More Breaking News!! (for reals, kinda):

! My co-exister/co-worker is SWEATY! His arm touched my arm and I almost lost.it. Fine. It's like, 115 out, but, ugh. I thought we had gone over this already.

@ My 6-year-old nephew is a Deadhead (minus the tie-dye, phew). And I couldn't be more pleased.

# Tilly hearts Vincent Chase. Like, totally, for serious, not even joking. He's got principles and values and balls. And cute, curly hair and blue eyes. And a pimp-ass house and sweet ride. Just can't go wrong there. Plus, the fact that he had to endure a film with 'Sabrina, the Teenage Witch," is more than anyone should be subjected to.


$ The front page article in the "RedEye" is all about being lonely in the city, and entitled, "All By Myself." Is it awkward that when FijiBoy got on the train I tried to pretend that I hadn't been reading said article, so as to avoid appearing "lonely," so I attempted to neatly fold it up and calmly put it away, when, instead I got all jumbled and spastic and basically crumpled it up in a ball and sat on it? No? Good. Not only that, but I haven't been able to get that dang song out of my head..."Alll byy myyyseyelf. Don't wanna be, all by myself, anymore..." F you Eric Carmen. F you.

% The kids from KIDS followed me (too closely) home last night. In a raised pink Cadillac. With dice and spinners. Awesome. And btdubs, I found a parking spot in record time. Bonus.

That's all.

Breaking News! (well, sort of):

*eLCrush and I both drink FIJI water, so basically we're in love. Well, I LOVE FIJI and the way he was going after that water bottle, I'd have to say he does as well. So A+B and there you have it. In effect, his new name is FijiBoy.
*Stiffler was, in fact, in Chicago last week and therefore I DID, in fact, see him! Unfortunately, he's a cheating sleezeslimeballass, as the RedEye reported, "Sean William Scott [Stiffler] played pool with a 'gal pal' Thursday night at Lucky Strikes Lanes." Gal Pal? Gal Pal?? WTF?

Stiffler and Tilly: Friends or Foes?

Just a few things, realquicklike...

1. I saw Stiffler. And thanks to my amazing-super-human-rapid-fire reflexes, I immediately shouted "STIFFLER" without thinking twice and he kinda turned, but then I was too embarrassed (read: cool) to actually go and see him because I don't even know his real name and I'm sure that gets REAL annoying when "fans" call him Stiffler and don't know his real name*, and I obvi want him to LIKE me because we would probably fall in love, or at least hang out. Whoa, run-on. Actually, I heard that he is [a] "straight edge" (if that phrase is even still used) and, well, I'm not, so scratch that. But then I "saw" him again driving away in a limo after my intense beach volleyball game. I mean, I didn't actually see him, per say, but I mean, c'mon, who else rides in a limo at Montrose Beach (that is, besides the Mexicans selling ice cream or the 50 Mexicans grilling under that tree over there or the Mexicans riding their seatless bikes back and forth or the Mexicans playing baseball in the parking lot, rather than, say, the baseball field. Yeah, besides them is what I meant). And my speedy instincts kicked in again and I yelled "STIFFLER" and the limo slowed a bit and then just kept on keeping on. Oh well. But, since he and I basically went to the same high school, well, the pretend one he went to was based on the real live one I attended, then we would probably have lots to catch up on.

2. As I was walking home last night from a BBQ at the Hockey's, I was startled by a man riding a moped and singing N'Sync at the top of his lungs. On the sidewalk. Okay, fine, he wasn't literally on the sidewalk, but I was on the sidewalk. DEWAI. Maybe he had gotten all twisted after Lance came out. Maybe he was reminiscing about the JT from back in the day. Maybe he likes that other short, round guy with the facial hair. Who knows. Either way, the jorts and cut-off Allman Brothers tee really got my panties all bunched up, or whatever that saying is.
3. Heading home to see the 'rents this weekend, as my brother and his wife and kiddos will be visiting from the long isle. If my 4-year-old neice asks me why I didn't marry GoatBoy again then, well, nothing will happen because she's just a kid (jeez), but I just hope she doesn't.

That's all.

*I now know his name...seeing that I had to go and tell everyone that I know that I saw Stiffler, and they're all, "Sean William Scott" and I'm all, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Stiffler." Figures that he would have a triple first name name. You can also see him in such films as, "Dude, Where's My Car" and "Joe Dirt" and others, I presume.

Deep Thoughts, by Tilly Handy

Since blogger has been being a little bitch all day, I was continually redirected to a list of "similar" sites. And apparently, little miss bitch might kinda know me better than I previously imagined, as the "suggested" sites to choose from were: delia's (not so much, maybe circa 2001 for their "ironic tees"), Urban Outfitters, Gap, Bebe, and Target. Now, it's possible that Abercrombie and Fitch and Wet Seal may have made the initial cut, but they were so voted off this Tilly island the first chance I got. I can't even go into those stores because the music is so flipping loud. I mean, saying outloud, "I can't even hear myself think" and "What is this [picking up a shirt]? A wristband? Who wears this??" in the same breath might qualify me for the "fogie" category, and therefore I'm outta there faster than you can say 'fake bake' or 'pooka shell necklace."

Anyway, on to today's list:

Deep Thoughts, by Tilly Handy (hmmm...good stripper name?)

1. Endodontists are funny. Well, MY endo is funny. While she drilled my precious gems, she and her assistant chit-chatted as if 1) I wasn't even there, 2) she wasn't using sharp instruments inside my MOUTH, and 3) I wasn't even there. I mean, they were hi-fucking-larious. Actually, she did ask me if I had seen her new favorite show, something about Kung-Fu on MTV. Uh, hi, I have a dental dam covering my mouth and some other shit I can't see holding it open, so I'm just gonna go ahead and grunt. Figure it out. Other hot topics included:
a. Carmen is surprisingly "down to earth," while Dave is a "diva."
b. Whole Foods shish kabobs are DIVINE.
c. "Who is really surprised that Lance Bass is gay? I mean, hel-lo?? The whole astronaut thing?"
d. When Mary-Ann, the receptionist, answers the phone, it is absolutely acceptable to just hang-up. Actually, they recommend it.
e. Prince was married. To a GIRL. And now he's divorced. Discuss.
f. The rationale behind the "love story" in Flashdance is not legit. And, similarly, "running in place" and "punching the sky" do not qualify one for any sort of NYC ballet company.
g. 80s music in dental/doctor's offices should be required--and it also assists in the reminiscing about high school BF's who were in bands who are now married with kids who USED to be cool and cover 'Men At Work.'
h. "America's Got Talent?? I think not."
As you may have guessed, I could go on and on, but I don't believe it to be necessary. And I am sure you would agree. NEXT.
2. Hansel is so hot right now. Speaking of "NEXT!", another classic MTV show, my cab driver the other night told me that I should go on that show. Um, what? I think that I already determined (in "Tilly Hearts NoMI") that those contestants are all a bunch of derelicts (and I can derelick my own balls). But, he also said that he would not NEXT me, so at least I got that going for me.
2. We are ALL special. On my way into work, I passed by a man in a suit just playing a little ditty on his recorder. Yes. A RECORDER. A MAN in a SUIT playing a RECORDER. At first, I was unable to identify the instrument, as I was listening to my iPod. But, as I got closer, I removed an earbud and was stunned. And, to tell you the truth, he wasn't half-bad. So play on, Mr. Pied Piper, play on.
3. Chicago is a circus. On her commute this morning, Lady Pedro, our volleyball team captain/life leader, was smooshed between a transvestite (wearing open-toed heels, pantyhose, and jeans) and a midget. I HAVE to get a job downtown.
4. VH1 is a gateway drug. VH1's special on the "Drug Years" is pretty awesome. Pretty awesome in the sense that I found myself scavengering around my apartment for orphaned "stuff." Probably a good thing there were no discoveries. But, nonetheless, quality, quality programming.

Down With the CTA!!

Why?? Why?? Why you ask?

Well, for starters, I just received an email notification that my Chicago Card PLUS has been deactivated. Those sandbagginsonsabitches. Apparently, they are not down with me giving 5 friends free rides on the bus. I mistakenly assumed that since I am charged a flat monthly rate for the pleasure of riding the oh-so-delightful public trasportation, I do not, in fact, get unlimited rides. Apparently, I cannot dole out rides to all of greater Chicago. Apparently, that is not how the SYSTEM works. Apparently, I am the idiot. Fine.

Despite enduring such perils, the CTA customer service lady was incredibly friendly and lightly poked fun at my naivete (shocking) and without a hint of condescension, explained how to obtain an alternative "transit card." Ew. I'm such a Chicago Card snob. F that. Instead of scraping the bottom of the CTA barrell, I confessed my transit transgressions to some scientists who graciously offered up their unused Chicago Cards. And now I can get home. We can all (i.e. Me) breathe a big sigh of relief.
In addition, my new elCrush rides the el, hence the name (duh). Therefore, I, too, must ride the el in order to see said crush. Therefore, I now have motivation to get up in the morning on time and make that train. Therefore, I am opting out of the whole biking thing this week (plus that holy mary sweet baby jebus humidity shit). Speaking of the elCrush, who needs a new nickname btdubs, what's a girl gotta do to get a hello over here. I mean, the penetrating staring slash smiling games are invigorating and all, but, honestly, let's try to really go after this. And by this, I mean ME. This lady. Uh, did you even notice I just said penetrating? Well, I did.

So, anyway, I guess my title is a little aggressive, because all in all, me and the CTA, we're kind of dating. So, I take it back, CTA. I take it all back. Please forgive me. I heart you. Can you pick me up at 6:30pm? That'd be great. Thanks.

Tilly+CTA 4EVA

Why Munchkins=Good Times:

Exhibit A
Caroline (age 3): Tilly, you have big boobies.
Tilly: [laughing] uh, thanks, I think.
Caroline: Really big. Three.
Tilly: Three?
Caroline: Yeah, [pointing at each one of mine] one, two, [pointing at herself] three.
Tilly: I, uh...just...uh, yeah. Okay.

Exhibit B
C-Ro: Tilly, this is gorgeous [pointing to my hoodie]
Tilly: Well, thank you lady.
C-Ro: Lady! Ha ha ha ha [laughing uncontrollably]! LADY!!

Exhibit C
Changing C-Ro into her pj's...
C-Ro: Don't look at my bagina.
Tilly: Don't worry about it. I'm not looking anywhere near your BAgina.

Exhibit D
While feeding the 6month old a bottle, he touched my boob. The most action I've gotten in 2 months. True story.

Exhibit E
Tilly mentions something about church...
C-Ro: Do you go to my church?
Tilly: No, you're Catholic, right?
C-Ro: HAHAHAHAHA! Till-eeeeeeeeeee!!!
Tilly: What?
C-Ro: I'm Caroline!!!
Tilly: I know. I'm saying...nevermind. You're three.

Exhibit F
C-Ro carrying around a colorful, plastic boombox.
C-Ro: [singing along and dancing, well, shifting back and forth and spinning] Let's get this party started RIGHT! Let's get this party started QUICKLY!
C-Ro: Tilly, do you hear me??
Tilly: Oh, I hear you alright.
C-Ro: Well?!! Where's the party?
Tilly: I don't even know where to go with that one.

Exhibit G
C-Ro: Who are you again?
Tilly: Tilly.
C-Ro: Oh, yeah. Tilly. C-Ro likes Tilly.
Tilly: I like you too.
C-Ro: Can C-Ro have a treat?
Tilly: Smart girl.

Exhibit H
C-Ro: Tilly, what are you eating.
Tilly: Nothing. But I'm drinking a soda.
C-Ro: What are you drinking? A beer?
Tilly: No, a soda.
C-Ro: A beer soda?
Tilly: No, just a soda.
C-Ro: But it's in a can. It's beer.
Tilly: No, soda comes in a can too.
C-Ro: Daddy likes beer. C-Ro likes beer.
Tilly: Tilly likes beer too.
C-Ro: Can C-Ro have one?
Tilly: No. Can Tilly?
C-Ro: No.
Tilly: Fine.
Tilly's not the only one who talks in the third person. Fine, she's three, but whatevs.

Dear New Co-Worker/Co-Exister,

I am sincerely trying not to hate you. Honest, I am. But you are really making it difficult for me. So, for both of our benefits, please study, memorize, and rigidly follow the following guidelines for proper behavior when co-existing with Tilly:

1. Now, that you have a J.O.B., and btdubs, I know how much you make, please invest in some deodorant WITH anti-perspirant. Seeing that you don't have boobs, your chances of contracting breast cancer from the aluminum are low, and I do believe it's a risk that I am more than willing for you to take.
2. When I offer to show you where the men's room is, please take me up on it. I opted out of saying "freshen up" out of courtesy for your ego, but, trust me, that's exactly what you needed to do. And when I say "freshen up," I mean, "towel off."
3. When I'm on an important business call (a.k.a. a personal phone call making plans for the evening), please find something else to do and come back later. Do not, I repeat, do not stand in the doorway staring at me, forcing me to "shew" you out with an abrupt wrist flick. See, look what you've gone and made me do.
4. When I ask you to send it to me via email, I do not mean for you to explain exactly how you converted one blahblah file into another blahblah file for 5 minutes. That's your job. I don't care how it's done. Just do it.
5. When you come into my office, there is no need for you to come behind my desk. Seriously. And more importantly, not only is there no need for you to come behind my desk, but there is REALLY no need for you to KNEEL next to my chair. I blatantly scooted over so as to give you a social cue that you were violating my personal space, but apparently, you are unaware of social norms and cues and things of that sort. I will teach you. One way or another, I will.
6. Jansport backpacks on 30+ year old men are inappropriate for work. Or, rather, just inappropriate for you. Now, if you're going hiking or biking or camping or backcountry riding, fine. But, I really doubt that is the case with you.
7. When you asked me what I was doing for lunch, I REALLY hope that you were not asking me out. I would say that I threw up a little in my mouth, but that phrase is so overused and therefore trite and banal. However, I totes did.
8. Please refrain from talking to me, when at all possible. In fact, please refrain from looking in my general direction, when at all possible. Actually, let's maintain a strictly email relationship. And relationship is REALLY stretching it...let's go with email correspondence, no, email co-existence. Yeah, email co-existence. Just co-exist away from me. As in, far FAR away. Thank you for your cooperation.

Yep, that'll do it.

Avec Cringes,
Tilly

Tilly Hearts Boys

Walking through Boystown during the Gay Games at 10:30pm on a Thursday night...wow.

I'm just sayin.

How Can Tilly Get That Job?

1. Free iPod Nanos and Shuffles (for "training and data storage," obvi): $7,000
2. 3 Portable Shower Units (I hate dirt): $71,170
3. Helly Hansen rain jacket (I'll take one in black, thank you)*: $2,500
4. Vacays at St.Simons Island (for "training" my "attorneys" [to play golf and tennis]): $2,395
5. 2,000 sets of dog booties (I'm SO getting a dog soon): $68,442
6. Beer Brewing Kit (as social chair, it was def a necessity, gosh): $1,000

The perks of being a Homeland Security employee are apparently endless. They might as well just jump on the meteorologist bandwagon, as they're all just paid to be wrong and fuck up. But don't worry, they are totally being put in time-out. *The RAIN jackets were purchased for use in a firing range that the Customs and Border Protection later acknowledged shuts down when it's RAINING. Geniuses. All of 'em.

Does Tilly Want a Roommate?

I don't know. Seriously. I mean, I liked my first experience with roommates. My family. For the most part. Besides the times that my older brother was gleaking on me to get the remote control. Or my parents were catching me coming home wasted. Or my younger brother was tormenting me about being adopted. All in all, they were pretty decent roommates. I moved around a lot growing up, but since I was the only girl, I usually got my own bathroom. Snap! And I always had my own room (after age 2). One time I even had my own entrance. Whoa. Big time.

My college roommates were pretty dope as well (after freshman year, that is. Sorry MC, but you were worse than my Mom with the "rules." So I basically moved into my boyfriend's dorm room.) Anyway. Again, we each got our own room, but I shared my bathroom with DB. She was clean enough and she didn't take too long in there. My favorite part of the bathroom was the stickers. See, at this time in my life I was what some may refer to as a "hippie." Fine. I said it. We used to wear small stickers just above the corner of our eyes. Every. Day. To class. Yeah. They were typically stars or small butterflies. Good times. But we would put them on the mirror as we de-stickered each evening and by the end of our two years there, the mirror sure was purty. A bitch to get off, but purty.

After college, I reverted to sharing not only a bedroom, but a bed with KB. [No, you cannot come over to WATCH US SLEEP(?)] Hey, rent was super cheap that way and our cute Colorado ski town was expensive. We never fought once, but mainly because we held opposite hours. She worked super early in the morning and just had to climb over my body on the floor in the morning, since, apparently, I "hadn't wanted to wake her." Fine, I passed out...in my work clothes (long underwear, ski pants, ski jacket, boots, etc.). What? Elevation, hello? Other times GoatBoy and I would sleep (read: pass out naked) on the pull-out couch. Good Morning KB!

Then I lived with GoatBoy in Boston during grad school. So-so roomie. When he left for greener (aka suckier educational) pastures, it was me and DB once again. But this time my "living room" was her "bedroom." The lumberjack lesbians lived upstairs and wrestled each Tuesday night. Must've been quite the competition, as it went on for hours. We shared a bathroom, although there were fewer stickers and more make-up. Hey, we were growing up!

Moved to be with GoatBoy, technically lived "alone," but we all know how that is. Officically moved in with GoatBoy again. Eh, not so much. Broke up with GoatBoy. Lived alone. LOVED living alone. Single and alone. My shit was my shit. I could watch 'Gilmore Girls' in peace. Hey, even 'One Tree Hill' or 'What I Like About You' if I so desired. New boys in and out. Whatever the hell I wanted.

Moved to Chicago. Live alone. Same thing...my shit, my choices, my independence, my cereal for dinner if I want, my bed, my bad decisions, my music, etc. etc. etc. But sometimes, you know, it's just kinda boring. With roommates comes more drama, more potentially awkward conversations, more people in and out, and more courteous behavior required. But with that, comes more excitement, more potentially interesting discussions, more people in and out, and more thoughtful behavior.

Which brings me to my question: Does Tilly want a roommate?

Yes, I think she does. I think she does indeed.

Rafting 2K6 (a.k.a. We're Not in Kansas Anymore, or Are We?):

1. Proprietor, Shotgun Eddy, is the spitting image of Uncle Jesse Duke, minus the coveralls, add suspenders, and was pretty flattered to be called as such.
2. Jorts, jorts, and more jorts. On EVERY.ONE.
3. Tatoo of a Chiwawa named "Chewbacca" on the calf of a woman. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
4. Wastoid girl who lost her raft, walking down the river with a warm bottle of Jager. Offering sips. Um, no thanks. I'm doing my damndest to remain disease-free at the moment. Then exclaims she's got a tupperware of whiskey in her raft...if only she could find it.
5. Halfway through the "rapids," the 'Humpty-Dance' is blasting and a wet t-shirt contest is about to begin. Wha?
6. Camping neighbor, Kenny with the steel fang tooth (seriously), pleads with us to help him find his tent. It's yellow. At 3am. Instead, we feed him burgers and hot dogs and beers and someone invites him over for dinner the next night. He's a no-show. Curse that memory-eating meth.

(Kenny. Showing us his "moves." Wow. No words. Just continued to drink our faces off.)

7. Firecrackers are the lamest, most pointless types of fireworks and only function to piss me the f off, rattle "men's" nerves, and frighten small cute dogs named Sadie.
8. Pie-irons are incredible. Incredibly delicious, that is. And also effective bonfire utensils.

9. McDonalds is best consumed after sleeping on the ground and not showering for a few days. Trust me.
10. Catch-Phrase is basically the greatest game ever. Eva. The only acceptable way to stop playing is to run out of beer (aka after 9 hours, aka at 4am). Now we all know what a 'Pearl Necklace' is. Thanks, Lady Pedro.
11. Cheese curds are part of the dairy family that does not require refrigeration. Good to know.
12. Apparently, the outhouse makes one puke "just a little bit."
13. Bags (aka Cornhole) in the dark is kinda dangerous. Dangerous and FUN! Especially if you lost your contacts in the river when your raft capsized and you almost drowned. And you are technically blind.
14. Shotgunning beers is basically a requirement at "Shotgun Eddy's." Uncle Jesse even said so.
15. Averaging 4 hours of sleep a night will most likely lead to an inability to run 5 miles, do laundry, make any dinner that does not consist of cereal and milk, or stay awake long enough to watch Entourage. But those 15 hours of sleep are a necessity in order to make it to work the next morning. Hug it out, bitches.

Tilly's School-Night Drinking Realizations:

1. Just because the shots are free, it does not mean that you should take them...all.
2. Just because you set your alarm, it does not mean that you will wake up.
3. Just because you plan on running in the morning, it does not mean that you will.
4. Just because it's Bastille Day, it does not mean that you're French (even though you sorta are. What? 1/12th counts). Therefore, there is still no sex in the champagne room.
5. Just because you're at work before your boss, it does not mean that you're not late, wait, yes it does.
6. Just because it's "technically" Friday, it does not mean that it's the weekend.
7. Just because it's a flat surface, it does not mean that you should lie down.
8. Just because you're at work, it does not mean that you're working.
9. Just because "other people" are still drinking, it does not mean that you should join them.
10. Just because you look alive, it does not mean that you are.

Good Thing Tilly Can Spell. Or Not.

My Mom forwarded this to me. Both of my parents are editors and our family is kinda big on words and stuff (yes, Moms, I know "kinda" is not a proper adjective).

Can you read this? I can.

fi yuo cna raed tihs, yuo hvae a sgtrane mnid too. Cna yuo raed tihs? Olny
55 plepoe in a hdeurnd can. i cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd
waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a
rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in waht oerdr the ltteres
in a wrod are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be in
the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it whotuit
a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef,
but the wrod as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was
ipmorantt! if you can raed tihs forwrad it.

The importance I place on spelling just decreased exponentially. Well, not really. What's with the 55? I honestly cannot date someone if they don't know (and live by) the difference between there/their/they're. Grammar Rules! Ha.

Tilly Loves Lunchtime List: An allllliteration

1. Tilly loves it when one of her lunch companions points out that her SmartOnes microveable meal is "loaded with calories."
2. Tilly loves it when one of her lunch companions asks her a personal question and EVERYONE stops, turns, and listens. Kinda like stop, drop, and roll. But without the fire and smoke and stuff.
3. Tilly loves it when one of her lunch companions talks about doing shots of Tequila at a BAR on a WEEK NIGHT. Because then she doesn't feel like such an alchy. Tilly really loves this. For reals.
4. Tilly loves it when one of her lunch companions asks her about college, and then about where she went to grad school, and upon responding no one even attempts to hide their looks of shock and astonishment.
5. Tilly loves it when one of her lunch companions is wearing such putrid perfume that she loses her appetite. New diet!
6. Tilly loves it when one of her lunch companions offers her strawberries and melon. Again, really loves this. I heart you ScientistFrisbeeLady.
7. Tilly loves it when one of her lunch companions tries to initiate a conversation in the restroom following lunch about her enjoyment of said lunch. In the stalls. She does not respect the Buffer Stall.
8. Tilly loves it when all of her lunch companions discuss DNA topoisomeres and protein membrane crystallography. And then all laugh? Then Tilly laughs. Haha. Good one. I get it. No, really, I do.

Silly Tilly. Silly, silly Tilly.

Like Sand Through Tilly's Hourglass...

So, lately I have been thinking a lot about the choices people (i.e. Me) make and how those choices impact the path of their (i.e. My) lives (whoa, deep, I know). And I'm not just talking about the BIG life choices, like professions and partners and such, although that's been rolling around the cranium as well. I'm talking more about the daily choices. The important stuff. Like, for instance, which bathroom stall to use, which train car to enter, which seat on the train to sit on, which bar to go to, which part of town to live in, which route to take to work, elevator or stairs, elliptical or treadmill or lakeshore path, etc. etc. etc. Life is made up of these things...these so-called "decisions" or "choices." And what scares me is that I've been making all the wrong ones.

[Let's back up just a second, because you know this all basically goes back to some boy. And in this case, it's GoatBoy. No, he's not a hybrid. He's a real-live boy slash man. And he's my ex. Basically, he almost dropped out of grad school to move here for me so that we could get married. But Tilly went and had to go freak the F out and back out and tell him not to move here and we broke up. And it's not so much that I regret that decision, but that I can't help but wonder, you know. Was that the RIGHT choice? I could be married right now, if that's what I wanted. But obvi I didn't. Right? Right. Thanks. Just had to get that out of the way.]

But, anyway, back to the real important decisions.

1. Bathroom stall. I will never understand why people pick the middle stall in a bathroom of three stalls. Why? Someone's obvi going to settle their business right next to you, with only a thin, tan metal half-ass divider thing separating your business transactions. I always pick the stall furthest from the door for the advantageous sound blockage, plus it's got one "safe" side: the wall. Also, respect the buffer stall. Put some space between you and your fellow bathroom-users. We all appreciate it. Really we do. And, finally, for those of you who pick the handicap stall, even when other stalls are open: turn your heart-light on. Seriously. I mean, if it's the only one open, or if you need some extra space for changing or something, fine. Otherwise, stop being such a selfish prick. Disabled folks gotta take a piss too. My point: Privacy folks. Learn it. Live it. Love it.
2. Train car. I always pick the second from the front. I stand at a certain spot at the train stop in the morning and it really throws me off if someone else (ahem, old man in the hat) is standing there. Like, for real. I'm a creature of habit and I like my routine. I'm not a tight-ass or anything and I certainly like to be spontaneous in other aspects of my life, but my morning commute on the train is not one of them. So, anyway, I frequently see the same people on the train, because, you see, I am NOT insane and other people dig their habits too. So there. So the other day I decided to, you know, live on the edge and I instead got on the THIRD car. Yeah, risky. And this ended up kicking me in the balls (figuratively...I am no hermaphrodite) because my new elCrush was on the second car (where he usually is) and I saw him get off at his stop and I was pissed. Because maybe that was the day we were going to fall in love. Or at least the day I was going to maybe, you know, make eye contact or maybe even smile. My point: Stick with the 2nd car.
3. Train seat. I like the forward-facing seats, but occasionally I'll mix it up and sit in the sideways one, usually because I don't have a choice, but sometimes it's so I can "stretch my legs." Now, what I don't get are the people that CHOOSE to sit in the backward-facing seats. Psychos. It is just wrong. Wrong and sick. Literally. Isn't that nauseating? I would rather stand than sit in those. Or, at least that was the case until I did so last night. It wasn't so bad. Really. But, I only did so because I was on the dirty red and "something" had spilled slash leaked all over the floor. But this gave me a chance to slyly watch all the other folks, and, well, I guess my point is is that the people that sit in the backward-facing seats are indeed psycho stalkers. See, I was right all along. Duh. My point: Beware of the backward-seaters. They ARE watching.
4. Bar. This is typically decided by the people you want to see. But last weekend we went to a bar that I had never been to in Bucktown, and let me tell you, there was a whole 'nother breed of cuties there. More casual, less Yuppie, more punky. And Tilly likey likey. The problem is that it was about a $15 cab ride away, rather than, say a walk. So, that decision is usually easy to make. But apparently I need to stop being such a cheapass and venture outside my typical bar zone comfort area. Yeah, we'll see about that. My point: Um, I'll go wherever really. I mean, as long as there is alcohol being served.
5. Route to work. Now, this is all relative, but my commute involves the following options:
*Whoa, a list within a list--Tilly's dream come true*
a. Bus to train to feet. This is a favorable option because there is a high probability that I will get some eye candy, either on the bus or the train. And especially while waiting for the train and getting a look at the other side of the tracks because, gad, those downtown boys are fi-ine.
b. Feet to train to feet. This is the option when I miss the bus and none are in sight and there are no other people waiting for the bus, leading me to believe that I will have to wait for more than a few minutes.
c. Bike. Now, this is tricky, because while I see the cuties, they are all going the opposite direction, plus the fact that no one's stopping to chat, add that to the sweaty donkey factor. But, at least I get to skip the gym.
d. Car. Boring. Plus some ass stole my stereo and now I either have to listen to myself think or put in one stinking earbud and be that guy. In addition to the fact that my anxiety about finding a parking spot back at the 'ol homestead after work will not allow me to concentrate all day and therefore the drive home won't be pretty.
My point: I have none.
6. I'll skip the rest because they're boring. Lame, but true.

Anyway, all of these choices add up. It's all about timing. And lately I feel, well, late. And being late is not my thing. I'm competitive by nature, and I like to win. Duh. And I kinda feel like I'm not only losing this race, but that I've already lost. F me.

Dude. Flip that shit.

Holy Mother...Tilly, Are You Alive?

1. No.
2. Yes, but barely.
3. Maybe. I would respond, but I can't hear you because my eyes are closed.

My college ladies all came into town for the weekend--5 women in my studio. Yowsers. Luckily, sleep was not the main event, so we spent maybe a total of 12 hours in the mini-box all weekend. Unfortunately, Lake Michigan decided to be all bacteria-laden, thus incurring a "swim ban," which all of my friends blamed on me. When we got too hot, we (read: Tilly) decided that it would be a good idea to hit up the big ship bar, Castaways, to cool off and have a cocktail (or three). However, the ship was ironically crazy packed (who knew ship bars were so popular among young professionals and beach-goers?), and therefore hot-as-hell as the wind was stifled by all the bodies. I saw my BF, but apparently he was mad at me and decided to ignore me the whole time. Odd.

Anyway, starting to drink at noon may be a questionable activity when you have barely been sober for 5 minutes. Or, then again, maybe not. My decision-making skills are currently on the fritz. The thing about being friends with attractive, fun, intelligent women is this: they are always in relationships and therefore want you to be in one too. Which basically means that everywhere you go they encourage you to talk to boys. What about him (blatant "Mom" pointing)? What about him (blatant "child" pointing)? That bartender is cute. GO talk to him. Including the MTV VJ. No thanks. Apparently, to "get a boyfriend," I need to do one or all of the following:
1. "Put myself out there," which I am supposedly not doing.
2. Talk to boys. Imagine that.
3. Get a dog.
4. Show more cleave.
5. Stop drunk-texting.
6. Some other stuff, but I stopped listening when I got drunk and decided that I should play table bowling with some rando's, which, technically, should probably be #6 because I think that guy could now be my BF if I could remember his name, or what he looked like, or what bar we were at. Yeah. I'm really on top of this whole "getting a boyfriend" thing.

Although my month of self-imposed celibacy is over and has been over for almost two weeks, I have a feeling that it might be a bit harder to shake than I had initially imagined. Oh well. My horoscope this morning said something about being on the shirttails of a hot and heavy romance. Or coattails. Same diff. Either way.

The "Look-See" Or Why Tilly Is Going Bat-Shit-Crazy-Insane:

So, I was all about posting this great little goodbye letter to my former wonderfully fantabulous cottage with pictures to boot and be all sincere and positive and not bitter and shit. And then, well, then I remembered that I hate people. Especially people that walk by my office 17 times a day and do the "look-see." Holy-effing-crap-blasting-hell. I seriously cannot deal with these creepy-crappy-stalker-scientists. I think I might impload.

Yes. Here I am in my office, still sitting at my desk, still busy pretending to work at my awesome-ish computer. Nothing has changed since the last time you walked by. But, really, honestly, why? Why? Why look? Do you say hello? No. Do you have a question? No. Do you need something so you are checking to see if I am in a super-important meeting? No. Do you have a not-so-secret-but-still-secret crush on Tilly? No.

Eh, just looking.

Sometimes I attempt to throw them off by closing my door at a 45degree angle, but, alas, they are not fooled. They just peek through the quarter-window to the side. So, rather than accepting such a defeat, I one-up these beaker-transporting peepers and close the blinds on said quarter-window. Ha! But then I just look all shady and shit, like I am actually up to mischief or some other debauchery, which, duh, I obvi save for after-hours people, c'mon. Their four beedy eyes invade my personal space all.effing.day. I try to hide behind my massive monitor, but then I can't sit comfortably with my legs crossed under my desk and therefore I am just not a happy camper. This paradox is berating me on a daily, no hourly, no minutely, no, well, okay, fine, minutely [wc?]basis. And I just don't know how much longer I can efficiently complete my job requirements living in such a violated working condition. AHHHHH! It just happened AGAIN. As.I.Type.This. I think I'm [going] bat-shit-crazy-insane.

But, now, here's your (and by your, I mean my) Moment of Zen:

Tilly Hearts NoMI:

After a loooong weekend in the land of mullets, aka Northern Michigan, to say I heart NoMI is an immense understatement. And this is why...

1. Double Tubing. Team Chi-town. Almost losing my bathing suit bottoms with each "graceful" spill. Keyword: Almost.
2. Beirut with cocktail cups. "Is this table, like, extra long or something?" "No, it's regulation ping-pong size. I think the problem is those shot glasses." Keyword: cocktail.
3. "I Like Girls in Spandex." Not only did these dudes crash our Beirut game, but they were the modern day version of, well, short-fat-guy and tall-skinny-guy-with-braces. And TSGWB was wearing a shirt with that phrase. Yeah, for real. Then he made a comment about my boobs (I wish I remembered that part) and my protective cousin shot back with a splendid comment about his braces (wish I could remember that part as well). Thanks, cuz. Keyword: Spandex.
4. Explaining the rules of "asshole" to a recent college grad. What are they teaching kids in college these days? Gosh. Keyword: El Presidente!
5. The "Where's _______?" convo. Over and over and over again. For instance:
AuntCinn: Tilly, whatever happened to that wonderful gentlemen friend that you used to bring up here? He was SUCH a great guy!!
Tilly: And he still is. But we broke up.
AuntCinn: Well, you just look fantastic. Where is HE now?
Tilly: Thank you.
-------
CousinJ: Tilly, where is that cute boy of yours?
Tilly: Y'got me?!!
CousinJ: Oh. Well, we should get you together with MA. Have you seen him lately? He's movie-star handsome!!
Tilly: Um, he's my cousin. And, yes, I see him all the time. He lives in Chicago.
CousinJ: Well, he's like your second cousin once removed or something, so it's fine.
Tilly: Uh, gross. Seriously. Not gonna happen.
CousinJ: Well, I saw some other boys walking down the beach earlier. We'll have to set you up with one of them. One was just dashing.
Tilly: Yeah, I saw them too. They were like 18.
CousinJ: So? That's legal.
CousinS: Mom, I really doubt Tilly needs help finding dates.
Tilly: Actually...
-------
GolfLady: Tilly, are you married?
Tilly: Yeah. He's right here.
GolfLady: Hahaha. Smart girl.
Keyword: Single.
6. My 16-year-old cousin changed her name. To Michaela. For $500. I have no idea. Keyword: ?.
7. Superman ice cream. Keyword: Delish.
8. Fireworks on the boat. Unfortunately, something went awry and the barge caught on fire. Therefore the show lasted all night long as the fire made it's way across the barge. Don't worry, the lady's face is healing just fine. Keyword: fire.
9. Grandparents.
*Out to eat. We order. 1 minute later.
Mimi: Did I eat?
Tilly: No, not yet, we just ordered.
Mimi: Oh, what did I order?
Tilly: Whitefish.
Mimi: Yum, that was delicious.
--We eat. Plates are cleared.--
Mimi: Did we order?
Tilly: Yes, we just ate.
Mimi: What did I have?
Tilly: The whitefish.
Mimi: Yum. Ice cream?
Tilly: Sure thing.
*Laying on the dock with Mimi. Hear the honks and whistles of the parade going by.
Mimi: What's that?
Tilly: The parade of golf carts and kids and stuff going up to the picnic.
Mimi: Oh, how nice.
30 minutes later.
Mimi: We better hurry to get to the parade.
Tilly: It's over.
Mimi: I miss EVERYTHING!
Keyword: Dementia.
10. Canoeing with the parents. Peeing in the woods. To every raft/kayak/canoe we passed (we kinda kicked ass and finished in half the estimated time), my Dad was apparently compelled to comment on the weather in all it's gloriousness. 57 times. I complain to my Mom...
Mom: He's just friendly.
Tilly: He seriously needs a new pick-up line.
Mom: Good thing we met on a blind date I guess.
Keyword(s): Thank God for blind dates.
11. "Nearly New" section in the movie store. $1. Keyword: VHS.
12. Scrabble with the parents and a couple of Oberons. My Dad almost winning with "escort" and a triple word score. Keyword: almost.
13. Passing out after a long boat/beer day with Babes and Babes on a single bed watching "Next." I have always wondered where they find those people...and I have finally unveiled the source: Northern Michigan. Keyword: Next.
14. Going to the local movie theatre with the Moms. Apparently the parking lot is "where it's at," as Moms informed me. She even offered to pick me up later if I wanted to "stay and meet some hotties." Wow. Thanks. Keyword: Help.