Dear Jesse Jackson,

So you’ve been busted using the n-word on tape.

You were pretty quick with the apology on saying that Obama’s nuts should indeed remain intact, but this latest revelation about what else is on that tape is even worse.

Personally, I’m curious to where the outrage is.

Don Imus called a basketball team a bunch of “nappy headed hoes,” and the girls went on Oprah for a healing session. Imus lost his job. When he did get it back eight months later, he was rehired with a huge pay cut.

Michael Richards lost it on stage, went on a completely inappropriate rant, and now isn’t going to work again.

But when you — a moral leader whose entire career is based on eliminating racial demoralization — use the n-word, you ask that we “move on to address the real issues that affect the American people”.

Well, Jesse, this is a real issue. And as someone who has focused his career on equalizing the wrongs that are being done, you should know and understand more than anyone just how real an issue this is.

The thing with the n-word is that no matter who utters it, it’s damaging to the entire group. It’s been nearly 150 years since slavery’s abolition, yet the idea that one’s color can determine one’s character still exists.

Using that word perpetuates the ideas and behavior from this time period. When someone with your status uses it, it illegitimates what both you and our nation have been working toward.

Being black doesn’t give you a free pass to say what you like. This isn’t a term of empowerment among you and your friends. This isn’t a way to induce camaraderie among strangers. This isn’t you trying to relate with others who feel that its use is acceptable.

This is wrong.

The double standards you exhibit are also wrong. You took both Imus and Richards to the chopping block for their words. You still haven’t apologized to the Duke Lacross players who you wrongfully accused of a crime that never occurred. And on a non-racial front, you also had that love child out of wedlock while acting as a representative who promotes morality.

You do far less for the black community than you think you do and you receive credit for. As a professional agitator, you thrive off of racism. Without it, you have no career. But when you contribute to the racism that is alive and well today, you too should be taken to task.

Enough already! Will you please just go away?

– ChicagoJo

With a stark increase in the number of items in my Me Being Pissy category, can you tell that I’m a little PMS-y crazy? With that, this weekend I got the urge to purge. I focused my efforts on the kitchen, being brutal in tossing stuff out. Knowing that there’s an impending move, my goal was to get down to the minimum.

Glasses I don’t like or use were tossed. The really nice crystal I don’t use was promised to a friend who caught wind of my tossing. Plastic bowls found themselves in the trash. Unable to fully part with my oh-so-rad (but generally unused) set of deep blue wine glasses, they were packed into my suitcase for my next trip to Texas for storage. The Wilton baking gear was pulled into my eBay-this-stuff pile in my office (to be sold once my Internet again functions).

With all this tossing also came the burning desire to clean the hell out of everything I was keeping. All remaining utensils, glasses, plates, and bowls got a good soaking and scrubbing before being run through the dishwasher.

Once my madness was done, I took a look into my aligned cabinet and noticed something odd: I was missing a some cereal bowls.

Way back when I was at the start of my domestic phase (year #3 with borefriend #1, the year I got both a crock pot and a bread machine but prior to getting a juicer), his parents gave me this set of dishes from the mall’s flagship department store. They were way nicer than any set I’d had, mine all previously coming from Wal-Mart. I made a matching candle as my kitchen table’s centerpiece (I kid you not), and they’ve since moved with me several times. Actually really liking these dishes, I’m pretty well aware that there are eight sets of everything.

Eight big plates.

Eight mini plates.

Eight bowls.

(The eight saucers and eight tea cups were subsequently sold on eBay prior to the last time I moved, since they were never, ever used.)

Looking in my all-scrubbed-up cabinet, it was pretty obvious that my stack of bowls was half of my other two stacks. Account for my using one more bowl as Hambone’s makeshift food bowl (his usual was among the items soaked, scrubbed, and then run through the washer), and that leaves me three bowls short.

When it comes to bowls, there are only three places they’ll be: in the sink, in the washer, or in the cabinet.

Since I was scrubbing already-clean dishes, you can damn well bet that there was nothing in my sink. My washer is currently half-full of spatulas, a couple mixing bowls, and the one remaining cake pan. And the cabinet’s contents were what alerted me to the issue at hand.

I’m absolutely stumped to where these dishes could have gone. To no avail, I’ve spent time over the past three days glancing in areas where these bowls should not be.

Oh, but the mystery continues…

For the past few days, I’ve been missing my sleepwear. This being my black bra and a pair of for-real black undies (not a thong), they’re pretty noticeable among the other items in my drawer of unmentionables.

Like the dishes, there are only three places these items can be: in the hamper, in the washer, or in the dresser.

The first day that I couldn’t find them, I assumed I tossed them in the hamper for their usual frequent washing. I spent the next couple nights in a white bra and shorts, thinking nothing of their absence. Two nights ago I finally had enough clothes in the hamper to fill a light and a dark load, so I ran everything through. I didn’t check specifically for these items, having forgotten about their disappearance. But last night when I went to check for my usual sleep gear, they were no where to be found.

Add to it that this morning, as I went to dress for work, I noticed that my good white bra is also missing.

If it was just the latter items missing, I’d assume there was a pervert swiping my stuff. However, a pervert who also has a penchant for Pfaltzgraff cereal bowls seems unlikely.

My home door is always locked. The front entrance to the building is policed by security guards. I’m not friendly enough with anyone in my building that would lead anyone to play a prank on me.

In sum, I’m absolutely baffled.

Please let my Comments section know if you have any leads. All tips are welcome.

Dear Uplink Chicago,

Before the end of June, I’d had no problems with my at-home Internet connection. It worked, moved quickly, and wasn’t anything I had to even think about. That’s how I like my Internet connection: I pay the $35, and it magically works.

However, when June started wrapping up, I noticed that my Internet stopped working. I tried the normal troubleshooting stuff like restarting my Windows machine. I then turned off the wireless router, let it sit for a bit, and then turned it back on. I took a cord and attached it from my wireless router to my machine. I unplugged everything and went from the wall directly to the computer. I lugged my work laptop home and tried the cord from the wall to the machine. Lo and behold, none of that worked.

It was at this point that I filed a service request seeking help. When a couple days went by without hearing from any Uplink Chicago representative, I called the phone number on your web site. A blurry message told me that Chicago apparently had an outage, but services were restored.

Alas, mine were not.

This is when my attempt to get tech support started in earnest. My first message was a friendly “Hi, this is Jo with service request #69. Please call me back to help resolve the issue.” The next day was met with silence, so I updated my service ticket to say that the issue was still not resolved. The next day had the familiar quiet, so I left a still-somewhat-friendly phone message. I have alternated between the phone and an online service request update for several, several days now.

Today I decided to hit Uplink’s tech support ghost line with both a voicemail and an online update. I informed them that their lack of response was not only ridiculous, but that I noticed today was my billing date and had just changed my billing information so I could not be charged anymore while services were not being rendered.

Wouldn’t you know that the company’s representative finally found time in his busy schedule to call me back?! What an amazing coincidence!

Despite being annoyed that it took me suspending payment to get a simple call returned, I was extremely annoyed when he tried to tell me that my service outage was fixed at the beginning of last week and that all should be working just fine.

Uplink Chicago, riddle me this: Why would I continue to contact you daily if my connection was indeed working?! Do you not think that the first time I got your fuzzy answering machine message saying all was in the clear that I didn’t go home with a little skip to my step with hopes that my connection would again be working? Do you not think I didn’t repeat all of my troubleshooting after service was supposedly reinstated?

Alas, I now have your service representative’s cell phone number saved in my cell phone. And believe me when I say that if I find out that my Internet goes down at 3 a.m., I will be calling Raj to let him know.

– ChicagoJo

Dear Cirque du Soleil,

As a member on the Cirque mailing list, I always look forward to shows coming to Chicago. I enjoy the shows so much that I recommend them to my friends. In fact, this time I’m bringing a large group — myself and eight others.

Whenever I go to purchase tickets for a show of any sort and see that Ticketmaster is being cut out, I’m always pleased. Purchasing tickets with their exorbitant fees takes away some of the excitement of planning to see a show.

This being said, you can imagine my displeasure in the fees charged through the Cirque website. A $7.50 convenience fee? With no other option on how to purchase tickets, this is hardly “convenient”. And the $5 E-Ticket delivery? This is an auto-send program that involves no manual labor after the one-time technical setup.

I expect this tomfoolery from the jerkbags at Ticketmaster. It’s how they make their money. But when your company charges nearly $70 a head, adding another $12.50 per ticket is just fleecing your customers. This is not only ridiculous, but it’s also disappointing.

Your company should be embarrassed by its taking advantage of customers with these ticketing antics. Since my friend has already made the group’s purchase, I can’t do anything about this for the upcoming Kooza show. However, do not expect to get another $82.50 from me.

ChicagoJo

There’s a lot to celebrate lately, and I’m even including the guys this time. In alphabetical order:

Abel just finished the first draft of his second book, and it only took him three months to crank this one out! This timeframe is impressive, but it’s doubly impressive when you add in that he works fulltime, has three kids under the age of four, works out multiple times per week, and values spending time with his amazing wife. For details on his first book, go here. It’s an incredible story that is beautifully written.

Amber is off to her summer intensive session to further work on finishing up her PhD. She’s busting her hump right now to get both work and her household (with a one-year-old) ready for her three-week absence. Everything will be ready, and she’ll be able to completely rock school out without worry.

Ato made it back to Kenya. After years away, she’s finally home. Everything’s going really well for her, and that makes me oh-so-happy.

Brandon is finally understanding stats! He’s working on his master’s, and this is the first class that’s made him have to flex that rockstar brain of his. The funky math is getting easier, and I’m sure he’ll get through the rest of the session without issue.

Carla has stepped up and started addressing her health issues. I’m proud that she’s taken this step and is getting things done. I want her around for a good, long while!

Catie was offered a position that will make her the boss of everything. That includes you and you and you. Well, if you worked for her company. Way to go, senior exec! It won’t be too long until she’s so high in the company that they have to start publishing her salary in the yearly stakeholder report. Beware! I’ll ask for a pony then.

Chaitra has decided to start working out with me each afternoon in my condo’s gym. She’s had a lot of changes in her life lately, and this is definitely a positive one!

Christine made it to Arizona and is doing that Law and Order thing. I still haven’t figured out if she’s the Law or the Order part, so I’ll sum it with like this: DUM DUM!

Dallas successfully moved out and got herself a new job! She’ll be the boss of things and making great money while using that sparkling personality of hers!

Ig took a hush-hush government job and moved to DC. He had things pretty cushy here in Chicago, so it was quite a leap for him. On a funny note, I was interviewed by the agency as a personal reference. Talk about cool!

Jenna starts training soon for her new work-from-home job. She’ll be better able to support her family with these skills, and it’s in one of those fields where I’ll be picking her brain for info. Way to go, Jen!

Kyle moved out and got himself a few jobs! The boy is playing baseball for money (making him somewhat of a professional, right?!), teaching kids the game’s fundamentals. He’s also flexing his muscles, fixing his hair, and flashing his pearly whites for money too. He’s not only talented, but he’s also pretty!

Mike is interviewing for a new teaching job. No more kids who curse at you for trying to teach them about volcanoes!

Nadine is working on being more laid back, and so far she’s doing a great job! Not only does she occasionally go out on a week night now *gasp*, she’s also sleeping past 7:30 occasionally. Good job, Nadine!

Perry got a job singing for a living. The man has an angel’s voice, and now he’s getting paid to use it. Doing what you’re good at and love doing sure beats a random office job! Great work, Perry!

Phil also got himself a new job. Working with fun technology, he’s channeling the dot-com days and working on something that’s up-and-coming. He’s working with great people on a project that is so much better than TPS reports. No need to worry about your cover sheets, Phil!

Wendy — oh man! Where do I start! She just up and moved to Chicago after rocking through law school. She’s oh-so-close to taking the bar, grabbing it by the balls until it shouts, “Uncle!” She’s also started an all-new fitness regime, tapping on muscles that aren’t usually used. Check out the bravery, big brains, and soon-to-be-there muscles on Wendy!

Dear Greenpeace,

I like trees. I like whales. I like clean air, clean water, functioning ecosystems, and animals not being in the way of danger. In sum, I dig this save-the-environment thing.

However, I am totally not with you on the personal solicitations your group does in downtown Chicago.

The college students in their light blue shirts have become a fixture on street corners. It’s hard to miss them. Attempts to talk with me range from “Got a minute to help save the environment?” to “Want to save some trees?” It’s cute, kitschy, and leads me to believe that those kids really and truly will only take one minute of my time before asking for money.

My problem is that I can’t leave my goddamn building without being asked four times if I want to save the goddamn trees. It would make sense that if I am on Clark and heading east, I just came from LaSalle. Ya know, where there was a swarm of 20-year-olds asking for my time to save the environment. Seeing that they’re similarly blue-shirted on Clark as they were on LaSalle, I assume they’re in cahoots.

Being asked four times in two blocks if I can spare a moment to help their cause doesn’t wear on me in a way that I get to the fourth kids and say, “Hmm, wow. You’re really committed. Let me go ahead and give you a moment and see what I think about opening my wallet then.”

No siree!

The constant solicitations make me want to vote straight-party republican with hopes that you’ll lose all funding and will get the fuck off the streets.

In truth, I wish these kids success. I really, truly do. However, I also recognize that when they succeed, other groups will follow suit. You’ve already got Children’s International out there doing the same schtick. How long till I start getting hit up for AIDs, cancer, human rights, and the unicorn preservation fund?

I’ve got a good decade being marketing whiz, so please take this suggestion. Chicagoans have money, are socially aware, and like booze. Get off the streets, invite us to a do-gooder event with an open bar, and I promise we’ll write you a big, fat checks for your efforts. That’s how Chicago rolls.

Now, kindly get off the streets, and leave me the fuck alone.

Many thanks,
ChicagoJo

I cancelled my gym membership yesterday.

It’s not that I’ve decided to go back to a larger size in pants, start watching TV all night long, and eating nothing but those oh-so-delicious mashed potatoes with the spicy gravy from Popeyes. No siree.

After Monday’s workout, I walked toward the gym’s back exit. On the bulletin board where there are usually articles from Shape Magazine saying how much those featured fitness models love working out, a single sheet of paper was posted:

“After nine years, we’re sorry to report that our Marina City location is closing on July 31st.”

The note goes on to say that they will happily transfer our memberships to other locations, the closest being a quarter mile away.

I really love my gym and the company that runs it, but it’s time to part ways.

I’m fortunate enough to have a senior manager who understands that I need to get away from my desk in the middle of the day. She trusts that I perform the work assigned and make up the hours as needed. Right now I’m away from my desk for 90 minutes each afternoon, and I fully recognize that this pushes the leniency given. Moving the gym even a little bit will push those 90 minutes into the inappropriate two-hour range, and that’s just not going to work.

For those of you in normal cities, I don’t expect you to understand how moving a measly quarter of a mile can affect things that much. Liken this to your gym moving from a strip mall shared with a Dollar General to one next to a Super Wal-Mart. Wouldn’t that quarter-mile move change your ability to get in and out of the gym in a timely manner?

I’ve already taken a quick peek online at the gyms around here. Initiation fees. Monthly initiation charges that are double my current amount. Inadequate facilities. No free towels. Plans where I can only come in on designated days per week. On and on and on.

Couple all of that with me knowing that I won’t be living here for that much longer, and there’s little reason for me to even mess with paying more to get into the swing at a new location.

So long, Crunch at Marina City. The past year and a half has been a good one.

Read the article here: Autistic Toddler Removed from Plane

Dear American Airlines,

I’ve got an immediate suggestion for author Julie Deardorff. A title change is needed:

Unruly Toddler Removed from Plane

In the mother’s own words, the child “was on the floor rolling around”. According to the FAA’s regulations and guidelines on seat belts:

[T]he “Fasten Seat Belt” sign shall be turned on during any movement on the surface, for each takeoff, for each landing, and at any other time considered necessary by the pilot in command… [Each passenger] shall fasten his or her safety belt about him or her and keep it fastened while the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign is lighted… [And each] passenger shall comply with instructions given him or her by a crewmember regarding compliance.

Simply put: According to the rules and regulations put forth by the agency deemed as the ultimate rule-maker in this nation of ours, American Airlines is in the right.

This, however, isn’t the main point of my entry. My problem is that the author (and subsequently many people in the comments section) went apeshit over the fact that the child being reprimanded for his behavior was autistic.

Why is it that when you throw in a disability, suddenly this is noted as an outrageous slap in the face for those with disabilities? More than one comment suggested that the mother sue ‘em in the name of the ADA. Puh-lease.

This isn’t a matter of someone with a wheelchair being intentionally left behind because assistance would make take-off a few minutes late. This isn’t a matter of someone being denied access to a flight because he or she is blind and traveling with an assistance animal. On and on and on.

This is a safety matter.

I applaud you, American Airlines, for valuing the safety of your passengers — including that little hellion beast and his overly sensitive mother. Now, if you remove the ridiculous $15 charge for checked baggage, I’ll consider flying you once again.

Sincerely,

ChicagoJo

I have a friend with wedding fever. With hopes that she doesn’t incessantly blab to her now-boyfriend about her expectations of the not-too-distant future, she’s focusing her obsession on me.

This is fine. Because despite the bitter cynicism and biting sarcasm I display 24/7, I actually love weddings.

Correction: Promising your soul to another person gets a big ol’ “blah blah blah” from me, but I love everything that goes with weddings.

Dressing up in nice clothes? Check!

Eating cake? Check!

Partying with a good DJ and an open bar? Check!

And in this case specifically: Getting new jewelry? Check! Check!

That being said, allowing her to voice her matrimonial gushings has lead to trying on jewels in the store. And when one friend is trying on rings with a true intent, apparently jewelry store employees have no issue with her single friend trying on the blingiest of all the blings and exclaiming how she’s gotta get herself a baller boyfriend.

Trying on rings in stores had me realize just how much my preferences have changed over the years.

Back when I was a wee Jo with not nearly the enthusiasm I now have for shiny things, I had simple tastes. A little solitaire sitting atop a few-millimeter-wide band that’s yellow gold in color was what I always thought I’d want:

It’s simple. It’s practical. It’s…

Holy crap! Only a quarter of a carat and in a shade of metal that clashes with my porcelain skin!

It wasn’t too long until that was no longer in the running, and that was at about the time that my then-boyfriend and I were settling into domestic tranquility and considering our lives together forever and ever.

It was at about year #4 when my wedding fever hit, and I told him in no uncertain terms that it was about time to pony up and get the show on the road. He responded a few months and a bunch of pressure later by doing Very Bad Things that left me no choice but to pack up my dignity and let him be.

Homeboy would have been saddled with a not-so-massive payment for this shiner:

Alas, post-breakup I bought a fakey for myself from WalMart, gazed at it for about a week, and decided that I needed to better refine my tastes in both jewelry and in men.

After settling into my move to Chicago, I eventually came across a man who moved my world. (Fucker.) He made me want to run faster, jump higher, and be an all-around better person. (I repeat: Fucker.) There was this constant, amazing awestruck pride that made me think, “Wow. This could really be it.” (Must I repeat the noun I’ve already used twice?)

On Christmas I opened a package within and bigger package within a bigger package to reveal the only jewelry I’d ever attached any sentimentality to. It wasn’t an engagement ring, but I hadn’t ever seen anything that sparkled quite like that.

That man and I went through a rough patch, him realizing that it was about time to make it or break it. The reconciliation 30 whole days later brought closeness, comfort, and a look toward the future.

I would have rallied to continue wearing the sparkly Christmas ring with just a sparklier band added to it, but then I got a little wise and figured out that I could get something even bigger and better:

He ended up choosing the “break it” option six month later, so I did like I did before and bought the ring for myself. I’d look at it and think, “Wow. Now that’s perfection!”

That bauble has more than sufficiently replaced the Christmas ring as my favorite, to the point that I parted with the ring he gifted me by gifting it to my favorite drag queen. She tells me that it makes a bitchin’ toe ring, and that makes me happy beyond words.

And although my ring really is beautiful and what I’d theoretically want as my forever-and-ever ring, going ring shopping with no budget in mind had really turned me on to something new.

These days, I’m not fucking around. We’re adults. We already own houses, have established careers, and have enough disposable income to make me say DAAAAAAAMN each I look at my hand for the rest of my life.

Yellow gold mini solitaire, sapphire three-stone ring, and kick-ass blue ring, you can all suck it. There’s a new sheriff in town:

Remember that time that I had so many partial entries written that I just put them all up here? It’s that time again. I’ve got so many sitting in my blog-writing Word document that aren’t going anywhere. I figure it’s time for a mostly-clean slate.

Nothing’s all too interesting, but here are the partial entries that never quite made it into full-on postings.

It’s no secret that I rule by the head. If I need a decision made, a list of the pros and cons is written, the items are weighted by priority, and everything’s added up or subtracted, resulting in a nice and tidy showing of what just makes sense.

When matters involve the heart, I’m as much of an idiot as everyone else. In those instances, I have to let the head do the thinking, accepting that how things fall are as they should be.

Heart-thumping decisions don’t just involve boys. They also involve family, friends, and my future happiness. In the case of what was written in my past entry, I know that the pros are equally long in each list. I’m just going to have to employ a good amount of patience and see where my cards fall.

Just today, one of the items was knocked off the list: I will definitely not be heading to the Marshall Islands next autumn to teach high school English. Seeing that I do not possess a teaching certification nor have plans of obtaining one, that made the decision for me.

I like when decisions are easy. This is a good thing.

My very dear parents spent the weekend at my new place in Houston. Among other tasks, they patched and painted walls that needed some work to make the unit rental-ready. Being friendly people who befriend cats and talk with strangers, they even found me a likely candidate for moving into the place once it’s ready to go.

I’m amazed by how my parents have taken over that part of my business. Unasked and without wanting anything in return, they stepped in to help shape this part of my dream. It goes to show what parents will do to help their children, and I can’t help but join the bandwagon they’re pulling and also be proud of what we’re doing here. This really is a joint effort, and I can’t wait to share more with them.

And by more, I mean the rewards… Not the painting!

In the next year, no matter where I live, I have to ramp up the money-making. I’m working with the county’s tax assessor to get into sheriff’s sales. This means that I can bid to pay off someone’s delinquent taxes, take possession of the house, and then hold onto it until the payment expiration date passes. Nine times out of 10 the person doesn’t redeem the house, so it is permanently added to my collection. Seeing that this county runs along the water in a desirable Texas vacationing spot, I’m sure I can pick up a few places that will bring in some monthly income.

Clothing malfunctions — eek!

Yesterday SheBoss leaned over and whispered, “Your black thong is showing.”

Color me embarrassed.

For one, enough of my undies were showing that it was evident that I was wearing a thong. That means that my pants drooped to crack-flash level. That’s never a good thing.

Second, there was something oddly poignant about being told that my black thong was showing. I don’t know why it struck me as more embarrassing than if she had just said that my thong was showing; but I guess it’s that added acknowledgment that a bunch of what little there is of those undies was showing.

The thing with this is that those pants are from my skinny pants collection. With all of the working out, they’re back in high rotation. However, with my waistline shrinking and my tush staying the same, there’s a bit of a gap in the back.

Hence the unintentional black thong showing.

For the rest of the day I was aware of any possible thong-age, keeping my shirt fully pulled down in the back.

Today I wore another pair of pants from my skinny collection. This pair differs from the previous pair, in that it’s from the even-skinnier collection. This means that they fit a-okay with no possible thong-showing.

However, today the pants aren’t the problem. Instead of my thong on display, today’s shirt is showing off too much of my cream-colored bra. Both the straps and the top of the cup are coming out of what is usually decently hidden. I can’t think of any type of working out that would make my bra show, so I’m baffled that today’s undergarments are making a show of things.

Years back the Hollywood tartlets made a mockery of decency and flashed their thongs around. Those six inches of silk and lace hanging out the back were 10x tacky. Most Americans recognized the ick factor and avoided this showing.

However, once the weather climbs above 80, I’ve seen too many women forgoing that whole “underwear are supposed to be under your clothing” thing, apparently thinking that one’s bra does not constitute as underwear.

Those clear, plastic straps aren’t fooling anybody. Wearing a halter, racer-back, or spaghetti-strapped tank with a regular bra is also giving a show. No one but Carrie Bradshaw can pull off the black-bra under a white-shirt thing, and even she did it trashy.

Working and working out don’t make for good blog entries

So, yeah. I’ve been quiet for a bit. Chicago’s in that turn of Spring where it gives a day of glorious weather and then follows it up with a nasty smackdown. Two days ago, it was sunny and warm-ish, allowing me to ride my new-to-me bike along the lakefront path while I skipped work. Yesterday was 15 degrees cooler with this nasty mix of snow, ice, and rain. I’m ready to jump off my balcony.

I supposed this is Mother Nature’s way of returning the punch to the face that Hummer drivers give her.

Thanks a lot, jerks.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, I bought myself a bike two days ago. I’ve been looking online for a for-real road bike, but I’m unwilling to spend more than $400 on it. This guy I was seeing at the beginning of the year kept sending me links to bikes, and I’d have to repeat, “Hon, $800 is not $400.” If he wasn’t so pretty, I wouldn’t have been so patient with the bike links.

Anyway, knowing that all I want to do at this point is go up and down the lakefront path when I’m bored and should be getting sunshine, I have also been looking for an absolute beater of a bike.

Those bikes at KMart? Bingo!

The $75 price tag for something I know I won’t be taking to Texas with me? No thanks.

The other day I got this hunch that told me to get onto Craig’s List while at work. This is usually a complete no-no on my self-imposed site monitoring, but I went anyway. Lo and behold, there was a mountain bike of the KMart variety for $35. The lady confirmed that it was good for short people, and I made arrangements to be there after work to pick it up.

Now, this bike isn’t much to look at… But it works, and it isn’t too big for me. The end.

And even though it’s been a good 20 years since I recall riding a bike, it didn’t take too long before I felt balanced. By the end of the few miles home, I took to the streets and resisted the urge to ride like a jackass as so many other bikers do.

In a final all-out hippie moment, I locked up my bike and bought some organic stuff at Trader Joe’s.

[Note: This bike since broke. I have an even-better bike now.]

I’ve alternated between being so friggin’ busy and doing absolutely nothing lately. On the days where winter hasn’t beaten my motivation to levels of nothingness, I’m non-stop. From 9 in the morning until about 4 the next morning, I’m working my day job, crunching numbers for real estate, and reading as much as possible. I have a huge to-do list that’s keeping me really busy.

Replacing the hibiscus flower

How I earned the bottle of good rum — Joel, six weeks, didn’t hear once about wife or daughter, workout/dinner/drinks, kept the rum as my reward

There’s a man in my office who smells like hot dogs. I’m not at all grossed out; I’m just hungry.

Age 25.5 blurb: Baby girl was in love. In that so-much-it-hurts-your-soul, shout-it-from-the-rooftop, absolute-awestruck-pride-feelin’ l-o-v-e love. But he’s a turd, so that was that. It turned into so-much-it-hurts-everything, weep-and-wail-from-the-rooftop, absolute-emptiness-feelin’ p-a-i-n pain. So Jo made some friends, drank a lot, ate amazing food, went on a bunch of vacations, and did whatever she damn well pleased. She got a glimpse of extreme-like from an unusual source, went wide-eyed with shock, and ran at just the right time to avoid any unpleasantness.

Age 23 blurb: Freshly to Chicago. Loves the train. Interests involve rollerblading, talking with strangers, and dancing at the Hangge Uppe. Just started drinking beer. Doesn’t think it’s *that* cold.

Age 20.5 blurb: Wants to get married! Have babies! Spends time thinking about hyphenating my last name, out-right taking his, or seeing if he’ll take mine because it’s 10x more awesome than his. What? No, I don’t have a ring? But that’ll come.

Age 18 blurb: First new apartment. College cheerleader. TA for English classes. Short stint as a shot girl. Adept in Texas rental laws and threatens to sue apartment complexes in her spare time. Hopes to make $30,000 per year upon graduation.

I’ve been thinking lately about my upcoming move, and there’s a mix of both anxiety and excitement.

Professionally, things are going to be a lot different. When you’re no longer 9-to-5-ing it, there is an immense gain in freedom and a complete loss in social contact and structure. Believe me when I say I’ll take the freedom over all of it, but the social aspects are definitely something I didn’t previously consider.

Let’s face it: I won’t have friends. Although my semi-spontaneous move to Chicago started with no friends or job prospect, Houston will be different since I have the security of my family nearby. With my parents 15 miles away, my brother likely moving into my house one dirty sock at a time, and being able to spend the weekends hosting my sister and her kids, will the convenience of having them around sap any motivation to find people my own age?

I adore my family more than I ever have before, so I’m excited about getting to spend time with them; however, there’s something about people who are about your age and go through the same daily toils that will make me miss having those sorts of people around.

Highly recommended product: Ped Egg

What you give, you get in return

Ever since the Law and Order rerun channel picked up early episodes of My Name is Earl, I’ve seen a lot of commercials for the show. For those who haven’t ever seen the show, the premise is that Earl is a small-time criminal and neighborhood bad guy who learns about karma and decides to turn his life around. He makes a list of all the bad things he’s done in his life of crime, and he’s going around to apologize and make up for each bad act.

It’s well-written and out-right hilarious, yet it’s also a family-friendly show with a positive message. There really aren’t too many of those out there. And although I give it five stars and two thumbs up, that’s not the point of this posting. This one’s all about karma.

I remember learning about the concept in my later college years. This whole idea of a universal give and take intrigued me. I’m too logical to agree that there’s an exact running tab, but my boyfriend at the time (also ever the skeptic) summed it up nicely:

If you’re nice, people are inclined to do nice things for you. If you’re a jerk, they’re not.

I’ve since adopted his oversimplified version of this cosmic push toward equilibrium.

It’s no secret that there’s a lot I want to accomplish this year. I’ve done a lot of planning and work (every night after my 9-5 is another few hours), and I’m finally up for action galore. Things are moving along nicely, but Earl’s put the thought of the not-so-simplified karma in my head.

Although I’m putting in the work to get what I want out of it, I wonder how my being-a-good-person meter is doing. I’m asking for a lot lately, and it can’t hurt to make sure I’m spreading a fair amount of good will out there.

Last night as I sifted through my 2007 tax information to ready it for sending to my accountant, I came across my donation receipts. I never really stacked them up before, but putting them into the binder really opened my eyes to what I’ve given out this year. I’m not exactly tutoring orphans in my nonexistant spare time, and going to the gym doesn’t count as giving back to the community, but this was an impressive line-up of charities that I helped out.

Epilepsy. General cancer. Breast cancer. Lung cancer. College support programs. The local children’s hospital. ALS. After-school programs. Autism.

All of these are causes my friends care about, and I’m proud that I can provide some monetary support to what’s important to the people important to me. As my business grows, I look forward to being able to increase the resources I give to these programs.

[11:03] Joanna: hmm
[11:03] Joanna: I’m thinking about it
[11:03] Joanna: and in Law and Order, which side is Law, and which is Order
[11:03] Joanna: it’s kinda ambiguous
[11:04] Joanna: you’d think that Law would def be the lawyer part
[11:04] Joanna: but the police enforce the laws
[11:04] Joanna: and if Law is the lawyer part, think about the Order part
[11:04] Joanna: The police enforce the laws, and that results in Order
[11:04] Joanna: but the lawyers bring about justice, which ensures order
[11:04] Joanna: points to ponder

Two days ago I managed to break the fuck out of my home computer. Due to paranoia about this sort of thing, I’m pretty careful about what I look at with my computer. No naked pictures. No downloading music or videos. No watching archived TV shows. No nothing! But I go to the comment section of a site I go to regularly, and things start popping up.

Yes, I’ve run all of the virus and malware scans available. They clear things out quite nicely before that little line of code where the crap is stored regenerates the bug and I get Windows-looking pop-ups littered with grammar errors that offer to clean off my machine for $39.99.

Seriously, now. How is there not a pending suit against these companies? They intentionally infect your computer and then make it so you either have to wipe your machine clean or pay their ransom. If individuals are fined heavily for unintentionally releasing email worms, how can a company be allowed to exist that preys on this? Any of you lawyer-y friends of mine know who to contact about action on this?

It’s not about compensation for my time and frustration; this is about something being WRONG. Were I not technically savvy enough to get hold of an operating system disc, have all of my stuff backed up, and load everything onto a wiped-out system, what would my options be?

I’ll add that to my list of things to do during my upcoming semi-retirement.

Man, I have so many things that I want to do. I have three web sites to start/run, a list of oddball jobs I want to explore, and three books to write. Having time to do them all is something I’m 10x excited about.

He was the closest I’d come to marrying someone. With sparks flying and passion galore, our time together was this excited anticipation for whatever came next. After an amount of time I’m embarrassed to admit to in a public arena, we agreed that this was something we could do for the rest of our lives.

I never believed in love at first sight or the notion of an actual soulmate before, but he made me question my doubt in both.

A mere few weeks into it, he told me that he was untruthful about something very important.

That was that.

Every six weeks I’d get a call to check in and see if I was still holding him at bay. I held my ground firmly. A betrayal like that — especially so early on — was unforgivable. Add to it that the situation he misinformed me about was complicated and drama-filled, and it was like trying to get a cat into a bath. He could hold my arms to my side with hopes that I’d get wet; but as the hypothetical water approached, I’d flail until I held myself over the tub with all fours locked at the joints.

As the years passed, the calls came more and more infrequently. Three months would pass before the next. Then six. Then it moved onto mutual acquaintances feigning interest in my life while dropping a line that he mentioned me the other day.

The last bit of contact was about a year ago. A stranger wrote me a MySpace message and said that if I wanted to know how the guy I once considered loving for the rest of my days was doing, he’d let me know. I didn’t fully bite the bait, instead writing back to say that I was positive my former love was doing well since he’s the type of man who makes things happen.