly bad- as of yesterday my left eye is -1.25, right is -1.00, but improvement is improvement. What's most exciting is getting new glasses for the first time in 3 years- and just in time for a certain wedding that I'm trying to look my best for.

Jen did the favor that she has done for me for years, and met me at For Eyes on Clark for my appointment. She's been a good fashion consultant, especially where eyewear is concerned, for too long for me to trust the job to anyone else. Of course, I'm starting to think that the job might become obsolete. The doctor, at the end of my exam, asked me if I had ever considered wearing contacts. Honestly, the thought has almost never crossed my mind. For one thing, I like the way I look in glasses, but after getting my new license* last weekend, and having my picture taken without them, well, I can see myself leaning the other way. Of course, in order to wear contacts, I would have to overcome a very deep-seeded fear.

When I was 8, I had pink eye. I had it bad. It was gross. So gross I'm going to put a disclaimer on this: the next few sentences are not pretty. Anyways. I woke up one morning, and my eye was itchy. I didn't think much of it, as I was a kid, so I went through the day with an itchy eye. No big whoop. No big whoop, at least, until the next morning, when my eye was sealed shut with green, nasty crusted stuff, which had also run down the side of my face and dried all green and nasty there. It was gross. I went to the doctor, and it didn't take long for them to figure it out, and get me on anti-biotics and all kinds of shit to clear up my eye. I was teased with the idea of wearing an eye patch. Ew. Gross. Nasty. This went on for five fucking days before I got better. Since then, I haven't let anything come too close to my eye- even myself. So contacts might be a challenge.

It would be nice, though, to not have to carry clips around, which I perpetually lose, or worse, put through the laundry (this has happened more than once). I am going this time with 2 pairs, one sunglasses, one normal. And I think the new specs will look really, really good. Time will tell.

*More on this story later.