SQUEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay. I’m done being giddy. For now. Sorry I’m not sorry.

….so as part of the registration process, you’re asked to list 5 things about yourself that others going to BiSC absolutely must know (check out my 5 and all the other amazing bloggers who are going here). I kind of struggled with my list again this year, but ultimately chose to keep it simple: Wendy, Anglophile, Wine, Liz Lemon, and Swearing. That pretty much sums up “me.” But, the more I think about it, the more I realize there are a few other things that I could have added:

1) I’ve always wanted to be a fireman. Like really really bad. One time when I was 8 or 9, I got picked out of all the kids in my class to be the one who got to hold the front of the fire hose during some kind of come-to-think-of-it-probably-unsafe firehouse relay race summer fun day we had at my elementary school. Except it never came to fruition because my parents packed my brothers and I away to Disney World in the back of our un-air-conditioned station wagon with wood paneling on the sides instead.

So…I guess I’m keeping that dream alive? In truth, I’d probably be a terrible fireman because no way could I climb up a ladder without freaking out about the height…BUT I’m not afraid of fire and am kind of a pyro when it comes to making one, I’m super good at making chili, I can drive like a mo fo so I’d be great at driving the fire truck (especially using the horn), and I’d be super awesome at taking care of the fire house’s Dalmatian (because I don’t care what anyone says, every fire station HAS A DALMATION DAMMIT). 

2) I recently upgraded my cable package just so I can get The Science Channel. For real. This conversation actually (or thereabouts) happened:

Me: “Hi. I’d like to pay you all of my monies to upgrade to whatever non-affordable cable package you offer that includes The Science Channel.”

Comcast: “Great! I can help you with that right now!”

Computer sounds: Bleep bloop beep bop bleep bloop bleep….

Comcast:“Excellent! I’ve upgraded your account and you will now have 387 additional channels that you’ve never heard of nor will ever watch, as well as The Science Channel!”

Me: “Fantastic! In HD?”

Comcast: “You better believe it! Best of all, it’ll only be $50 more a month for your preferred package!”

Me: “Ah snap! Now I will once again know How It’s Made, where Mantracker is, what’s odd on Oddities, and what Karl Pilkington’s Ricky-Gervais-Defined Bucket List amounts to! Yahtzee!”

And scene.

3) I’ve been a strong proponent of the use of the word “fancy” for a number of years now. In fact, I take an annoying ownership of its growing popularity. I started it all dammit! (You know, in the same way that Al Gore invented the Internet. Because yeah, that happened.) 

Please be forewarned: I will call you “Fancy” because in addition to its adjective properties, it is also my go-to term of endearment.

BTW- in case you were wondering, the opposite of “fancy” is “rural.” Which I can totally say because I grew up only a block away from corn and soybean fields. The worst. 

4) Last year, I was THE LAST BISC-uit TO LEAVE VEGAS. While I’d like to claim my love of BiSC as the impetus for this distinction (see: my full recap), the truth is a bit more dubious than that.

Remember the Joplin, Missouri tornado? That was happening while I naively waited out my flight delay by getting a pedicure in the Vegas airport. And then, all the flights east were canceled, including mine. For all my traveling, speed walking, and dialing savvy, I was unable to get another flight out…for TWO WHOLE DAYS. So I holed up at the airport La Quinta (incidentally the most expensive hotel I stayed at in Vegas, including the Bellagio!), dead broke, and managed to acquire I-can’t-leave-the-bathroom-for-more-than-30-minutes-altogether FOOD POISONING the night before my second attempt to leave Vegas.

When the time came to check out of the hotel, I was loaded up on Alka seltzer, Immodium, and Drammine. I managed to get through security without being wanded or detained and proceeded to the gift shop where I purchased more alka seltzer and a ceramic “Sin City!” mug in which to sip it over the span of an hour. There I sat at my gate in my jammies with my sunglasses on like some kind of Lohan-wannabe douchebag, smelling of sickness and financial insolvency, freaking out because in less than 12 hours I had movers scheduled to move me out of my apartment in Chicago and I was not yet finished packing. Which is when I saw the toe nail on the carpeting. Which is also when I felt grateful there was no longer anything in my stomach with which to react.

This is what happens when you stay too long in Vegas.

Here’s hoping for a less auspicious ending to BiSC 2012! And here’s hoping I’ll be the lucky blogger who wins the contest for one BiSC participant to go for free courtesy of Paperd, the prettiest little custom wallpaper app for the iPhone and iPod Touch (launching this February).

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I’d been wanting a dog for nearly a decade, but finally decided to make my lifestyle fit dog ownership rather than wait for it to happen as if by magic. It was no question that I’d be adopting a dog from PAWS’ no-kill shelter and every day I went online looking at all of the Little Faces posted there. Cute, cuter, and heartbreaking. I wanted them all, however, I wouldn’t allow myself to actually go to the shelter if I wasn’t prepared to come home with one dog that very same day.

So I waited. I watched as they began their 12 Strays of Christmas campaign on their web site, each day revealing more and more dogs (and kitties) available for adoption. And then, one day there she was. I saw this sad little girl with eyes that looked full of uncertainty and read her brief description and needs. I left work early and would not be dissuaded.

The shelter was busy that day and I had to wait for what seemed like an hour in the hall. I’d found her, somehow surreptitiously going straight to her room out of all of them. She was coded in their inventory as special needs (because she was so fearful) and I’d have to get their senior level person to unlock the door so I could finally meet her.

As family after family strolled by, she never once lifted her head from her dog bed. I worried someone would come to flip her sign alerting everyone that an adoption was in process. It was chaotic and I feared she’d go to the wrong person, someone who wouldn’t understand her and nurture her. Someone who would fuss at her and make her do endless tricks for the sake of tricks and complain when she just wanted to nap. Someone who wouldn’t name her after a much beloved, loyal, and motherly character in literature. Someone who would name her something empty like “Muffin,” “Doodle,” or “Cashew.”

When finally I was let in to meet her, she scurried over to me and hid against my legs as I sat on the floor. She curled in a ball, shaking. She wreaked, the fur around her face was unkempt and overgrown, and the rest of her was shaved bare with what looked- very unsettling in fact- like a rat tail. She had cuts along each of her paws and legs and kept biting at them. Her ears….I don’t think they’d ever been cleaned. Ever. As helpful as the volunteer helping me was, she couldn’t tell me much about Wendy’s history other than that she’d been a stray, had just been fixed, and was fearful of people with a tendency to nip if crated. Not exactly the stuff of dreams. But somehow, I knew.

I had 15 minutes with her before the girl was pulled elsewhere. They were adopting out 32 dogs and said I’d have to come back after they closed, maybe even tomorrow. But I refused to wait until morning.

Even though the volunteers didn’t know much about her from the five days she was in their care, somehow I knew I was the right person to take care of her. I didn’t know if she was right for me at the time- she was scared and didn’t show any personality- but I just knew I was right for her. As I look back on our first year together; if I had listed out everything I hoped for in a dog, I don’t think anyone could have found me a better match than my Wendy.

I wish I were rich enough to take her everywhere with me (because when you’re rich you can do that sort of thing and no one can say anything). Even still, we’re inseparable and I’d rather spend an afternoon on the couch at home with her than traipsing about the city in search of new adventures, shoe sales, or the latest opening.

I am so incredibly grateful for her every single day (even those days when she refuses to conduct her business in the rain, requiring me to walk her up and down the block for 30 minutes, soaking us both, and making me miss my train to work). And I’m grateful to PAWS for bringing her into my life, for saving her from Animal Control, and for seeing the possibility for something more for her and for so many dogs and cats not only at Christmas but year round.

I know not everyone is as lucky as I’ve been when adopting a dog, but I encourage you to consider a shelter when looking for your next pet. I know if I hadn’t gone looking that day, I might not have found my soul mate.

Visit PAWS Chicago’s “12 Strays of Christmas” daily now through Christmas Eve!

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But…

As I wile away the hours at work or on the couch with one Miss Wendy Lou Who, I know that this solitude is temporary. I’m getting out there and making more plans with friends again. I’m settling into my new place and figuring out what kind of kitchen table I want and where to hang things on the walls. I’m trying. I haven’t given up.

And as for boys? Well, I may be more cynical than is right or good for someone with my deep-rooted romantic longings, but I still believe in love. I may criticize, poke fun, question, doubt, and heckle; but underpinning all of that is the desire to be with my own special someone. To flirt. To catch his interest and hold it. To be kissed. To be touched. To tumble into bed. To feel love. To be loved.

And I will. This Christmas, I may be single again, but who knows where next Christmas will find me?

I’ll allow that such a sentiment may seem “hopeful,” but in fact it’s more simple than that. This single girl’s heart recognizes the inevitability that someone who wants to love and be loved someday will find it. Again.

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Well, to you I say in no uncertain hyperbolic terms, what is life without a turkey craft?!? And a LIZ LEMON turkey craft at that!

This year, my turkey is singing the theme song for Cheezy Blasters into her wine glass while working on her Night Cheese and shuffling along on a treadmill at 2 mph. Meat Cat and some teamster subs were good enough to make cameos! Thanks Meat Cat! (If you don’t know what any of this is referring to, then I don’t know if we can be friends anymore. Oh, just go watch 30 Rock!)

You're my hero, Liz Lemon!

Pinch crafting for Fancy this year was the tag-team crafting duo of my mom and grandma. From where I sit, both created equally disturbing and cracked out turkeys…

My mother: for her sudden can’t-miss-it interest in football and references to “The Game” and some Packer football player she called “Trusty.”

Football is stupid. The end.

And my grandmother: for her…um…well…just take a look and tell me if that shit isn’t cracked out. Is this what happens to us when we get old?

I have no words. No words.

I hope you enjoy our “craftiness” and that you had a fantastic Turkey Day!

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She takes after her mom in the "activity" department.

Okay, so maybe I’m not the most athletic of persons (I may have misspelled athletic before spell checking this post). And okay, sure, neither is my dog, Wendy. But, what better way can she and I support the local animal shelter than to participate in their 8K run/ 4K walk later this month? Yes, you read that right. We’re going to actually exercise…in the name of charity!

PAWS, for those of you not already familiar, is Chicago’s largest no-kill animal shelter and is where I adopted Wendy last Christmas. She was one of the dogs featured in their “Twelve Strays of Christmas” last December. The moment I saw her picture online with those damn inquisitive eyes of hers, the moment I began to brainstorm names for her, I knew I was going there straightaway after work. I can’t believe it’s been nine months since that fateful day!

In that time, not a day has gone by that I haven’t marveled at just how well suited Wendy and I are for each other. Besties! Soul mates! And not a day has gone by that I haven’t felt grateful to PAWS for saving her from the city’s animal control where she’d been taken after being captured as a stray. Some things really are just meant to be.

Together, Wendy and I plan to walk in gratitude to and in support of PAWS on September 25 in their annual fundraiser, Run for Their Lives. All money we raise will go toward PAWS Chicago’s targeted spay/neuter, innovative adoption, and community outreach programs. If you can, please support Wendy and I by donating toward our goal of $1000. We, along with the doggies and kitties of Chicago, thank you for whatever you can give.

Also, there’s going to be a costume contest and we will be participating! Right now, I’m thinking Snow White, but there’s also a cute sailor dress I have my eye on. I promise pictures to those who donate!

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The other day, someone asked me what I did over the weekend. After thinking long and hard (TWSS), I realized holy fuck. I had bacon on three separate occasions within 24 hours (on a burger, straight from the frying pan & sans eggs, and in my mac and cheese). I continued to think long and hard about whether to actually share this feat. Would it be worse to plead forgetfulness to hide my shame (“Oh, yeah, this weekend? I think I took a nap…or something?”) or proudly parade my inadvertent Bacon Fest 2011? Decisions decisions…

During the 20SB Summit, I found myself joking A LOT about being “grandfathered-in” to the community. Joking. But utterly serious. I belong dammit. Don’t you question me, you young whipper-snappers! Never mind that the term “grandfathered-in” bespeaks all things crotchety and old.

I now live in fear of the kidney stone redux that the Internet tells me I am 95% likely to experience in my lifetime. My fear is not so great that I will give up drinking tea or choosing soy milk however. 

I recently realized that I put my underroos on inside out. It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon. I shrugged and continued to wear them that way. I should add that this was the second time in a week I’d been bested by the challenges of wearing one’s clothing right side out. Holla!

During one of my awesomesauce insomnia bouts, I wound up googling “dog ate a silverfish now what” to find out if that’s bad. I went on to wonder if the presence (or previous presence as it were) of said silverfish on the tile floor meant that the dude and I are slobs who live in squalor. Are we “dirty people”? [BF: Yo, if you're reading this, don't answer that because we both know the answer but they don't.]

I am genuinely considering getting a red streak put into my hair later this week. Because, why not? I dye my hair brunette as it is, have for years, but am thinking it could use a little something. Like a streak of fire engine red! I mean, if you can’t dye a red streak into your hair at 31, when can you? #RedStreakFTW!

This conversation happened at work the other day…. Emo: “I can’t believe I showered for this.” Me: “Don’t worry; I didn’t.” And scene.

What can I say? This is what it’s come to….I’m clearly living The Dream. And my thirties? All they’re cracked up to be. Obviously.

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I went into the event with goals. GOALS!

1. Spend time with my fellow BiSCuits (Katherine, Bob, Doni, Jenn, Nico, Terra, Caryn, Jenny, and Tiffany).
2. Hunt down and meet Ben (hello, thank you for letting me ask you the question you didn’t want to be asked and for still being my friend anyway).
3. Network and hand out my fancy new business cards because I’m a dork.
4. Introduce myself to some of the local bloggers/ twitter folks I’ve been trying to meet (FINALLY met Phampants, Daniela, and Erini).

Not only did I successfully meet each of my goals, but I was also able to make new blogging friends (thank you for planning the event, Derek!), attend several very helpful and inspirational sessions (thank you Sami, Sara, and Jenna for yours in particular!), inhale offerings from the Pico de Gap taco truck, and of course pocket some swag for good measure!

If I think about it, this year has really become about embracing my blog as an integral part of my persona, exploring the boundaries of my anonymity, and meeting and befriending fellow bloggers. Now that the @20SB Summit is over, I can’t help but wonder what’s next. What is next? I want to meet more bloggers, want to hang out and play and chat and be a part of each others’ in-real-life lives too.  I want…more. More everything!

For as uplifting as the @20SB Summit weekend was, anyone else feeling a bit deflated now that it’s over? Yes, no, maybe so? Please don’t say the cheese stands alone.

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