I am once again in Shermer Illinois. Y’all got a lot of geese here, man. Seriously. What’s with the geese?
Already there are two marked differences between this trip and last trip. First of all, I’m staying in a hotel with free wireless internet. It’s closer to my office (and also Starbucks) and still gives me a suite with a refrigerator so that I can have my glass of 1% organic chocolate milk each night before bedtime, heated in the microwave to help me sleep.
Secondly, I found the head office’s computer geeks (who were, by the way, rather hot). I accosted them while they were coming in from lunch (or maybe smoking, because they were hot and probably never eat). “You!” I said, fixing them with a steely gaze. “I can see a wireless access in this building but I don’t have the password. Help? “And then I gave them a pretty smile. “Can it wait until I take off my coat?” One said, hating life for passing the conference rooms. “We have ten minutes.” He sighed and followed me in, plugged in the top secret access code to the wireless and then I was suddenly on the web. He tried to fix another guy’s access, but since he had one of the two network cords at that moment, he said “You do not have a need. I will not give you access.” And then walked out of the room. Thank you, Geeky Yoda. I probably should have gotten his name or mentioned to any of the other chatting trainees what was happening, but when they returned from break, everyone realized that I could access the network without one of the precious cords. Then, there were accusations and improper suggestions, and finally, a bitter “How come you’re so special? Why did he give it to you?” and I shrugged and suggested that maybe he liked my smile. I gave someone else an old wireless card that has been floating around in my bag and they had to call the IT desk and ask for access. I heard that it’s like a golden ticket, though, in the office, and someone grumbled that they heard you had to be on the top floor with a corner office to use the wireless. I still don’t know why they gave it to me without so much as a peep, just a friendly smile and a clear intent that I would not let him walk back to his cubicle to take off his coat. I suck.
On Monday night, Poppy and I went shopping, although for me it ended up being one of those weird No Dice shopping nights. Nothing was hitting. I did find a fun retro print cashmere scarf on clearance for mere pennies, so maybe that’s not true. I almost bought a pair of Dior sunglasses, but they were a little much for something that I can’t really see myself wearing every single day. I was really aching to buy a new Kate Spade, but nothing appealed to me. Paula, on the other hand, found the best fucking shoes I’ve ever seen. We spotted the pink version first. Paula tried them on and we both agreed that they were awesome, but then when we saw them in black’. Oh fuck me, they were hot. You know of course that I do not enjoy feet but even wearing the sandals over grey socks, her feet were fucking gorgeous. Given that her toenails were perfectly polished with arctic silver, it was clearly destiny. I even tried shoving my giant hooves into a pair, and since I normally refuse to wear anything that unstable, you have to know that it was gorgeous. I took a picture of her wearing them, but until I get home and can upload it, you’ll have to content yourself with the link in her entry.
Then on Tuesday night, I hit the highway. Really, I could easily see myself living in this area (and honestly, if Esteban would consent, I could probably transfer to the Chicago office and increase my salary in the process, but would it make up for all the MUST HAVE THIS NOW sightings at the various retail opportunities? Probably not) but for the traffic. I thought I had enough time to get to the city but then spent most of my drive sitting in traffic, staring out at the landscape of identical suburban crapilizations. The traffic! I cannot stand the traffic. I get nervous and start pounding my ever-present bottle of Dasani and by the time I reach my destination, I can taste urine in the back of my throat. Oh and CB Outlet? What kind of Crate and Barrel doesn’t have a bathroom? Thank you Trader Joes. You rule. It made me late for my rendezvous with Paula, but hopefully she doesn’t hate me too much. She introduced me to her very cool friend Megan (One of the perks of knowing cool people is getting to meet their cool friends) and we went shopping at the Crate and Barrel outlet and then followed it up with an orgasmic session at one of the two CB2 stores in existence. I kept thinking that maybe I wasn’t cool enough to be in that store, although really, I want to be that cool. We followed up with dinner at an awesome Mexican restaurant and met another of her friends, Tam. Who was cool. It goes without saying.
I ended up getting a little lost on my way back to the highway (despite excellent directions, because I was talking on the phone to Esteban, who was regaling me with boring but worrisome insurance issues) and then zipped randomly through various neighborhoods until I hit the razor wire areas and decided, you know, maybe just drive downtown where I know exactly how to get to the highway. It was a good plan. When in doubt, look for the big Hancock. Ha! If you are eight years old, you’re snickering right now.
I forgot to mention: my very solid and upstanding coworker and I were walking out of dinner one night last time I was here and he said “Wow, that’s a big Dick’s!”, meaning the giant sporting goods chain. I did a mental stop, because he’s as squeaky clean as Mr. Rogers. I recomposed and replied “It definitely is. I might even call that a giant Dick’s.” And then he said “No, seriously. Have you ever even seen such a huge Dick’s?” And I replied “I’ve seen some pretty big ones, but no, never one that big. That’s probably one for the…um… record books.” And then I had a stroke and died.
Work during the day is sort of like some weird kind of limbo. Yesterday, I had to actually ask someone if it was Tuesday or Wednesday, because it just seemed as though we would always be here in Shermer, always be looking at geese through half closed mini blinds on tinted windows. It probably seems extra surreal because when I got here on Sunday, I drove around a mostly deserted downtown and looked to a pristine Christmas landscape in Grant Park, where the statues were all wearing goose down, but last night as I was lost in the Windy City, it was pouring rain, the streets slicked and reflective, the El making zither sounds that bounced off of wet pavement. I said “We’re on a mission from Gahd” to an empty car.
I have a giant presentation tomorrow, to something like forty million people, all of whom could probably fire me by pressing a secret button programmed on their Blackberries. I don’t know what to wear and I blew my wardrobe wad today wearing a skirt and awesome black sweater. For practice on my statistics, I did an entire graphical representation on zombie fashion and how it relates to the probability of being bitten by them and subsequently turned into a zombie yourself. Suffice to say, the corporate people were not impressed. Somehow I think it doesn’t matter what I wear tomorrow. If I start to stumble in presentation, I’m totally going to the zombie data.
