Windy City Wanderings
Prior to my recent long weekend in Chicago, I’d traveled via O’Hare twice: once, during a three-hour layover en route to San Antonio, and then again during a jaunt to South Bend, Indiana. You might recall that tale, in which my dear friend Meg and I made it from Notre Dame’s campus to the bustling airport in half the time it should have taken us. Let’s just say that this trip was circa Kelly Clarkson’s “My Life Would Suck Without You,” so late night low-getting turned into sleeping through our alarms… but culminated in the most epic example of The Luck of the Irish: I whizzed through security and made it back to Boston in one piece, all while wearing jeans on top of my shamrock-clad boxer shorts. There was just no time to change out of them!
Anyhow, though I’d touched down in O’Hare a few times before, this weekend was the first time I got a taste of the Windy City—and the tastes it affords foodies such as myself. But deep dish pizza and hipster tacos aside, I had a blast visiting another wonderful pal of mine, Christine, who is just about done with her third year of medical school at Northwestern. After landing in Chi-Town late Thursday night (fresh from a working week in Minneapolis and Eagan, Minnesota), I geared up for what was a great weekend. Friday, while the doc-to-be took an exam, I explored some of the sites on my own. Starting at Navy Pier, I worked my way up Michigan Ave. to explore the Gold Coast and Old Town sections of the city, before making my way back to Streeterville. The Gold Coast reminded me a bit of Brooklyn Heights, while the Old Town was perfect for some alfresco dining.
Friday night marked an evening of rooftop grilling, followed by classy cocktails at the Peninsula Hotel, which served us well for the following morning’s nine(ish)-mile bike ride along Lake Michigan. Who knew Chicago had such a hopping beach scene?! It was nice to soak up the sun during a well deserved lakeside nap, and reenergize for a night of pizza eating and booty shaking in New North.
Our final weekend destination (with luggage in tow) was Wicker Park, Chicago’s Williamsburg equivalent. The littered PBR cans were highly reminiscent of Bedford Ave., and served as a perfectly transitory stop. We browsed a used book store, indulged in I Cream insta-ice cream, people watched in the park, and noshed on Big Town Tacos and limeade before it was time to bid farewell to a wonderful weekend.
Chicago, I’ll be back!
If Only I Had On Manolos…
In a saucily serendipitous twist of lunchtime fate this glorious day, my path crossed with HBO’s original ungettable bachelor. You might know him as the man who took a curly haired blonde for Schezuan on their first date. Or as the pig who dumped her for a Ralph Lauren model. Or as the rebellious object of that curly haired blonde’s affair affections. But most of all, you might remember his Parisian trip to woo her once and for all, saving her from a lifetime of pretending to find Mikhail Baryshnikov’s art installations interesting.
I, though, will always remember him as the salt-and-pepper haired man I passed on 48th St. while booking it for an afternoon avocado roll. As I walked past him, I couldn’t help but wonder: where is he, Chris Noth, going? Why is he daring to brave NYC’s epicenter of tourism on such a hopping Spring day? But before I could walk into him and drop my purse a la Carrie in The Show of Our Generation’s Pilot, he was gone. Alas, our Midtown Manhattan love was as long-lasting as his character’s toleration for Natasha’s beige walls.
But one thing’s for certain: his real-life good looks? Well, they were as Big as his moniker.
Just Keep Swimming.
My saucy new Speedo lacks the ruching of my retro J.Crew bikini, but I’m not sure that such style is en vogue at the Columbus Circle pool that has become my new subterranean den of cardiovascular fitness. Way back when I wasn’t into bikinis with ruching (or bikinis, or ruching, for that matter), I had quite the collection of one pieces to rock while perfecting my breast stroke. A member of my home town’s summertime swim team (and my church’s winter equivalent, #amen), I stayed in shape as a young’n by inviting spectators to witness my scantily clad self splash around in a pool. It was a blast back then—goggle get-up and all—and as I’ve recently learned, still is! Though the thought of gliding gracefully through a public pool took some conquering, I’ve revived my meaning of “doing laps,” which, for the past six or so years, has referred to the act of saunter-strutting through a crowded bar or party with hopes of 1. running into someone fabulous 2. spying a rather dashing gent 3. earning a cocktail, gratis, or 4. confirming that the venue is void of anyone worth doing a lap for, and resorting that going home early to watch Mad Men on DVD is an acceptable end to the evening.
Here’s to keeping things creative this season, where the Speedo is the new bikini!
FIVE EXCITING HUMP DAY TRUMPS! Trump Day is the new Hump Day. Good mood, Kaitlyn, you ask? Read on to learn why:
- J.Crew strikes again! My love for the Minnie pant is no secret (the new deep orchid pair I’m rocking right now are killllllller, btw!), but my appreciation for the gathers on this bikini bottom is honestly unparalleled. Buy a pair if you’re down with retro-inspired ruching and, well, just not looking like you spent your entire winter eating too much falafel while you soak up the sun. Dare I say they’re even… flattering?! SEE YOU AT THE BEACH!
- Stonehill victory! Two professors at my amazing alma mater were named to the Princeton Review’s Top 300. Check them out!
- Easter Sunday! Though I failed at giving anything up for Lent, I’m stoked to island hop from Manhattan to the Long One, and spend some Q.T. with my family. Cue the “awwwwws.”
- Quality Literature! Well, quality is not the right word, but like the rest of the world’s female population, I’ve dug into the salacious story that is 50 Shades of Grey—and while the less than wonderful writing makes me cringe at moments, a saucy and scandalous tale is never not appreciated… unlike that (intentional, of course!) double negative.
- And finally… my partner in crime (who aspires to fight literal crime) is officially a social worker. Congrats to Justine on finally entering the real world. If you lived in NYC, we’d be several ‘ritas deep right now, my friend.
Enjoy Trump Day, everyone. No one’s fired!
“And it’s not even my birthday.”
Have you heard the new Rhianna/Chris Brown collab? I struggle with condoning their reunion (professional or… otherwise), but DAMN is this one fine piece of music, that comes at a truly perfect time for this Pisces. Let’s dig in, shall we?
At this time last year, I was not-so-happily employed on the digital side of the fashion mag that made Joe Zee a household name among label lovers. One of my responsibilities was—get this—making sure that the right horoscopes were feeding into the website. Serious stuff right?! Now, while I’m not a religious follower of what the moon and the sun and the stars and their alignment have to say about my future, astrology is certainly fun to think about, especially when my weekend horoscope (according to my former girls, the AstroTwins) encourages me to “let [myself] shine on Saturday.” While it’s technically “not even my birthday,” as Rhianna croons to us in the aforementioned tune, Saturday marks my day of celebration with family and friends as I welcome #24 with open, Kate Spade-clad arms. So you can bet all your lucky stars that I plan to shine brighter than even the most optimistic of omens!
“I’ve been a wild rover for many a year…”
I know it’s been a while, but now that my shoes are shelved, my closet color-coded, my mirrors hung, and my fridge organized, I can get back to blogging some witty snippets for your afternoon enjoyment. Lucky you!
It’s been quite the month in my vida loca! Settling into a new pad is always a major chore, but the wonders of the west side just keep coming. The greatest wonder so far: Soom Soom. Honestly, I think everyone should consider an Upper West Side move if only for this “vegetarian bar” that has become a staple in my Sunday “recuperation” diet. Soom Soom serves up the most delectable falafels, tucked into toasted pita and blanketed with what is truly life-changing hummus. Now, before you even think about how off my priorities are to actually consider hummus as a life-changing condiment (spread? dip?), dally on up to Soom Soom, and call me when you want to gush over how the hummus there has now changed your life, too. And make sure to get a punch card so you get your 8th falafel FO’ FREE!
Alright. Soom Soom aside, I’m loving everything about my new neighborhood. My commute is five minutes. My 4 AM cab rides are a third of what they once were. My proximity to Yoko Ono’s Dakota Penthouse couldn’t be closer. In a word: perfection. But as much as I’m loving my Manhattanite-status these days, everyone’s got to skip town now and again. So, last weekend, decked in my Irish knit and a gaggle of green accessories, I traversed the Hudson and went where no respectable gal ever even dares: Hoboken.
And let me tell you, I was seriously surprised by how adorbz it was! Maybe it was my Magners talking, but Hoboken is actually a pretty cute place with some pretty cute residents. LepraCON, as you may have heard, was the renegade response to Hoboken’s cancellation of the annual St. Patty’s Parade. So, despite attempts to scare away the influx of Irish, people came from far and wide to cheers to the month of March, and the epic holiday that it afford us. Besties (from L to R) Kristin, Kevin, Clenny, Meghan and I TORE. IT. UP!
Needless to say, my night ended at 7 PM with Chinese take-out, eaten while sitting on the floor of my apartment. Which was as delicious as my day was amazing, in that college throw-back kind of way that gets me every time.
Until my next post (in which I’ll shamelessly remind you about my upcoming birthday…hehehe),
Kaitlyn
