A short update...

It is somehow 1 AM right now, although I'm not sure how in the world it could possibly be that late. Anyway, as a result, I am going to make this a quick post.

There was no way for Mike to try and kill my mom again today because she is on 100% room air today! Huzzah!

She had a visit from one of her best friends in high school, whom she hasn't seen in almost 30 years. On top of that, her cardiologist from Burlington made a special call to her cardiologist in Davenport to check on her progress. The Davenport doctor asked her exactly "who she was down there." It's unusual for a doctor to follow up personally on a patient that's been transfered. Once the reins change hands, that's sort of it. Out of sight, out of mind. Dr. Lazar (Burlington cardiologist) calling Davenport to check on her made her feel pretty spiffy. She also found out that the hospital in Burlington is holding her job for three months in the hopes that when they re-evaluate her heart functions down the road she'll be deemed fit enough to come back to work. It's one thing to retire and another entirely to have retirement thrust upon you, but why worry about something that you have no control over, right?

Well, I'm off to bed. Take care.

I feel WICKED! -(or)- What a difference a day makes!

Last night, my friend Vitka and I attended the Chicago version of the Tony award winning musical "Wicked." The musical itself was wonderful! I was so impressed that I had to rush out today and buy the soundtrack cd and a copy of the original book. Mike just shakes his head when things like this happen. He asked me why I had to have them right away and I was like, "Because I want them! Why else?"

We picked Vitka up after she got off of work at the Field (aka the seventh circle of Hell) and went out to grab a bite to eat to kill the couple of hours before the show started. We went to Miller's Pub in the Loop. The food was fair to good quality. As we were leaving we had what I refer to as an "almost Yao Ming" sighting. You don't see too many 7 foot tall Asian men and we had to stare through the window for a few minutes to see for sure.

My mom is doing great so far. We went to see her in the hospital today, arriving at about 1 p.m. I hadn't seen her before we went in but my dad says he is shocked every day because he sees so much improvement. On Wednesday, according to all sources, she was ashen/gray colored, short of breath and looking quite unhealthy. Post-surgery (in which two arteries were stented) she was given a good prognosis by her surgeons but remained groggy and pretty out of it for the rest of the day. In fact, she doesn't remember speaking to me on the phone, although "speaking" is really a generous word for it. My aunt held the phone up to her ear, I spoke and she grunted back at me. She also doesn't remember being cranky, smacking away helpful hands nor the numerous attempts she made to climb out of bed. The next day, my dad says, he entered into her room and she was sitting on the side of the bed (pre-surgery this was strictly forbidden!). She smiled big and said, "Hey, babe!" She was also no longer the chalky gray color - she had a pink face and pink feet. The difference, according to both my dad and my aunt Linda, was like night and day. (Yeah, that's right...I've got both a mom and an aunt named Linda. Big whoop...wanna fight about it? Actually when I was younger I had two Aunt Lindas - one on each side of the family. There was 1 Linda Parker (my mom's maiden name) and 2 Linda Harrises...crazy, huh? ) My dad was telling me today that her improvement was again a pleasant surprise. Because I hadn't been there through the entire hospital stay, I hadn't noticed it myself. Yesterday she had 6 IV's, an oxygen mask and a catheter. Today the catheter had been removed, she was down to 1 IV (which was turned off during the time I spent in the room) and she was down to a nasal cannula with reduced oxygen. They're weaning her completely off of the oxygen and she is now taking her medicines orally. She has a lot of sore spots, including a burn on her back where they shocked her with a defibrillator to get her heart rhythm normal again either before or during her cardiac procedures. She's got a long road ahead of her as far as recovery is concerned but they're estimating she'll be ready to head home the first to mid part of next week.

Her sense of humor is back, though. Today Mike had the misfortune to sit on the chair that had somehow rolled on top of her oxygen tubing. There was a loud popping noise when the tubing came off from the oxygen source in the wall. We had to call the nurse to come and reconnect it. For the rest of the day, my mom absolutely delighted in telling anyone and everyone who came into the room that her future son-in-law was trying to finish her off. Depending on who she was speaking to I was either an innocent bystander or a willing participant in the devious plot.

The bright side? Mike's beloved WEW was playing in West Point, IA this weekend (very near where my parents live) and he was in town for the concert. Yippee.

Snippets

In an attempt to keep my readers informed and from wandering to other less interesting web sites, I must update. Thanks Mom, for the kick in the butt to get back on the blogging horse. Without further ado, my spurs are a-janglin'.

Congrats to the Detroit Pistons, who are now 35-5. Remember 1984 when a certain professional sports team from Detroit started out at 35-5 and won the World Series? It's hard to believe that this team could be even better than the team that dismantled the Lakers two years ago. Billups for MVP.

Two books I'm currently reading are David Egger's "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" and Neil Peart's (drummer in Rush) "Traveling Music." Egger's work is in the David Sedaris vein and is just as brilliant and entertaining.

I applied for a job the other day as an Epidemiologist for the Cook County Health Department. Sounds important, right? It'll probably be a few weeks before they start interviewing.

On a serious note, our thoughts are with Cindi's mom, Linda, who is currently in the hospital recovering from a heart attack and subsequent surgery. Please include her and her family in your prayers. We will be heading out for Iowa on Friday morning.

Also, a belated RIP to Wilson Pickett, one of the great entertainers and singers of all time, who left us last week.

Random Fargo quote

Mr. Mohra: So, I'm tendin' bar there at Ecklund and Swedlin's last Tuesday and this little guy's drinkin' and he says, "So where can a guy find some action? I'm goin' crazy out there at the lake." And I says, "What kinda action?" and he says, "Woman action, what do I look like?" And I says, "Well, what do I look like, I don't arrange that kinda thing," and he says, "I'm goin' crazy out there at the lake," and I says, "Well, this ain't that kinda place."
Officer Olson: Uh-huh.
Mr. Mohra: So he says, "So I get it, so you think I'm some kinda jerk for askin'," only he doesn't use the word jerk.
Officer Olson: I understand.
Mr. Mohra: And then he calls me a jerk and says the last guy who thought he was a jerk was dead now. So I don't say nothin' and he says, "What do ya think about that?" So I says, "Well, that don't sound like too good a deal for him then."
Officer Olson: Ya got that right.
Mr. Mohra: And he says, "Yah, that guy's dead and I don't mean of old age." And then he says, "Geez, I'm goin' crazy out there at the lake."
Officer Olson: White Bear Lake?
Mr. Mohra: Well, Ecklund & Swedlin's, that's closer ta Moose Lake, so I made that assumption.
Officer Olson: Oh sure.
Mr. Mohra: So, ya know, he's drinkin', so I don't think a whole great deal of it, but Mrs. Mohra heard about the homicides down here and she thought I should call it in, so I called it in. End o' story.
Officer Olson: What'd this guy look like anyway?
Mr. Mohra: Oh, he was a little guy. Kinda funny lookin'.
Officer Olson: Uh-huh. In what way?
Mr. Mohra: Oh, just in a general kinda way.

This post is rated "R"

I wanted to call this post " (the upstairs neighbor (TUN)'s name) is a big fat psycho" so that if anyone ever googled his name there was a chance it would come up. But I decided that naming names could just escalate a situation which has already been put to bed. (Supposedly). Besides, he already knows I think he's a psycho because I was quite vocal with the landlord and the word "psycho" was both a noun and an adjective.

We had a small incident with TUN about three weeks ago when we got home from spending the week in Michigan. To preface the story, let me tell you that when he and his pregnant girlfriend moved in upstairs, Mike and I stopped parking in the two spots behind the house. Until that point we would occasionally park in the spots but not constantly. The landlord wanted $50 extra a month to rent a parking space. Mike and I said we were happy parking on the street and he said that until another tenant came we could park back there sometimes if we wanted. When TUNs moved in, they decided to pay the extra money to rent a spot for their broken down ford escort hatchback. Whatever...no skin off of our nose. Now there are two spots behind the house and the landlord told us that we could still park there once in awhile if we wanted to but Mike and I didn't want there to be any sort of misunderstanding between us and TUNs if they found out we parked there without paying extra for it.

Then suddenly one day in the late fall/early winter, their car disappeared. We were having dinner or something with the landlord and he mentioned that they told him that they'd gotten rid of their car. My personal opinion is that the piece of crap broke down and so they either can't afford to fix it or don't want to fix it because they had a baby about two weeks after they moved in and it just seems stupid to me to decide to "get rid of" your car with a newborn. But I digress...the landlord told us that we were welcome to park back there because TUNs didn't have a car anymore. Despite this, Mike and I still only rarely parked behind the house. It's fenced in and to be honest, it's really a bit of a pain to get out, open the gate, park, get out, close the gate etc. It's so much easier just to park on the street along side the building. About the only time we pulled up behind was when we had groceries or there was no easy parking to be had.

Now, back to the story. About three weeks ago, TUN knocked on our back door. POUNDED would be more like it. I would have thought that the police were stopping back if it had been the front. I opened it and he rudely insisted that we move our car right that instant. He then turned around and stomped through the store room and out the back door, letting it slam behind him. While I was really pissed at his attitude, (especially since there are TWO spots back there) I asked Mike to move the car. He did. As I was telling the landlord about the incident, he said that he already knew about it. The man who was with TUN was a friend of the landlord's. He had told the landlord that he felt sorry for us living under TUN and told him about how rude and belligerent he was with us. The landlord offered to intervene and talk to TUN about it and I declined. I told him I wanted him to be aware of what was going on in case we got into an argument or had further problems with TUN.

**This is where the post gets R rated due to adult language as I'll be quoting the psycho.

Fast forward to Friday night. Mike parked behind the house and headed out to see his beloved WEW via the Chicago Transit Authority. After Mike had been gone about 30 minutes, I hear a pounding on the backdoor. I opened it and TUN was there once again demanding that I move the car.

Me: "Sorry but I don't have the keys and Mike's not home."
Psycho: "Well where the fuck am I supposed to park."
Me: "I'm sorry but I don't know what to tell you. I don't have the keys."

The psycho slams his fist into the wall next to my door and turns to stomp away. As he's walking out of the store room he says, "Well you better fucking move it as soon as you can!" Then he slams the door and I hear him kicking around the stuff on the back porch area while he screams at the top of his lungs, "I paid for that fucking parking spot! Bitch."

At this point, I freaked out. I'm home alone, he's going whackjob in the back yard and I have no idea how many people he has with him and/or what he's capable of. I tried to call the landlord and got his voicemail. I called Mike, who told me to call the landlord. Then I hear the psycho stomp up the front steps, enter his apartment and start screaming about us some more. I mean, he's talking so loud that I can hear what he is saying through the ceiling. His rant doesn't last too long, thankfully. (I learned later that it was because the landlord had been upstairs visiting with the psycho's girlfriend and told him that he needed to chill out.)

The landlord came down after he got my message. He'd left his cell phone upstairs in his apartment on the charger. I went off! I had spent the whole evening feeling isolated and apprehensive because I knew that the psycho was upstairs with his buddies getting tanked. Matthew (the landlord) sat with me for a couple of hours until just before Mike got home and we agreed to meet the next morning for a breakfast meeting to come to some sort of compromise.

At breakfast, Mike and I volunteered to stop parking behind the house entirely. In return, the psycho is not allowed to speak to me period. Matt said he'd gone back upstairs and told him that TUN was to go through Matt if he had anything to say to us. If for some reason, he HAD to speak to us that he was to do it in a polite and respectful manner. Matt also said that further outbursts on his part could affect whether or not TUNs' lease is renewed. We'll see, I guess.

It's called dedication, son.

Nothing was going to stop me from attending William Elliott Whitmore's show Friday night. NOTHING. Not the horrible traffic on the freeway as I drove home from work and picked up Cindi in Oak Park, not the cold rain and sleet pelting my face after walking nearly a mile from the el stop, not the crappy CTA schedule that made me walk part of the way, not wet clothes, shoes and socks that just got dry as I left the venue, not the $6 suggested donation at the door, not intense hunger and thirst, not Cindi's frantic phone call about our psycho upstairs neighbor going ballistic about us parking in "his space" behind the building...like I said, NOTHING.

As I walked up to the venue, I had the feeling I was in the wrong place. Checked the address, 1352 South Union. Yep, this has to be it. It's the only building on the block. I was at a decrepit old building that once had passed for a Baptist church. I walked around the back, wondering whether there was a secret entrance. I watched two young hipster doofi (that's plural for hipster doofus - you know, the twentysomethings with their funky hair, funky clothing, thick glasses and multiple piercings) head in the front door of the church and pay their donation. Another girl came in with a pocketful of change, not quite the suggested $6, but I think she got in anyways. I'm not sure who or what the donation was to benefit, but the church certainly could have used a cut of the cash to keep it standing.

I walked into the main "church"/rock stage area. No pews. The seats were theater style, maybe 120 or so. Up near where the altar would have stood, was where the band had set up their instruments and PA. The first thing that caught my eye was a huge neon crucifix with the words "Jesus is the light of the world" emblazoned above it. Jesus was outlined in a powder blue neon with the sites of the five wounds in a red neon. Not something you see every day. I wish I had brought my camera with me.

WEW walked in with his trademark black hat and a pint of Jack Daniel's Black tucked in his arm. Another dude was dressed in a gold button up shirt that said, "Yeah it's a gold shirt, but I'm in a band, so it's all good." This guy was actually in the opening band called Judy Green, and played several instruments well (acoustic, clarinet, sax and trumpet).

I first saw WEW perform as an opening act for Clutch about 2 months ago. He walked onstage by himself with a banjo and an acoustic guitar and had the crowd mesmerized with his totally original voice, songs and blend of country, gospel, folk, bluegrass and blues. His bio for Southern Records refers to him as "the hillbilly Ray Charles." Looking at him, he is the last person in the world that you would think could play a banjo and make it sound cool. Normally, a tattooed man and banjos just don't go together. His songs were wonderful with dark lyrics and song titles such as "Cold and Dead," "Pine Box," "Burn my Body," and "Digging my Grave." I later found out that he's from SE Iowa, not too far from where Cindi's parents live.

The show this weekend was fantastic. Several pints of Jack and cans of PBR were consumed by WEW over the course of the hour-long show. The guys sitting behind me even brought in a 18 pack of Old Style beer. Here I was sitting in what was once a church, and I couldn't even bring myself to wear my baseball cap inside, and these guys were cracking open beers.

After the show was finished, I congratulated WEW on the fine show, bought both of his CDs and headed for home.

What an anchor!

Wow. If you listen to Mike I'm the biggest anchor on the planet! HE cleaned the office, *I* am the reason there are still boxes in the office. Piffle. Ok...so maybe that's true. It is still somehow Mike's fault. That's the rule in this house. When in doubt...blame Mike. When all is said and done...with this rule I'm probably lucky he hasn't strangled me by now. My dad must be plotting my downfall because he's always telling Mike things like, "You don't have to take that from her! You just reach over and smack the crap outta her." Yeah. Right. This from the man who thinks he could take my mom in a fight. Ha! Anybody who knows my mom knows the old man doesn't stand a chance. When that "no holds-barred" cage match goes down my money's on Linda.

My family has a weird sense of humor, though. My brother's now-former girlfriend said immediately after meeting the rest of his family that it was scary but she knew exactly where Jeff got his wit and humor from. The answer being my mother - and Robin could tell because she'd instilled the same sense of humor in all of her offspring. She jokingly claimed that it was "scary" how similar we are. I had to tell you that to tell you this story. Mike says I shouldn't blog about this but it's SO funny...I can't help it. Some of you know this story but not everyone - so here goes.

We live in a Hispanic neighborhood. Specifically, our area is mostly Puerto Rican. (Not that there's anything wrong with that) Anyways, Mike has picked up a few words of Spanish here and there from the neighbors. He loves to try it out on our cats. My favorite of the phrases he's learned is "Papi chulo." This is something the girls say when they see a hot guy. It means "fine daddy." Anyways, I'm getting off track. In Spanish when you add "-ito" to the end of an adjective it means "little" and makes the word an endearment. For example, "dulce" means sweet and "dulcito" means sweetie or little sweet one. Following so far? Ok, good. Anyways, we happen to have the handsomest boy cat EVER! E.V.E.R. He's a hottie. One of the words Mike picked up was "guapo" which means handsome. Soon enough 'guapo' became 'guapito.' Nothing unusual there. But in the tradition of true Americans, pretty soon he was shortening his endearments and started calling Furio - "Pito." For SEVERAL weeks Mike called the cat by this endearment. Then one day I was talking to my friend Roy who worked at the museum with me. Roy was born in Mexico and came to the U.S. when he was seven, so he's a Spanish speaker. We got into a discussion about the two kittens he had just gotten and I mentioned that Mike called our boy cat "Pito." His eyes got really big and he said, "Oh no! You need to tell him to stop!" Apparently in Spanish, "pito" is the word for specific....uh....male only anatomy, if you catch my drift. I was absolutely tickled pink! I laughed for, like, a half hour. I couldn't WAIT to get home and tell Mike that he'd been calling Furio "little -you know what." Every time I happened to think about it for the rest of the day I'd crack up laughing. I got home and told him and Mike was HORRIFIED. I'm sure he saw the humor in the situation and took the news pretty well but he got nowhere near as much pleasure out of his error as I did. But that night I called my mom and told her the story and I thought she was going to wet her pants. It's true - the whole family just has the same skewed sense of humor, I guess. In fact, I should call Jeff. I haven't told him that story and I know he'd get a kick out of it.

I'd like to take this moment here to say "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" to my mom, by the way. She's turning 29 today...again. Quite a feat considering that in two months I myself will be turning 29. When I spoke to her on the phone today she said something to the effect of "It's hell when you turn the same age as your second child." Yeah. Well, I suppose since Jeff is 35 now she might want to up herself to 39 maybe. While I'm telling funny stories at other people's expenses, ask my mom to tell you sometime about the time my dad thought he'd forgotten her birthday. (Or maybe I'll just tell you now) One year, several birthdays ago, my dad thought he'd forgotten her birthday. Sensing that if she got home from work and knew he'd forgotten he would probably be in trouble, he ran into town and picked up a cake and such to surprise her when she got home. It was DEFINITELY a surprise since it was January 11. He was a week early. I made sure I called her last week to let her know that I'd nearly forgotten her birthday.

The other day Mike and I went to the Brown Elephant resale shop on Halsted. The proceeds from their sales support a hospital specializing in AIDS study and research. With Mike/Hercules having cleaned out the office area and sorting through some of the boxes that we have sitting in the closet, we had some stuff to donate. Once there, I decided to take a look around at the books. I love thrift store books. Well...books period...but thrift store book sections are one of my favorite places to be. While we were looking, they played New Kids on the Block all around the store. I was ecstatic! Mike knows, of course, that as soon as Joey McIntyre's private detectives find me that it's over between he and I. You know...the private detectives he hired to find that cute girl (ME!) he saw in the audience at the NKOTB concert in Iowa City, IA about....oh....15-ish years ago. Apparently I haven't left as big of a trail as I thought I had since his PI's haven't managed to locate me in all this time. Yeah, I know that Joey Mac got married...but I'm betting that his wife looks just like me. You know...he couldn't fine me so he had to settle for marrying someone who looks astonishingly like me. Why are you laughing? How am I funny? Do I look like a clown to yous?

Wedding update to follow soon. It's getting late and I'm tired. G'night.

Seacrest, out!

Wish I had TiVo about now. I only caught the first and last half-hour or so of American Idol. Because of Cindi's late work schedule, I had to pick her up tonight in the middle of the show.

Paula and Randy must have been high for sending that Dancing Dave or Crazy Dave through to Hollywood. Alls I know, that was some crazy dancin. The twins from Inkster were excellent. Can't wait to see the openly gay black guy sing "Ain't no mountain high enough" tomorrow.

I did catch the premiere of "Love Monkey" tonight. The title of the show sounds silly, but I thought it was enjoyable nonetheless. It's about an A&R rep for a NY record label. In the first show, he gets dumped by his girlfriend and loses his job at Goliath Records. Ouch!

The seemingly Herculean task of cleaning out the office is finished. Well, almost. All of the crap is in boxes in the closet now and Cindi just needs to decide what stays and what goes. Next, I'm going to find a cheap tv off of craigslist and get a second dish hook-up so I can watch sports, play video games, and not have to watch Law and Order and/or CSI every waking moment. ;)

Teen models

Hurry! Somebody take my picture with Potatohead Khabibulin! Dad?! Where's the camera?

















Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.



















Brand new Meadow. Approximately aged 4 weeks




















Big brothers are cool. Sometimes.

Worth a thousand words

This picture makes me laugh. Here is Mike "lecturing" at the Polish Museum yesterday.

The whole truth, and nothing but.

Sundays feel so much better when you have Monday off.

This afternoon, Cindi and I headed to Clara's Restaurant to dine. They advertise "the best hash browns in the city," and they didn't disappoint.

After lunch, we headed to the Polish Museum of America. It was pretty interesting. Some of the highlights were the WWI and WWII exhibits with complete officer uniforms on display (including one Polish American from Detroit), several wall size paintings, the Pope John Paul II exhibit, the pisanki display of close to 100 eggs on display at the 1939 World's Fair in NYC, and the replica armor of the Polish "winged cavalry" in the 17th or 18th century. We took lots of pictures on the digital, including our "audience" with the Pope, and my "lecture" to the small audience on hand.

The Michigan State-Ohio State basketball game got my blood boiling, as the Spartys tried to find any way to give the game to OSU. Luckily for Cindi, she was playing her computer game with her headphones on, so she couldn't hear me yelling at the tv too much. After 2 OT's, the Spartans held on to win! (Insert MSU fight song here.)

Tonight I will be tackling the difficult task of cleaning out the office room. Wish me luck!

Stewie Griffin says....

"You know, Cindi, I would feel worse about this if you didn't spell your name with that insufferable 'i'!"

Yeah. That's right. I'm blogging.

Wow, my first post. How exciting. I guess I'll start with a recap of this weekend's events so far. Yesterday, I came home from work and suggested to Cindi and her friend, Barb, that we go to the hockey game. It was a pretty good game too. Despite the crappy weather outside, it was a sold out game. Several of both teams' better players were out with injuries (Khabibulin and Aucoin for Chicago, and "Super" Mario Lemieux for Pittsburgh), but it was a chance to see Penguins rookie phenom Sidney Crosby play. He assisted on Pittsburgh's only goal, but the Hawks had him pretty much bottled up the whole night. The Hawks scored 3 quick goals in the first period and hung on to win, 4-1. Ex- Wing Marty Lapointe scored for the Hawks, so that was cool. Cindi got her new hat, so I inherited her other Hawks skull cap.

Not too much happened today (Saturday). I slept in and watched the Wings battle the Rangers. I was hoping to see Shanny get his hat trick, but he came up short.

And for the record, there is nothing wrong with me listening to Merle Haggard. You know you love him too, Cindi! "Sing me back home..."

This message is for Charles Harris!

Dad-

You are not allowed to hang out with Mike anymore. I have spent the better part of the evening listening to Mike singing songs like this:

"I'd like to settle down but they won't let me....
A fugitive must be a rolling stone....
Down every road there's always one more city....
I'm on the run, the highway is my home...."

The cats and I have reached our Merle Haggard threshold! Make the bad man stop. Your Mike privileges are hereby revoked! That is all.

Love, Cindi

Titles are overrated...

Our friend Rachael called about 11 o'clock this morning. The flowers for our wedding are almost done! I was very impressed! She's finished pretty much everything in less than a week. She also has preliminary hotel information gathered up. So if you are attending my wedding, make sure you let me know so I can count you in the number of rooms we'll need to reserve for that weekend.

Amazingly I was awake when she called. Schmikey and I went to a Blackhawks game last night. Actually, I was a total slug all day. I met my friend Barb for lunch at SanTullo's but it was raining and cold. We were going to go to the Museum of Contemporary Art. By the time I got to the restaurant, it was sleeting and I had forgotten both hat and umbrella. After briefly considering a trip down the street to the bookstore which I decided wasn't a good idea (Mike would KILL me if I bought something - his motto is, "If you wanna book, I'll take you to the library.), we ended up catching the bus back to my house where we sat like garden slugs drinking hot tea, eating pringles and watching courtroom shows on tv for four hours until Mike got home. Barb kept saying, "We should have worked on our lesson plans." Feh. I have four days to do that. I needed a garden slug day! But I digress.

Mike got home, looked at Barb and turned the puppy dog eyes on me. Then he said, "I guess we're not going to the hockey game, huh?" ((Keep in mind, I had mentioned this game a week ago and he said something like, "Oh. I dunno. Maybe.")) So I asked Barb if she wanted to go with. She's one of the most professional proper people I've ever met so I totally expected her to politely decline the invite. She wanted to go, though - so we took in the Blackhawks-Penguins game last night. Not only that! We bought tickets when we got there but we in early enough to get the Blackhawks Mr. Potatohead dolls. They're so cute! They have either a black eye and/or missing teeth.

During the game, Barb sat inbetween Mike and I because she'd never been to a game before and I thought he could better explain what was happening than I could. Mike didn't mind sitting next to Barb but he was afraid that he would end up with Barb on the Jumbotron "Kiss Me" screen.

After the game, I went to Fandemonium to look for a red fuzzy Blackhawks hat. I couldn't find one but I did locate a white fuzzy Blackhawks hat and so all was right in the world. As we were waiting to pay a guy told Barb he'd give her $20 for her potatohead. She didn't want to give him up but I told the guy he could have mine. Since Mike and I each paid $10 to get into the game, we basically got our tickets for a potatohead and since we had two between us, we definitely came out ahead in the deal.

The only thing we did today was eat at Arby's. Well, that's not quite true. The only thing *I* did today was to eat at Arby's. Mike's been bustling around cleaning up all evening. He's making me tired. Whew. Time to take a break.

Stay tuned for pictures of Potatohead Khabibulin and my new white fuzzy hat.