There is a good chance that Luna Bell, Ryan and I will not be homeless come July 1. I saw my 18th and 19th apartments yesterday and loved, loved, loved both of them. After several pros and cons lists, we made a decision. I’m waiting until papers are signed and it’s official but I thought you would be happy to know that I most likely won’t be begging to live on your couch in 2 weeks.
And b y couch, I mean couches. And by couches, I mean all 5 of yours, Corey Lambert.
I’ve been a bad blogger.
I haven’t posted in almost 2 weeks but there’s a reason–I have been on the most ridiculous, annoying, frustrating apartment search of all time.
I didn’t want to write about it because I love this city and usually don’t stand for anyone to talk smack about it but they say “write what you know” and lately, what I know is the world of endless apartment searching.
While I haven’t been blogging, I most certainly have been on the internets. For hours. Every day. Scouring every apartment rental website in Cook County. We are on our 4th agency because every time someone shows us a shit hole or tell me they can’t find me what we want, we get mad and go find someone else to show us apartments. All we want is a 1-2 bedroom apartment in Streeterville or Lincoln Park (1 block either way off a very specific street) that is new/remodeled, gives my man friend good access to the Metra and me good access to a wine bar. And is Luna Bell friendly. And Rufus-friendly, the dog we do not yet have but want really badly. And is under our budget. And has a rooftop deck.
That’s not too much to ask for, is it?
The above picture is taken from the window of our dream apartment. You know, the huge, affordable, gorgeous, chic apartment that was snatched out from under us by some stealthy renter with a credit card over the phone just as I was starting to fill out the paperwork.
Another one of my favorites was one that I later found out was host to a shooting in the courtyard this winter. They blamed it on “outside influences” but I don’t want to live somewhere with people who have outside influences that shoot people.
I thought that the big decision was to live together. I thought that after that glorious moment as we were walking home from Panes was over, our biggest decision was going to be revolving around the choice between Crate and Barrel and Pottery Barn.
I have about a thousand and two phone calls to make this morning, after which we should know if we are going to be homeless come July 1 or not. I’ll k eep you posted–when this apartment search is over, I’ll be shouting it from the rooftops…which my new building better have in the form of a rooftop deck.
Yoga mat strapped to my back, I tapped my foot impatiently as the Brown Line train I was riding crept along. It probably knew that I had a noon class to make it to. I got off the train 5 minutes before yoga was supposed to begin. I didn’t want to be that girl who walked late into a zen environment only to ruin the calm vibe with the plopping down of her mat and water bottle. Sigh. No yoga for me–to Trader Joe’s I go. While going to put more money on my CTA card, I saw a sign for Yoga House. I had heard this studio opened only a few weeks before and was looking forward to trying it but wasn’t sure exactly where it was located. Well, here is was–740 N. Franklin. And there was even a class starting right that second. It was too much of a sign to not go in and see what Yoga House was all about.
Yoga House is the rebirth of the Melanee Cooper Gallery. Melanee was in the art business for over 20 years and started practicing yoga 10 years ago. Suddenly, she found herself structuring her work around her practice. She had this beautiful space, felt yoga was art in itself and wanted to share that passion with others. Yoga House was born.
Their mantra is “Every Body Needs a Home” and that’s exactly what it felt like–home. I’d been having a hard time quieting down the “busyness” in my head that day–work stuff, to-do lists, more to-do lists, should I be feeding my cat organic cat food, should I be drinking more water, you know–hamster wheel brain. But going into that studio felt like I had found the most silent space in Chicago. The quiet rumble of the train. a lone fountain in the studio and some pranayama breathing later and I had lassoed in the stillness and contentment I had so been craving. I was fortunate to have Melanee lead my practice. The class was fantastic–practicing yoga in a former art gallery is now my new favorite thing. Beautiful hardwood floors, perfect lighting, amazing art still on the walls, a lovely little fountain that convinces you that the hustle and bustle you see outside on the street is nothing but an illusion–Yoga House is on to something. Probably because it is so evident that Melanee is living her passion and you can’t help but feel good being around that, ya know?
By the time I got home, Melanee had emailed my descriptions of all of her teachers and I cannot wait to try their classes as well. You should too. I’ll see you there–I’ll be the girl in the corner who doesn’t want to leave. 740 N. Franklin, Chicago, IL 60654 www.yogahousechicago.com
As far as I’m concerned, the official summer kick-off is Memorial Day and I couldn’t be happier to be diving head-first into that season. After six and a half hour car ride back from a wedding in Detroit (accidents, thunderstorms, traffic, yuck), my man friend and I headed to a Memorial Day cookout hosted by one of his buddies from school. We ate sliders, fresh strawberry-walnut salad, drank Corona and celebrated a birthday with ice cream cake. We watched the sun go down from the rooftop deck and brought up a TV to watch the Blackhawks game. All I ask is that the rest of my summer goes like that–time with friends, grilling out, ice cold drinks and spectacular views.
Here’s the recipe to my absolute favorite summer salad. It’s nothing fancy, seriously–it took seconds to prepare and is an oh-so-perfect balance of sweet and tart.
Strawberry-Walnut Salad
1 bunch of Bibb or Romaine lettuce
1 container of Strawberries
Feta Cheese (we used to low-fat kind and it was fine)
red onion
Walnuts
dried cranberries or pomegranate seed (optional)
Poppyseed dressing
Cut up the strawberries, lettuce and slice half the onion into thin strips and toss with the crumbled up feta and walnuts. Right before serving, add the poppyseed dressing and you’re golden. See? I told you it was simple.
Happy Summer, all!
High Five of the Day: The Chicago Blackhawks! Up 2 in the series!
Popping in to Mickey D’s to get a fountain Diet Coke and a yogurt parfait this morning, I overheard this gem of a father-daughter conversation:
3-year-old girl with butterfly wings attached to her t-shirt: “I’m excited for my hamburger”.
Dad: “Well, I got pancakes–it’s 8am, they don’t have hamburgers this early.”
3-year-old: “But this is McDonald’s!”
Dad: (Struggling between the fact that she’s a toddler and explaining the intricacies of McDonald’s dining schedule): “We’ll come back this afternoon.”
I was laying out at the park when this little girl ran up to me and asked if I wanted fresh squeezed lemonade. I only had my credit card on me and, assuming she didn’t have a credit card machine in her wagon, respectfully declined. But this persistent young businesswoman wouldn’t take no for an answer and said I didn’t even need money–she just wanted to give out her lemonade. Luckily, my friend Laura is responsible and carries cash so we went over to partake in this lemonade stand with wheels.
It turns out that our new friend and her Dad go around to places like “Wiggleyville” and sell dog biscuits, giving their proceeds to a park in the area. Lemonade was a new venture in their fundraising quest and she made it all herself–squeezed the lemons and everything. To see a young girl with such a philanthropic spirit was inspiring. I went to the park for a tan and to read the new Vogue. I came home with a renewed sense of hope in the way our world might turn out with people like her in it. Regardless of how much money our new friend makes for that park, she is doing more than she knows for her community.
Thanks for the lemonade. It was exactly what I needed, in more ways than one.
87, 84, 82, 83, 78.
No, those are not the ages of people who live in my grandmother’s neighborhood. That is Chicago’s 5-day forecast.
Hellllooooo, summer!
I haven’t done a restaurant review in awhile and after an amazing dinner at Volare last Saturday night, it is high time.
I’ve walked by Volare a dozen times but since it’s not much to look at from the outside (c’mon–you know we all judge books by their covers on occasion), I’ve never pushed to go there. But after countless recommendations from my parents and from my man friend’s colleagues, we decided to make it the dinner portion of our old school Chicago date. After drinks at the Signature Lounge on the 96th Floor of the Hancock Tower (best view of the city is out of the women’s restroom, btw), we went a few blocks south to Volare, located at 201 E. Grand Ave.
Walking in, we weren’t so much greeted by the hosts but by waiters running in and out of the busiest kitchen I’ve ever seen. Waiting for our table was almost painful, watching dish after amazing smelling dish go by. To say I struggle making decisions about ordering food is an understatement but even my man friend had a hard time at Volare because everything we had seen run by us was just mouth watering. The veal medallion with porcini risotto (for him) and the frutti di mare (for me) were the final decisions and I’d say we hit the jackpot. Well, you’ll have to take his word on the veal–even though I was bribed with lots of things I want in exchange for taking a bite, you will never catch me eating baby cow. No way. But the calamari was uber tender, the shrimp ginormous, the seabass perfection and the pasta was perfectly al dente (my big pet peeve with Italian restaurants) so we left very full and happy. Topped off with a bottle of Vino Nobile di Montepulciano and we were in love. With Volare.
We always say we want to go back to places just for some wine and to maybe split a dish but with Volare, I know neither of us are going to be willing to share.
High Five of the Day: http://smittenkitchen.com/ I follow them on Twitter (ninainthechi) and now that the Green City Market is up and going on Wednesday and Saturday mornings, I can’t wait to turn all the fabulous fresh things I buy there into the fabulous fresh recipes Smitten Kitchen gives me. First on my list is absolutely Homemade Pop Tarts. Go ahead, start salivating now.
Reason #3498 why I love living in Chicago is that there is Caribou Coffee here.
Yes, I know–there are Caribou Coffees pretty much everywhere but there wasn’t one where I grew up and when I would visit friends in the Detroit area, I would beg them to go get a Light White Berry with me so I totally enjoy being able to get a $4 coffee now whenever I want.
Chicago’s temperature hit 73 degrees today, which is obviously deserving of an iced coffee. I am the clumsiest person on the planet so I was in need of a napkin in case anything was spilled. When I went to get one, I grabbed what I thought was a napkin that had been written on. There was writing on it, albeit engineered by the Caribou thinktank most likely, and it was titled “Life’s Too Short For:” and then had a list.
“Life’s Too Short For: Grudges, fake anything, putting profits before people, crabby people, over-roasted coffe and waiting for change to happen.”
Spot on, right? Every day, there are a million little (or big) things that jar us into remembering what life is too short for. We might not always be fully present to notice them but they’re there. For me, life’s too short to not be real with the people I love and the things in our lives that are important to us. For me, life’s too short for every single person I love not to know it. For me, life is to short not to belly laugh. Or to notice giggly babies or dogs that are so freakin’ happy to be out on a walk. And life is definitely too short for me to wear shoes that hurt my feet.
I’m grateful that it was a silly napkin from an overpriced coffee factory that reminded me of these things today but when events happen that make it all too clear what life is too short for, I thank God that I have a family and friends to weather those storms with.
Life is too short for _______ (fill in the blank).
I started Sunday out with plans to do laundry, apartment hunt and go to yoga. I ended up at the Cubs vs. Pittsburgh game with 9 of my closest friends. A soft pretzel, a few cold beers and a 8th inning comeback by the Cubbies and I had my first Cubs game of the 2010 season under my belt.
That is reason #2987 that I live in Chicago–at a moments notice, I can be gifted a Cub’s ticket and walk up to Wrigley Field to go to the game. And enjoy the game alongside some of my best friends, who also happen to be there randomly. Sure, I’m starting the week lacking clean sheets and no where to live come July 1st but when I look back on this season in my life, I willing to bet that I’ll remember the fun times with my city and my friends more than chores left undone.