a midwestern adventure

I like adventures.

Whether they are as epic as meeting Kobe Bryant in Las Vegas….

We had a very stimulating conversation. I said, “Can I take a picture with you?” and he said, “No.”

as bizarre as accepting a ride from a combo bus driver/cowbell player in Florida…

as irritating as herding sheep out of our way during a scenic drive in Ireland…

as ridiculous sounding as driving to Canada…

as stupid as walking across the Brooklyn Bridge with a paralyzing fear of heights…

or as confusing as trying to find Lance Armstrong at the finish line of the Tour de France.

That’s not him in yellow, contrary to our popular belief at the time.

I’ve been spoiled in that I’ve traveled to so many interesting places, as early as a wee three year old. Did I mention I lived in Holland?

…in the 1600s, apparently.

Now, thanks to being dragged from country to country, museum to museum for as long as I can remember, I hate sitting still. In my spare time I plan hypothetical vacations and browse kayak.com. And when I find $100 plane tickets to Chicago from my local regional [usually expensive] airport, I don’t pass that up.

So, I recruited two friends and we’re off to Chicago tomorrow morning before the sun comes up. I think I’m most excited to step outside without sweating and drink my first pumpkin spice latte of the season – they aren’t quite as exciting when it’s 90 degrees and the closest Starbucks advertises them like this:

It’s the PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE, people! Show it some respect!

I’ve actually been to Chicago once before, just for a day, and made the unfortunate mistake of wearing boxers under a dress in order to ride a bike without flashing anyone.

Which leads me to the real reason I’m going to Chicago — I need pictures of myself in the Windy City where it doesn’t look like I’m wearing a diaper.

dandy happenings: cocaine, crazy cat ladies, and more!

Because I’m in the midst of a terrible case of blogger’s block (and Ike hasn’t really done anything especially exciting lately), I’m going to lump together what’s been going on since we last spoke. A refresher: my husband has the same shaped head as Abraham Lincoln.

In a shocking twist, we’ve decided on a new doppleganger for Y. (I know, I know, Doppleganger Week was months ago. Where did Doppleganger Week even come from, anyway? And why haven’t there been any subsequent “weeks”? Burning questions…)

Y has actually been told more than once this week that he looks like Josh Lucas from Sweet Home Alabama. One of those times was by one of his patients. Bet you didn’t know that elderly war veterans enjoy rom-coms. Can anyone resist Dr. McDreamy?

Whew, glad we got the incredibly important doppleganger issue settled! Moving on.

Ike enjoyed the premier of the new OKGO video.

And we attended the most sophisticated party I’ve ever been to — even if it did end with the host can-can-ing to Lady Gaga. Happy birthday D&D!

We moved our couches around for a living room makeover that shall be revealed eventually — I know, right? Please at least try to control your excitement. Here is what was underneath one of them:

The final count: 6 tennis balls, 18 Q-tips, 23 half eaten dog treats, 1 spoon. And a, sadly, empty bag of Starburst jellybeans. I totally would have eaten them.

So Ike and I have been walking a lot lately.

I’m so glad I bring my camera with me everywhere, because yesterday I found this:

No way, I thought. No way did I just find a bag of cocaine on the ground. If it is, the dealer has got to be new. And what is he doing dealing drugs? He’s obviously got organizational skills that would make some company really happy.

I kicked it over to see if, by chance, any white powder was underneath it.

Just a test. Boring, but still exciting for a walk around the neighborhood with your dog.

Ike was less interested in the cocaine test and more interested in this:

That house had SEVEN cats in front of it. There were two more across the street.

You might be thinking to yourself, wow, cocaine tests and crazy cat ladies? I will NEVER be visiting the Dandy House. Psh. I haven’t even told you about my crazy neighbors yet.

four score and seven years ago…

You guys, I got the best compliment a while ago.

I’ve been told I look like a few random celebrities, none of which I agree with. In fact, in high school, my health teacher who I’m pretty sure was some sort of drug addict (yay public school!) told me I looked like Blair Underwood. Do you know who Blair Underwood is? If you’re a Sex and the City fan you might remember him as the Knicks’ doctor who dated Miranda and gave her a cookie cake that said “I love you”.

Not ringing a bell? Well, he is a large black man.

Recently someone told me I look like the cutest, most well dressed celebrity around, and I will take it as my official celebrity doppleganger:

Finding Y’s doppleganger has been a little bit harder. My dad thinks he looks like Roger Sterling.

Any online avatar he makes ends up looking like Justin Timberlake:

I can kind of see it… I just don’t think Y has the moves.

But yesterday, Y’s friend and I glimpsed Y’s shadow in profile… and it was obvious:

Obviously, I added the hat – well, maybe not obviously, you don’t know our lives — but can you see it?

Camera happy

Ever since I started listening to The Girl Who Played with Fire while walking Ike, I feel like my walks have gotten a little… darker.

Ike just feels like they’ve gotten longer.

By the way, for those of you have read the book, can we discuss how Lisbeth Salander went on an Ikea shopping spree and then had her furniture delivered and assembled by Ikea? According to the signs at Ikea Frisco, that’s driving up their prices and I will not stand for it.

don’t judge a book by its texting/messaging skills

This post is Scholarly Ike approved.

Today a friend and fellow grammar nerd was telling me about a guy she met. Of all of his great qualities, she said the one that made him most dateable was that he used a semi-colon. Correctly. In a text.

I told her that he was definitely a keeper, but that you probably should judge a book by its texting/messaging. Y, for instance, is one of the smartest people I know, but I would not be surprised if I got a message from him one night after class that said hye just got dun studying about how to b a docter!

Not 5 minutes later, Y g-chatted me.

i ate a bunch of oragnes. and now a friut fly wont leave my beard alone.

A poll

The other night, five of us went out for dessert to one of the fanciest (and darkest, judging by my terrible picture) restaurants in town. Our waiter tempted us with key lime and creme brulee flavored martinis, and my friend who doesn’t drink ordered a coffee. The waiter would not take coffee for an answer.

“You want some kahlua with that coffee, right?” he said


“Some rum?”


“Some Bailey’s?”

“She’s pregnant!” one of my friends blurted out, trying to get him to shut up. As we all giggled nervously, the waiter asked what she was having. Apparently, Fake Baby D is a girl.

Our giggling kind of wore off as our waiter, who was practically misty eyed, reminisced about how holding his now nine year old as a newborn. The lie wasn’t funny anymore. (Until my friend got extra ice cream since she was “eating for two”).

So, my question is, it is just in my part of the world that, even in your mid-20s, you have to make up an entire human being to get out of being peer pressured?

In hindsight, I’m not sure why we didn’t just tell him she was driving. Oh well.