It’s Always Cloudy In Chicago
Like Laguna Beach on crack…Archive for where's lily when you need her
Audrey Sets Her Apartment on Fire (Kinda… It Was Well-Contained)
I saw you with her dear.You tried to hide away. She left through the back door. You always had your secret ways. I acted so serene. I was so drowsy then. My fault. I’m so careless. I gave you one too many pills. My oh my. My alibi. Restore my fate in these. Words so clear. My failure dear. Lies tucked away in me. You wanted to play this game. I’ll play it too. Come here baby I will show you what this girl can do. A mattress for a coffin suites you very fine. You’ll feel me with my others as you’re sewn under the seams. - “Cardigan Weather” by Meg & Dia
This is probably my favorite song of the moment and yes, I am getting a little sentimental. WARNING: This may be the only time that you will ever witness Audrey get a little emo… so get the Kleenex because the eyeliner is going to smudge. This weekend was a little rough for me (granted… it probably didn’t seem that way). It was E-day this weekend (I’m not going to say what the E stands for, but just know that it isn’t anything good and why I commemorated this day is beyond me). It was pretty much the ex’s and my anniversary.
I finally got the nerve to rid myself of the ex factor–got a new phone (his number not included and none of his saved text messages); literally threw out all of his clothes (except the two that I sold and got a pretty sweet hat); burnt everything he ever bought me which included flowers and stuffed animals (FYI: teddy bears don’t take to fire easily) and every picture we ever took. As far as, he is concerned, he was never in my life (that is actually much easier to say because for some reason it’s easy for me to lie about it). I started the fire in my bathroom. My roommate wasn’t too pleased. I think that it still smells like burning in my apartment right this second. I’m sure she will look back on it and laugh… maybe not today, but one day.
And it did make me feel better to cut him out of my life for the final time (because it was a very long arduous process), but that feeling of redemption over him was definitely short-lived. Maybe it is because I sobered up or maybe it’s because I was still drunk and thinking (which usually isn’t the best of combinations). But I have a feeling it was because I went lurking (and I know that is super creepy and borderline obsessive, but trust me for some reason all girls do it). For some reason, I just wanted to see if he still had the e-mails from when we were dating saved and part of me was glad he did. For a second, I thought, well, I’m glad I still cross his mind from time to time.
And then I kept going and I found out more than I probably needed to know. I know that I set myself up for that and I fully admit that it was 100% my fault. But I really didn’t need to see pictures of his new girlfriend and him. And I didn’t need to read about how he happy he was. (AGAIN, I’m fully aware that I was the one lurking). I am a happy person. I am pretty content with the life that I am leading and all that malarkey, but I think it is just knowing that he is happier than me and with someone else–that is what is killing me.
And I think that the only thing that is really bothering me about him being with someone else is that I am so much prettier than her. I know. I know. That is not a reason to get all riled up and I know that looks aren’t everything and I’m sure that she has a sparkling personality. I’m totally sounding super vain right now… But COME ON! I am so much hotter than she is. I’m smart. I’m funny. I can quote man movies out the wha-zoo. I don’t cry during chick flicks because I don’t watch them. I’m into guy things. I’m not saying that I am perfect, but I am was the closest to it that he could ever get. It’s sad because had she been prettier, I would have bitched still, but I probably would have taken it with a grain of salt and accepted it because he upgraded. But no, it was a total downgrade and I am completely perplexed by the whole situation.
So on E-Day I drank and I drank and I drank some more. I think that I drank for a good 12 hours met up with a number of different cohorts to celebrate this momentous occasion. SOVA was in town, so I gladly met up with him for a few rounds. We got pretty belligerent and pretty much got kicked out of a bar at like 1 in the afternoon for beating up on each other. We brought political incorrectness to the streets until he got tired and went home, while I met up with Ana and some of the gang from high school.
Guess what we did? That’s right we drank and drank til we couldn’t drink anymore. It was pretty silly. I think at one point I passed out on the bar floor, which was pretty amusing to my friends, not so much to the bouncers. Needless to say we left and got food and I threw up all the way home. It was pretty righteous.
And I have come to this unbelievable revelation, which I kind of knew from the beginning, but I’m going to go ahead and state the obvious. Even though I may think that I lost “the one” (because I was pretty set on marrying this ex), I have the best people in my life right now–hands down, the best friends a girl can ask for. Between Lily and SOVA and Ana and Alyssa and Karly… right now, I don’t think I need anyone else. And I know that I am perfectly content with that. Even though I will bitch about the current flavor of the week and boy melodrama, these people that were there for me this weekend are definitely the constants that I need and that I’m so happy to have.
And, yes, I am done being emo. And no, Lily, I did not get the word “fuck” tattooed on my body. You have to be out of your mind to think that I would actually do that. I’m looking forward to the weekend. Gretchen is coming to visit on Friday and re-celebrate my birthday since she wasn’t around. And my two counterparts, Alyssa and Karly (I probably couldn’t live without them) will be home this weekend. I’m stoked.
Again, I apologize for the emo rant. Let’s never speak of this moment again. Kisses.
Lily Almost Dies… For Like The Hundredth Time
So, in the interest of frankness, I’ll get to the point: I’m super clumsy. I drop a lot of things, break things, accidentally trip and fall, and get caught in exceptionally awkward situations. This is one of the main reasons why Audrey and I get along. She’s klutzy, but I can make even her feel like a graceful little swan.
Case and Point: Last week, I was at work in Evanston, doing my thing. It’s a breakfast/brunch place, so we open early. And by early, I mean my ass has to wake up at four to get there by six. And you wonder why there are nights when I just don’t feel like going out. So, it’s about 6:45 and I’ve got two tables: a regular who comes in every day right as we open, and some guy I’d never seen before. We were super dead, and I was bored, so I figured that I’d get some of my sidework done and start cutting lemons.
I bet you can see where this is going.
Cut to about five minutes later, my hand in a sink, my finger cut down to the bone, and blood is literally pouring out of it as if that were a fun idea. My manager, who happens to be a great guy but also a little nervous, decides that it would be a good idea to call me an ambulance. Yes, kids, you heard that crazy Lily right. An ambulance. For a finger cut. Now granted, it was a very deep cut, and it wouldn’t stop bleeding, but I’m a big girl. I’ll buck up, stick some gauze on it, and go about my day. But no, kind manager says, I must go get stitches in the ER. So, in the interest of my job and his sanity, I decided to go. Also, the ambulance had arrived by this point, lights, sirens, and the whole fucking gang, and I just figured “What the hell? I’m here, they’re here, sounds like a party.” and hopped in. Okay, so I wasn’t as cheery as that. I was bleeding pretty bad, give me a break. But, off to the hospital I went, where I got four nice little stitches, and a Nurse Practitioner who understood my plight. He had gone to my college, and was waiting tables too… and having that kinship of the broke college student idea, he knew just what to do: he gave me a handful of about fifty bandaids and some antibacterial stuff… because he knew (correctly, I might add) that I didn’t have any of that at home.
Yes, even my little finger cuts become glamorous excursions. Imagine what an actual injury would involve.
I was home by nine am. Most of my friends weren’t even awake at this point. I, on the other hand, took a Xanax (What? I was emotionally exhausted.) and passed the fuck out.
Fast forward to today, my first day back since the “incident”. I was grand. It was a clumsy day, yes, but I was a new girl! Everything was great. Everything until I asked my manager to sharpen the knife again so I could cut some lemons and get my sidework done.
Now, I have three bandaged fingers.
Fuck.
Needless to say, I am now no longer to handle knives at work. It’s a rule. They wrote it and everything.
Moral of the Story: Lemons fucking suck. So do huge knives used to cut them. ‘Nuff said.
The Dynamic Duo Become A Separate Solo Act, Part II
Now that I have gotten up off my back (Thanks, Audrey.), I guess it’s time for me to stop being the hidden one of the group, and actually earning my keep… though Audrey really did say it all. That absolutely amazing boyfriend of mine, Christian, has returned to the Windy City to make me, his lovely girlfriend, happy once again. Because my god, I get fucking bitchy when I don’t get laid enough. Ask anyone. This is probably where Aud will jump in and tell you how I turn into Medusa and scream obscenities at little children (which may or may not actually happen, and I may or may not have any control over it… back the fuck off), but that won’t be happening for at least two weeks or so.
Because I got laid!
We started off the weekend a long el ride back from Midway, peppered with odd looks from strangers. We’re not usually canoodlers, but it was that kind of time. I mean, seriously, five weeks? That’s obscene. We went home, had some sex (which would be repeated about ten more times over the course of the weekend. Literally. I’m insatiable.), I cooked a bit, and then sat around and watched sports. We are very, very, boring. There were a couple weekend highlights though:
Bin 36: If you live in Chicago, like wine (or at least pretend to), and haven’t been to this place, go now. Audrey and I went there last year with Gretchen, and the two of us adored it. It seemed like a great idea for our first dinner back, and it worked out perfectly. We did a couple wine flights (this idea where you get four half glasses of four different wines to try), a cheese flight (same idea, only switch wine with cheese), and a large dinner. We got sufficiently drunk, enjoyed all of our food (he got steak, and the little vegetarian here got this fucking awesome squash, anise, and lavender goat cheese ravioli dish), and went home and cuddled. You know what I mean by cuddled.
MK: Another great idea of mine. SOVA recommended NINE, but they had no food for my annoying eating habits, so I decided on here. Oh. My. God. Somedays, I just love me. Good wine selection (notice a trend?), and my food was slightly above average, but the boy was falling all over himself (and me… maybe it was the wine bottles?) because he was such a fan. He got this dessert, ‘The Peanut Gallery’… I thought he was going to start raping it, that’s how psyched he was about it. After dinner activities were similar.
Also, as a sidenote, Pats won! Now, yes, I love that darling Peyton Manning. He is a fucking gifted QB, can throw a ’skin like it’s nobody’s business, but come on. I’m a Mass girl. Yeah, I was raised in Michigan (and am a Tigers fan as a result… I may have cried when I found out about Zumaya’s shoulder surgery. I hate San Diego even more now.) , but my heart will always be in Massachusetts and with the Patriots (because that’s what my birth certificate says. They declare it for you at birth. It also says I can never be a Yankees fan. Ever.). So, Tom Brady, whenever you’re sick of Gisele, I will be ready to become your next child’s mother. I may plan on naming him Thomas Peyton though, just for safety’s sake.
So, yesterday night around eight pm, I found myself once again on the path I was on four days earlier, only this time I was quite alone. People can say what they want about long distance relationships, and I know no one ever says they’re easy or fun, but my god, nobody ever told me they would ever be this hard. BF and I were talking a lot about the “future”… living together in Chi during the summer (or maybe Evanston, since I work out there), marriage (WAYYYY down in the future), kids (imagine that marriage future time, and add a couple more years)… and we just decided that though our relationship is great, and we love each other more than we could ever think possible, I still really fucking hate Denver.
Repeat: I fucking hate Denver.
Today, I was back to my regularly scheduled programming. It blew, as usual, but I still had this thought floating around in the back of my mind during my classes: “Yesterday I got laid, and I bet you didn’t. Ha ha ha ha ha ha.”
I’m so going to hell.
Audrey Lights Shia’s Fire (Pronounced Fi-Uh)
Everyone who is anyone knows about my obsession with SNL sweetheart, Andy Samberg. He is just the epitome of everything that I could ever want in another human being—crazy hair, smart, hilarious, has the ability to rhyme, dorky, Jewish (I’m a little bit of a Schiksa). I’m convinced that we are totally meant to be together and I think that he is the cat’s meow (that’s right—I said cat’s meow). I’m 98.97869849875% sure that we are going to get married and have crazy-haired little rapping babies one day. I am so sure that he’s going to fall in love with me that I would totally put money on it. All I have to do is penetrate his circle of friends and somehow earn his trust. Gee… How are you going to do that, Audrey? Well, let me let you in on a little secret, kiddies.
On April 14, 2007, Shia Lebeouf was the host on Episode 17 of the 32nd season of the late night comedy show, Saturday Night Live. During the rehearsals and up until the live taping of the show, he had the honor of working with my personal beacon of light, Andy Samberg. From what my sources have gathered (and by sources I mean, what I assume), the two strapping young men became rather chummy on set and from what I understand have remained friends ever since. What does this have to do with you marrying Andy Samberg? Be patient, grasshoppers.
You see, a little birdie (who I shall call The Red Eye) has informed me that Shia is shooting a movie here in Chicago with Rosario Dawson. Not only is this self-proclaimed homebody shooting here, he is also going about getting arrested at a Wal-greens (criminal records are hot) and partying up in our fair city at places like Underground (aka places that I can easily gain entry). Audrey, you’re not thinking—Oh, you better believe it, little ones. That is exactly what I am thinking.
I plan to stalk Shia Lebeouf and bed him in order to meet and, shortly there after, marry Andy Samberg (I’m thinking that we would probably elope). GASP! I know. It sounds crazy, but is it really? I have developed a very intricate plan and there is no way it can fail.
I have taken the liberty of compiling a list of Shia’s general interests and favorite things. From the gathered information, I have derived another of the handful of places that he would even think about going to given his shooting schedules and locations as well as the proximity in relation to his hotel suite.
Also, I figure that for the next week or so, I must keep tabs on anything concerning Shia’s whereabouts. He may throw out a surprise appearance at the museum or have dinner at Carmine’s or something. You never know with these Hollywood-types.
Now, realistically, I cannot be in more than one place at a time (for now at least) and I realize that is a shortcoming in the plan. For this reason, I have installed a number of private security cameras and recruited a number of spies (or as I lovingly refer to them, “spias”) up and down the Gold Coast and anywhere and everywhere that could be a possibly be Shia-friendly.
When I get wind of a Shia siting, I’m going to need confirmation ASAP. I have the best people in town working for me, so if they fuck up—they’re fired and they will never work in this town again. Once I receive confirmation, I make way to the said destination and wine and dine Lebeouf until he is in the buff. This is how I imagine our initial meeting will go:
First, I wait until he casually walks up to the bar. I casually bump into to him not letting him know that I recognize him as anyone famous or anything like that, of course. That’s when I apologize and offer to buy him a drink. Of course, he’ll accept and I then yell, “Bar keep a long island for me and a roofie-tini for the gentleman.” I make eyes at him. We talk and we laugh and we share a few moments until the roofie kicks in. I tell his buddies or whoever he’s with that he said that he wanted me to take him back to his hotel (and if they don’t believe me, I’ll just pull the ol’ Weekend at Bernie’s shtick). From there, I will bed him (because what fun is it to roofie up a celebrity and then not bang him?). Afterwards, I hire a hooker to pose in the incriminating photos that I take of him (this is for later use).
The next morning, Shia will wake up and see me in his arms. I’ll tell him about how we fell in love and that I loved him before I even knew that he was a big movie star. He’ll be a little scared at first, but then he will get comfortable and use to the idea of me. After he is done shooting his film, he whisks me away to New York to meet his family and some of his buddies.
Coincidently, Shia and I would attend the Saturday Night Live after party and run into none other than, Andy-mother-f-in-Samberg. How funny is that? Who would have thunk it? Andy and I hit it off right away. Shia conveniently does not feel good for some reason or another and calls it a night, leaving it up to Andy (the love of my life) to make sure that I get back to him safely. From that night on, Andy and I develop a strong bond that cannot be broken and some might say a forbidden love.
Conveniently soon after, incriminating photos of Shia and a hooker turn up all over the place on—covers of magazines and all over Perez Hilton. We get into a huge fight. I tell him that I cannot be with someone who has such an insatiable sexual appetite that he has to turn to prostitutes and that I am embarrassed to be seen with him. He tries to fight for us, but I tell him no. Then I point out that I realize that these pictures were in the very hotel room that we first made sweet love in and cry that I can’t believe that he was doing this right under my nose. And then I leave him.
As soon as I walk out of his apartment, I call Andy crying, looking for a shoulder to cry on. He provides that shoulder. Andy tells me that he would never ever think of doing that to me if I was his lady friend and then he professes his love to me in a digital short that he had been working on called “Shia’s Girl” with Martin Short starring as Shia. About five minutes later, we get married and there is a whole tabloid frenzy about this ridiculous love triangle.
And that is the reader’s digest of why I need to bone Shia Leobouf.
I mean, yes, I’m technically using Shia and ruining lives, but it’s all for love, baby. It’s all to show Andy that I care. So, don’t judge me and claim that my intentions weren’t good and that I ruined the career of the next Tom Hank’s single-handedly. That’s mean. I know that you would do it too and we all know love makes us do crazy things.
So I’m asking you from the bottom of my heart, if you have any news or information about Shia’s whereabouts, please contact Audrey. If you don’t want to do it for me, do it for the sake of true love. I promise that you will get into heaven if you do. And if you don’t, I will make your life in hell as miserable as possible. Kisses.
UPDATE: Turns out Cusack knows the studios that are filming Shia’s latest project. Isn’t that a beard stroker?
