Sorry for the long hiatus. I just saw the date of my last blog entry and I can't believe it's been a week, almost. This might be the longest I've gone without blogging, well, since I started blogging. And for that I am deeply ashamed. Can you guys forgive me? Lately it seems that actual life is taking up more of my time than virtual life.
Oh, that's actually a big fat lie. I still spend way too much time on Facebook and Perezhilton.com. I try to make it seem like I'm growing up, but really I'm such a teenage girl in so many ways. Especially in bra size.
I just returned from a most glorious child-free romp through Chicago, better known to those of us "in the know" as The Second City. Or The Windy City. Chi-Town. Or (this one is new to me) The Working City. I didn't see that many motherfuckers working though, so I'm not sure where that name got dreamed up. And I sure as goddamned hell wasn't. Working on my sleeping skills, maybe. Or eating my way through the gastronomical delights of a foreign city. That's a skill I'm always apt to be working on. And Chicago definitely has its share of interesting places in which to feed one's unique culinary appetite.
Note: At the above pictured "Reagle Beagle", one can indulge in exotic (bottom shelf) mixed drinks named after 1980s icons, such as the "Tony Danza Extraviganza". (Better known to us "in the know" as a Sex on The Beach), while listening to Nena and Duran Duran and watching VH-1's "I Love the 80's". I am not sure how many times Three's Company was mentioned during my visit there. But I imagine the number would embarrass me.
I digress though. I've still got the romance and deliciousness of Hotel Life all over me, and no amount of luxurious bubble baths is gonna help wash it away any time soon. Everything is different when viewed from the inside of a hotel room. Especially a swanky hotel that you are totally not paying for.
I spent much of my first day in Chicago feeling suspiciously like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman", oohing and aahing over the sunken tub, flopping about on the king-sized bed in my complimentary bathrobe, and pawing through the luxuriously appointed minibar. The novelty of living in a self-cleaning room with the softest bed imaginable did not wear off throughout my stay.
In fact, upon arriving home in Astoria, after spending the day playing "Mama and Lily go to the spa" (ie clay and yogurt masks and puke pink nail polish), and browsing the aisles of Michael's Craft Store for the ingredients to make homemade Mother's Day soap, I was appalled to return home and find that there was, in fact, no turndown service in my apartment. I had to unfold the futon all my myownself.
Goddam it all to hell.
The Blizzard of '17
4 days ago