Sunday, March 31, 2013

beans, pizza, and a little case of cellulitis

As you may have noticed, yet another week has passed without a post.  I think I'm just going to go ahead and make a disclaimer so as not to continue infuriating anyone with my spotty updating (mainly and pretty much only Steph): I'm probably only going to be updating once a week, at least for now.  Until I get a little more comfortable with this whole new job, new home, new transportation system, new city, underwear stored in a cardboard box thing... daily updates just aren't happening for me.

That being said, this weekend was grand (for the most part).  I say for the most part only because a weekend cannot be totally and completely grand when it involves skin infections that spread at alarming rates.

Before I get into that, a little background info...

If you remember my last job:

The only real dress code was that you wear your hair up (so as to keep it from catching fire) and that you wear closed-toes shoes (so as to keep your toes from being burned off my spilled chemicals).  The dress code didn't really call for a lot of high heel-wearing.

My new job requires a bit different attire, including a strict "no two-year-old Sperry's from your mom's closet" policy.  My darling baby seals (my feet, for any of you who weren't on Florida Tech's cross country team) are not accustomed to heels, nor do they seem agreeable to them.  At all.

So back to this weekend.  Saturday morning started off, as I mentioned, in a grand way.  Before Derrick and I headed out to mingle with the crowds of Asian Chi-town tourists with their fold-up maps (just to be clear, Jen, I love the Asians and their expanding maps), I decided to go on a little run.  On said run, I fell in love.

Luckily for Derrick, it was with my new city, not a new man.  In my delirious endorphin-happy state and between the "beaches" of Lake Michigan

And the amazing view of downtown over Lake Michigan...

I wanted to skip all the way home.  I was in such a great mood that I even stopped to chat with a few people who were on the (incredibly nice turf) soccer fields, about to start playing.  I got the low-down on a weekend league that starts at the end of April that I will hopefully get to be a part of.

Now we come to the part of the weekend that was not so grand.  As previously mentioned, my little seals were not happy with me for being shoved into less than comfy shoes for the past 2 weeks.  As punishment, I have been dealing with some pretty nasty blisters.

I generally deal with problems by ignoring them until they go away (well, at least when it comes to injury).  Turns out, that doesn't work.  Remember all those skippy-feelings I just mentioned on my run?  Yeah, they sort of went away immediately after I took off my shoes and realized that my right foot was swollen to about the size of a prepubescent seal, red, painful, and oozing pus from my open blister.

Derrick was thrilled too.

So we ended up getting a little bit of a later start than we planned, mainly because I had to go to an urgent care to get antibiotics for my most disagreeable appendage, which evidently had gone and decided to further punish me with a mild case of cellutitis.

(I don't have pictures of that.  Yes, you're welcome.)

After that I picked up my antibiotics, however, we were able to continue merrily on our grand old way.  And grand it was.  We were able to get up close and personal with Chicago's infamous Lima bean:

And stand at the top of the Willis Tower (formerly the Sears Tower):

(These pictures may or may not have been moments before Derrick pooped his pants... Just kidding).

And just generally enjoy the city and the nice weather.

Of course, the weekend also involved amazing food (this will, indeed, be a reoccurring theme in both my blog and on my waist line).  On Friday night, we went to a restaurant called Wilde's (named for Oscar Wilde).  I didn't take any pictures because honestly, that's how good it was: there would be nothing coming between me and my buffalo chicken sandwich on a pretzel roll.  For anyone coming to visit me in the near future, you can expect to find yourself there at some point.

We also found this sort of hole-in-the-wall pizza joint whose degree of delicious-ness pretty much brought Derrick to tears:

It is called Bricks and it is actually in the basement of one of Lincoln Park's old townhouses.

Again, the food was so good that I didn't think to take a picture before I gobbled it down.  For your imagining pleasure, though, picture me clawing at the waitress's doughy little hands for my personalized, 10" white pizza with meatballs, goat cheese, garlic, spinach, and tomatoes  moments before swallowing 2/3 of it whole as olive oil flows freely from my unrestrained lips.  That's pretty much how dinner went.

So yes, I'm sorry for the general lack of updates.  As you can see though, between my ever occurring gross yet oddly intriguing maladies and all this great food, I don't have a whole lot of time for blogging.

If this upsets you, I do luckily have a solution: come visit me in Chicago so you too can experience the unpredictable yet unrefined chaos that is my life.

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