"No. I'm miserable."
"What's the matter?"...
"I've got a fucking human being in my stomach, that's what's the matter." ...
" />"No. I'm miserable."
"What's the matter?"...
"I've got a fucking human being in my stomach, that's what's the matter." ...
" />"No. I'm miserable."
"What's the matter?"...
"I've got a fucking human being in my stomach, that's what's the matter." ...
" />
Here’s what it’s like sharing a bed with 39-weeks pregnant woman. Or, at least, with mine.
Early this morning, I was sleeping peacefully when I felt a tugging on my shirt. I rolled over and Sarah was staring at me, wide awake.
“What’s up?” I asked. “Is it time?”
“No. I’m miserable.”
“What’s the matter?”…
“I’ve got a fucking human being in my stomach, that’s what’s the matter.” …
The guitar lessons were great, but did the crush on the teacher remain just that—a crush?
And what goes better with a pick-up line—a Black Cat espresso or a Miller Light on a doily?
We present the championship match-up…
Brittney’s pick:
Valentine’s Day can be too mushy sometimes. I love this shot by Flickr user Ankylosaur. The single heart and stark black-and-white trees are at once heartwarmingly cute and desolately chilling. They perfectly encapsulate the moods of both lovebirds and the lovelorn on this day.
Esther’s pick: I can’t imagine anyone would ever buy such a demonic-looking stuffed animal for his/her loved one. Myself? Chocolates in a heart-shaped suede box from a buddy who probably would have bought the scary bear below had he seen it first…
Even though an anonymous commenter called it a place “full of dumb yupps,” the soccer league at Sport & Social beat out the marathon running group.
But what will happen when kicking balls goes head-to-head with waiting for a cold one at the Friendly Confines?
The field has narrowed yet again. Here, the Final Four…
Will country-punk Carol’s edge out late-night perennial Marie’s? Is the
pick-up scene better in a marathon training group or a soccer league?
It’s
time to find out which Chicago hot spots make it to Singles Bracket: Elite
Eight. Drumroll, please…
Sarah was breathing strangely in bed the other morning, and I asked what was up. “I think I’m having this baby,” she said. My heart stopped. It’s go time. And I’m ready.
For the next hour we tried to figure out whether or not she was in labor. After consulting multiple books, and timing what we imagined were contractions, we’d reached our conclusion: She had gas…
I’m choosing to ignore all Valentine’s Day madness for something far more
representative of my current milieu: a Chicago Singles’ Sweet 16. Inspired
by the basketball madness that is March, in the next few days, I will whittle down the best
cultural events/spots for meeting a potential mate (Note: whether “mating”
is just for the evening or for longer term is purposefully not specified, as it is
usually indeterminable from first meeting)…
We’re taking you all the way back to elementary school this morning.
Remember those Scholastic book order forms from which you’d procure the latest copies of The Hardy Boys and The Baby-Sitters Club? Remember the feature on the back of the form where you had to look at a detail photo and guess the item? Try this one.
"Surely it’s a juicy, delicious, giant nectarine reminiscent of a lazy summer afternoon," you think to yourself. Well, you’d be wrong…
I spent all day Saturday painting furniture for the baby room, which I figured would buy me a free pass to watch the AFC championship on Sunday. It was shaping up to be a great game: The Steelers had won 15 in a row, and the Patriots hadn’t lost a playoff game in years. An hour before game time, I asked Sarah who she thought would win. She looked around the basement at little piles of unfinished projects here and there, and answered: “Me.”
I spent the day building a crib and assembling a day bed…
6:20 p.m. My colleague and I arrive at Hyatt Regency Chicago, site of Barack Obama’s Super Tuesday election night party. Navigate through crowd of campaign volunteers, Japanese TV crews, and supporters to check-in table.
6:45 p.m. Obtain media badge, walk through metal detector, scan crowd. It’s stocked full of media types, college kids, and local politicos such as Cook County Commissioner Forrest Claypool.
7:05 p.m. Attempt to enter ballroom, only to be intercepted by overeager volunteer…
