u s e y o u r h a n d s

Instead of going out and playing all weekend, I was struck down by a nasty cold. My throat felt like someone got at it with a pipe cleaner. The whole of my body ached as if someone had beated me with a length of pipe. And, as I had not been attacked by either pipe cleaner or pipe, I knew I was in for it. On top of these insults, my back has been a big nasty knot since Thursday.

I have a new piece on Gaper’s Block. I think it’s good. You may disagree, but then again, you might be both fat and ugly. Really, it’s your loss.

The phlegm, it is green!

Cops take note! I have purchased a City of Chicago sticker for my car. I have inflicted such ugliness on my cute little wagon. Put your ticket pads away, for I have joined the ranks.

Dear Muffin,

Priced at $.75, you proved to be unexpectedly delicious. I especially enjoyed your crunchy top. Your blueberries were underwhelming, as are most blueberries in muffins, so at least I knew what I was getting into. But back to your top! Love the sugar in the raw. Love, love it.

Thanks Again,
Shylo

Check back later today for Missed Connections.

Oh, my God. Somebody should invent a cork — a very well-designed, futuristic cork, maybe by Umbra? — to pop in one’s mouth when one’s mouth is spewing the diarrheal rants of the intoxicated.

At some point during my second yummy (and therefore retarding) martini at The Gramercy, some part of me decided to be charming, fresh-faced, and impish. I think I pulled this off, though I was not pleased at all with this performance. The whole time I was mugging for cameras and licking the sugared rim of my desserty intoxicant, my brain desperately tried to telegraph my mouth with an “SOS – you’re pretty well appalling me now” message.

But oh that mouth! She never leesten to me. She always wants to seeng with the band. And, it seems, that my mouth really wanted to retell mundane anecdotes, some of which involved ’70s powerband Styx. But at least the mouth coordinated with the brain to mock the party at right, who sang Bon Jovi nonsense until one member’s Abercrombie visor slipped down over his eyes. Nothing distracts group singing like a frat boy crying because he’s “alone in the dark.”

Do you want to know more of the mouth’s crimes? It teamed up with the tum and demanded a cheese sandwich. Male companion said no, citing lack of bread. I stupidly recalled hamburger buns and before I could stop, the mouth yelled out for buns, buns will do! I was unimpressed, but the mouth thought the impromptu grilled cheese con bun was genius.

Someone has gotten itself stuck under my skin! Quick, get it out before it lays eggs.

So, what’s for dinner?

We say goodbye to everyone and leave the restaurant hand-in-hand. I unlock my bike from Phineas’ and we pedal towards home. After crossing Ashland’s scary four lanes, we’re home free.

It is the perfect temperature for my long-sleeved shirt and skirt. I really wish I could ride with no hands because I want to be the type of girl that rides a bike in a skirt and flings her hands heavenward during a particularly delicious ride home. But I am not.

I am so pleased. My tum is pleasantly round with chicken and couscous and a few mini-martinis. The conversation was lovely and there were photos taken. We brainstormed and gossiped. We planned and praised. And Phineas was cute.

My limbs still feel post-workout wooden, but in a good way. We both lost five pounds last week. How did I ever live without a bike? Air doesn’t fondle you when walking or driving, but on a bike!

The air smells like perfume. I am so happy.

If I open my mouth right now, will I taste it on my tongue?

The new No-East is out. I edited this one and Phineas and I have a piece in it. Please check the magazine out.

Sleep, perchance to dream. There are so many things to do, but all I can think of are my new pajamas.