Beer me.

When I lived in St. Louis, there was only one beer to drink: Bud Light.

Sure, other beers technically existed, but in the Land of Budweiser Brewery, that's all you order. So, when I moved to Chicago several years ago (Jesus Christ, has it been years already?), I was all set to be the small-town girl drinking the St. Louis classic.

...Until I realized that NO ONE drinks Bud Light here. No one. No Bud-anything, actually. Seriously, I feel like ordering a Bug Light in Chicago is like screaming I'M NOT FROM HERE, Y'ALL. And you know how I feel about tourists -- the last thing I want is to be grouped with them. Gew.

Sooo, it was time to move on to different beers. I haven't branched out too much from my lighter, wimpier tastes, but thanks to the variety in, uh, every single bar, I don't have to. These are a few of my favs:

• Bell's Oberon
• Allagash White
• Goose Island 312
• Honker's Ale
• Magic Hat No. 9
• Shock Top
• Magner's
• Blue Moon
• Peroni
• Leinenkugel Sunset Wheat

What else should I try?

Happy Father's Day, Pop-Pop

After calling my dad and wishing him a happy Father's Day, I decided to humiliate my dog and make him wish "Pop-Pop" one as well.


Note the homemade hat, "hugs and kisses" balloon, sign and shameful reluctance. Each day, I'm shocked that this pup still loves me.

Anyway, happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. :-)

I'm not above fighting with old men

I have what's called a "short temper." Some days, it's shorter than others. I know this. You know this. It's just a fact.

Today, my short temper reared it's ugly head and I got into a fight with a 70-year-old man.

Don't judge me.

You see, I was walking my DEADLY MURDEROUS PIT BULL KILLING MACHINE through the neighborhood after work. As we passed one of the small parks, a child almost walked into him. Rocco halfway glanced at the kid and we kept walking... Until the kid's grandpa grabbed him and said, "That dog almost got you!"

Uh, slow reaction time aside, Gramps, I assure you, your kid was in no danger. So, because he's old and I'm trying to control my temper, I let it go.

But he didn't.

He said to the child, "That's a pit bull. That's a dangerous dog."

OH, NO YOU DIDN'T.

I whipped around and walked back to him.

"Excuse me, what did you say?" I asked in that tone.

"That's a pit bull," he said.

"Yeah, and?" I challenged.

"That's a dangerous dog, not a pet."

Well, folks, I kinda lost it on this old man. I mouthed off about how this is most certainly NOT a dangerous dog and threw in a few are-you-KIDDING-me's and dramatic eye rolls every time he tried to correct me. However, you'll be pleased to know that I did not say bad words because the kids were there. That said, it was still not a pretty scene.

He even told be how back in Mexico, he saw a pit bull attack a German Shepherd.

"That's great," I said snidely, "but you know chihuahuas and tiny dogs attack like that too. All dogs can, not just pit bulls! It's ridiculous to think otherwise, come ON."

Our exchange went on until I walked off calling him an asshole under my breath.

Meanwhile, my dog? Sat down and waited until Mommy was done arguing with an old dude.

For the rest of the walk, I was ranting and raving about the ignorance of some people and how absolutely disgusting it is that adults actually TEACH their children to fear a dog because of its breed. I was in the middle of my not-so-quiet rage when I heard a tiny voice.

"Hey, can we pet your dog?"

I turned and saw three young children behind their fence, smiling eagerly.

My heart softened and I walked The Killing Machine over to the kids. He sat down while they pet him, asked his name, giggled and single-handedly erased my anger. They were so sweet to him, blissfully unaware of the stereotypes and prejudice that we face nearly every day we walk. They made me smile, too. I almost didn't want to leave.

As Roc and I turned around to finish our walk, I was happily gearing up for Round 2 with the old man, but, alas, he had departed. (No doubt whisking his grandkids away before they had a chance to be murdered by my dog on our return route.)

Oh well, I shrugged. Can't win 'em all.

So, when enraged, go find some cute neighborhood kids to hang out with, grab a much-needed beer, cuddle with your pup and thank God you are so lucky to have such a well-behaved, gentle creature in your life.

Accidents are bad, mmmkay?

It recently occurred to me that I often write really random posts that have nothing to do with what's going on in my life. Example: how dumb kids are, my car permeating the Goog, life lessons, things I've wanted to tell people on Facebook...

Well, fasten your seat belts, kids, because I've got a doozy of an experience to share with you this week.

As you may know, my weird mom is on Twitter. I was checking her tweets on Sunday morning when I saw this:



Excuse me, WHAT?

I immediately called to see what the hell happened.

Apparently, she and my dad were driving back from a concert on Saturday night in her shit minivan. (Side note: She DID finally get a new car, but she believes it's too nice to drive to crappy places like outdoor venues.) Well, you know how sometimes the road curves and your car doesn't? That happened. Observe:




The minivan ended up flying off the road, onto the railroad tracks, halfway onto a pile of rocks. Mom's glasses flew off in the process and as she was looking for them, my dad tells her to GET OUT OF THE CAR NOW.

"But I need my glasses," she says, still searching.

"Franny," he snaps, "get OUT."

That's when she saw the train.

They both jump out of the car as the train hits the breaks. Because the train conductor saw the accident take place, he was able to stop before smashing Mom's precious van. Both parents made it out of there safely.

The cops who showed up at the scene told them that they were very lucky. Also, accidents happen in that exact spot roughly two to three times a week. Really, Tennessee? That's not a big clue that you need to put up a sign or, ya know, DO SOMETHING to stop that?

Anyway, the minivan was fixed for $81, which is probably half the value of the car, and everyone walked away just fine. Shaken, but fine. And thank God for that.

Be careful out there, people!

We shouldn't own nice things

Remember that time Dave lost his wedding ring in the snow? And then I found it? And squealed with delight?

Well, bring on the panic attacks because it's lost again.

This time, we're convinced it's somewhere in the apartment. Dave says he took it off at some point on Sunday evening and put it on the dining room table before walking the dog that night. On Monday, sans ring, we went to Home Depot, got a ton of paint and started painting the bedroom. This included moving all the furniture, sweeping and creating multiple trash bags. On Tuesday before work, Dave didn't see the ring in plain sight so we both went to work without worrying about it.

And now here we are. Wednesday. No ring.

The thing is, Dave's not the only guilty party in this whole I-lose-nice-stuff fiasco...

It also appears that I have, um, misplaced a diamond earring, part of the set he got me as a wedding gift.

So, this morning, I tore the bedroom apart looking for it -- nothing. I finally confessed to Dave that I couldn't find it. But my guilt was quickly replaced by panic when he confessed that he still couldn't find his wedding ring. We shifted into high-gear and started scouring the apartment for it... and, of course, turned up nothing. Could it have been swept into one of the trash bags from painting? Did Rocco get a hold of it? Will it ever show up again?

Start praying to St. Anthony, folks. He came through last time. Let's see if he can do it again.



UPDATE: He found it! It was buried in a bag. Perhaps it's time to get that thing insured, no?