This should be my life.
In case you were all going crazy trying to figure out why I haven’t been posting for the past few days, I’ve been on a personal journey of sorts. Most people, when they get in a funk, go somewhere to help boost their spirits: an ice cream parlor, a petting zoo, rehab. My path back to reconnecting with myself was far more circuitous. It started with putting up a vision board in my living room. While my vision isn’t very clear, it is now at least visible and slapping me in the face every morning as I drink my coffee and reminding me to not be such a miserable jerk. That’s actually Debra Messing’s role (look closely at the upper right-hand corner). In the process of visually plotting the insanity in my head onto a home-made chalk board and cork boards, I realized two things: I could potentially put Oprah/Martha out of business in the next 5 years, and perhaps with all this enlightenment, I should get my toe nail checked out. For those of you who don’t know, I injured it playing soccer, and it’s been slowly falling off my toe ever since.
I’ve always thought something has been holding me back. That something was the toenail on my left big toe. So I waddled my way to the Urgent Care and had it removed. It’s liberating not having to depend on such a frivolous part of my appendage. It was old and dying, and 2012 is all about me not getting old and dying. So that little sucker came off. I’d post the photo of my nail-less toe, but I’d prefer you not throw up all over your computer. But without this stupid toenail impeding me, it was time to complete my spiritual journey.
The final step on my path to personal rejuvenation was rekindling a long-lost romance… with the city of Chicago. You can take the boy out of the Midwest, but you can’t make him enjoy deep dish pizza when he goes back. Or something like that. While the food was definitely just as fattening as I remember, the city was also just as beautiful, in that cold, frozen steel trap kind of way. Walking down State Street, I suddenly heard Whitney Houston belting “And IIIIIII-eee-IIIII, I will always love youuuu”. I quickly scanned the street for coke dealers, and realized that the music was just coming from these speakers they’d set up inside this light display. I’m pretty sure it was some gimmick to get people to shop on State Street more. Any city that is willing to lure disposable income with Whitney Houston has my vote. I then thought that if they’d do something like this, surely they’d let me reenact the Ferris Bueller parade scene, but when I got down to the block where it was filmed, no one was eagerly waiting there with balloons or anything. I just listened to “Twist and Shout” on my iPod instead and called it a day.
There was a point to me telling you all this. I guess the moral is don’t let yourself get in a funk, just because you have all your toenails. Or was it that you should try to one-up Oprah Winfrey and build your own visual “Oprah Lifeclass Journal”. Or I guess you could move to Chicago. All seem like legitimate options. Text me if you want to see my oddly deformed, nailless toe. It’s hot.