Wendy McClure

Author and Professional Obsessive.

Menu

Linking and lurching

by

So here are a couple of pages I just put up: one is about some upcoming events (readings and rock and roll!) and the other is a little cheat sheet so that people who come here after reading I’m Not the New Me can get caught up to the present (because that stuff was five years ago and I got fat again!). Oh, and my friend Shylo and I did a really demented follow-up to our American Girls Adventure at Gapers Block. (Where, yes, we went to see My Little Pony Live at the Rosemont Theatre, and it made American Girl Place seem like the fucking Louvre, because our minds seriously curdled and turned into pink glittery agar. I do not recommend it.) But anyway I present these links as evidence that I have not been slacking quite this whole time.

Last week and the week before were very good Thing I’m Doing weeks. in which the digital scale blipped up all kinds of impressively low numbers and chirped approvingly. I was twenty-three pounds down and I fit into some jeans from 2003 and the spring breezes tossed me around ever so playfully like the American Beauty plastic bag. This week, I am not so sure, as the scale seems bloopery and wrong (but of course it’s probably right) and the victory jeans I just bought have staged some kind of coup or mutiny (they did come from Old Navy) and are now the oppressor jeans because they feel so tight. I hope this is temporary. It’s true I ate several very unauthorized things this week, ate them for no good reason whatsoever except that they were there. And it was a very drinky week, too—beer at a party, wine at a bar, and some bourbon at home on Saturday night (aka the Massacre at Knob Creek, which, fun as it was, is something Chris and I probably should not repeat for awhile). But I’m starting to think I just have a lurchy metabolism, one that jerks ahead and then stumbles back but somehow manages to move forward in freakish Quasimodo fashion. But I would expect nothing less from my body.

Speaking of bodies, even though the results of the Anna Nicole Smith autopsy surprised absolutely nobody in the universe, I’m sort of glad the report of her druggy, abscessed ass still made news, if only to show that a skinny Anna Nicole could “let herself go” just as spectacularly as a fat Anna Nicole. Inspiring, to say the least.

My astounding birthday horoscopes!

by

pisces07.jpg

Chicago Tribune: You’re making new friends this year and moving abut about with a prestigious crowd. Take care, this will be expensive. Don’t even try to keep up with them all. Go at an affordable pace.

Is it a bad sign that my birthday horoscope has a typo in it? Then again, perhaps I am destined to move a butt about with a prestigious crowd. My butt? Someone else’s? And this will cost money? We shall see!

Sun-Times, Holiday Mathis: IF MARCH 13 IS YOUR BIRTHDAY: You’re definitely on the fast track this year. You dare to be creative with your work, which brings astounding results. Pool your remarkable resources with family, colleagues and friends in May. In June, you grant a loved one’s wishes, and your own become real soon after. You share a special connection with Virgo and Gemini people. Your lucky numbers are 7, 10, 4, 19 and 33.

I want to believe this is a good horoscope, but “astounding” can mean lots of things. So can “remarkable” and “special.” Nothing against you Virgos and Geminis, of course. Also, this past Saturday night Rachael and I celebrated our birthdays at St. Pauli Bar, and then Chris and I came home drunk and ate fake chicken nuggets while watching Sesame Street. Which was sponsored by THE NUMBER 4. And the letter X, which could very well REPRESENT the numbers 7, 10, 19, and 33, algebraically speaking. So there you go.

Sun-Times, Georgia Nicols: IF MARCH 13 IS YOUR BIRTHDAY: Actor William H. Macy (1950) shares your birthday today. You often feel that fate plays a role in your life. You have your own special brand of courage, which is why you are able to surmount major obstacles. Personal growth is important to you. You intend to become a better person in this lifetime. In the year ahead, you’ll have an opportunity to study and learn something valuable.

You know, Georgia Nicols, actor William H. Macy shares my birthday all the time and not just this day, so maybe you can stop bringing it up. Yes, Dana Delaney, too. I think the Sun-Times pays you the big astrologer bucks for you to study the STARS, Georgia Nicols, not IMDB. Honestly, I think you’ve been phoning it in for awhile now, and I just thought I’d tell you, because personal growth is important to me.

Lovepsychic.com: Happy Birthday Pisces: Pisces, can you spell f-a-n-a-s-t-i-c? Yes, 2007 will be a fantastic year! Anticipate your rewards to be many! With the prosperity magnet planet, Jupiter sitting comfortably at the highest point of your chart, you’ll get everything you deserve and then some! The first area of return will be your career! Jupiter, joined by power-planet Pluto now in your career sector, brings a career change, a promotion or a job up grade! Don’t worry about whether or not you can handle your new commitments. Discipline planet Saturn has been busy preparing you for bigger and better things, and you’ll soon realize the importance of Saturn’s tough tactics. Not only will work situations improve but so will your friendships. Expect yourself to be surrounded by some very interested and high level people by the end of the year. Relationship matters take on more importance. On Sept. 2nd, Saturn turns its gaze on your partnerships. Romance can be taken to a higher path. Pay careful attention to your intuition! Neptune allows you to tune into your inner voice. Uranus in your Sun sign attracts all sorts of opportunities your way! Not only will 2007 be fantastic, but it will also be a memorable year!

This one is from my favorite online horoscoper, who uses a lot of exclamation points! Love Psychic, can you spell e-m-p-h-a-t-i-c? Wait, don’t answer that! This horoscope is very specific but I have no idea what it actually means! But maybe I will a year from now!

Happy really-unseasonably-warm-day-in-Chicago, everyone! (Happy William H. Macy’s Birthday to the rest of you!) Love, me.

p.s. If you know of any other horoscopes for today, I’d dig seeing them, so feel free to link (or copy and paste them) in the comments.
p.p.s. This week I remembered that last year I copied and pasted my 2006 birthday horoscopes and saved it as a blog draft entry. (Yeah, somehow I’m always busy around my birthday; there’s always a BUST column deadline and other stuff.) Anyway, I’ll post the retro horoscopes sometime soon to see how true they were.

A little break and the ballad of Crazy Pants

by

What was up with this week? I felt sort of worn out nearly every night, even when I hadn’t worked out that day.  My guess is that I’ve spent the last few weeks shoving myself along through all the  snowing and the souping, all the while I kept telling myself: this is as hard as it gets; it gets easier after this; if I can do this now just think what a breeze it’ll be in the spring; go me go. And so on.

And then it got warm, and the snow started to melt, and there I was all bundled up tight in my own resolve, which suddenly felt heavy and uncomfortable. I suppose I needed to relax. I skipped a gym night. I got in bed early the other night and read a bunch of East Village Inkys that Chris had gotten me. I think that helped.

*  *  *

We’re still doing the Lifting Weights to Hateful Pop Remixes class (heretofore called Weights & Hates). Wrongy Lady stopped coming to the class a long time ago, as I knew she would. But now we have Crazy Pants. Crazy Pants wears plaid flannel pajama pants and is in his forties, I think. In the class we all use plain old bars and plates specially made for the class, but Crazy Pants brings in a pile of extra stuff from the free-weight area: ankle weights, two pairs of massive iron dumbbells, a big honking 50 lb thingy. It’s all strewn out on the floor next to his step platform. It looks like he’s building a fucking robot. He could keep all this stuff in front of his bench, where it would be more out of everyone’s way, and surely with his strength he could reach a little farther for the seven extra weights his crazy muscles crave, yes? But this is not the way of the Crazy Pants.

He doesn’t come to class to do the class, really. He does a special parallel universe-version of Weights & Hates involving higher weights and fewer reps and lots of random flailing around. Sometimes when we’re between songs and the rest of us are adjusting our bars, he’ll grab his special crazy weights and toss off a quick set of curls or extensions or deadlifts or rows or squats triple axels or lindys or bootyclaps or whatever the hell it is he does. But perhaps he knows what he is doing. And actually, if he came to class every Monday and Wednesday morning like most of the rest of us do, I would have a great deal more respect for him and his manic muscle ways. But he only shows up every now and then, and he’s all, look at me! Gaaarrr! I am working so haarrrd!

Chris has a theory that Crazy Pants puts his pants on in the morning and they tell him what do to and where to go, and he doesn’t get a say in any of it. What if he belongs to several gyms and his pants march him to a different one every day? If so, perhaps you’ve seen him. Tell him we say hello.

Three things for President's Day

by

1.) YES THERE IS MORE SOUP. You can see the soup here. We made three kinds this weekend, including a recipe which uses two pounds of greens. And while it tastes very nice, maybe you don’t need to see a picture of this soup, because it’s really, really green. And not a jolly green, either; no, this is Heart of Darkness Soup. And we’re going to eat it.

2.) I think I’ve legitimately lost the twenty pounds now. The time I weighed myself after I was sick doesn’t count, since I was just all dried out and as soon as I drank anything I got all big again like a Gro-Beast in water. But now the magic number is back, and it’s shown up on the scale for the past two mornings, so I believe this means, scientifically speaking, that I’ve been able to replicate the results of my very important research study called Let Me Stand on This Thing and See If I’m Still Fat. (Of course I am still fat. But these latest findings are promising.)

3.) Of course we’re all horrified that Britney shaved her head. Why can’t she just develop herself a cute little eating disorder like the other girls? Everyone knows that’s the only respectable way to freak the fuck out. It’s getting really hard to watch and I really hope someone will just step forward and shoot her with a tranquilizer dart and carry her off to someplace quiet.

The regular we

by

I hope by now you’ve figured out I’m not using the royal we in this blog. It just means that Chris is here, for most things.

That’s him below in the onion-cutting goggles I got him for Christmas, since we’re making an effort to cook more. (MORE SOUP!) And that’s me in the fancy swim goggles he got me, so that I can swim my little heart out. Perhaps you are thinking, “My, you two are certainly supportive of your mutual goals.”

But more likely you’re thinking that we’re dorks.

Dorks!

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DORK! Love, me.

P.S. If you’re looking for my Single Girl Valentines, they’re here on Flickr. Keep up the apathy!

Leaving the bubble

by


No shit, we went to the gym tonight. This was after both of us got off work early on account of the huge whomping honkload of snow that fell and blew and drifted and still yet this very minute threatens to smother us all like a massive down pillow wielded by a cruel giant nurse. We got all the way home through the snow and somehow I got my car in the garage and wandered through the snowdrifts and made it upstairs and then Chris and I actually made the conscious decision to go back downstairs and get in the car and drive to the gym. And there we did some very nice cardio-kind-of-things while the wind raged outside the big gym windows. And then we drove home and almost didn’t get the car back in the garage. But we did it. WHY DID WE DO IT? I don’t know. But you must understand how I had to report it.

It does help that it’s only a five-minute drive. Well, ten or fifteen minutes in the middle of fuck-all-to-hell winter rush hour traffic, but still. While we were stomping down the snow-drifty back stairs we kept talking, oddly enough, about how awesome it is to be snowed in when the weather is like this, where you just shut yourself in like a frontiersman and watch movies for five hours. And it IS awesome! Especially when you live with Chris! Do you know how many videos he has? And yet we just continued to clamber down the stairs and go to the gym as if we were talking about merely a theoretical universe in which shitloads of snow gets dumped on us and compels us to stay inside. I know, right? Maybe it’s because we know that tomorrow we are going out to dinner and we could use a good cardio kind-of-thing. Or maybe it’s because once I decide to do something I really hate being thwarted. And lo, we were not thwarted.

Of course now we are also very tired, after the snow and the gym and fixing dinner and watching The Boy in the Bubble starring John Travolta. (We found the DVD at a dollar store.)

And now we’re going to sleep.

Connect with me

Visit Us On TwitterVisit Us On FacebookVisit Us On Instagram