Peeps,
I’m asking ya’ll a favor….just as the addictive New Kids on the Block song demands, please hang tough through this hiccup in my blogging road.
I know I have been silent.
I know I have let you all down.
But I’m in the process of some maj life decisions and am trying to discover what the next chapter is going to look like and how/if Bob fits in.
Love love you all and if this turns out to be the end of the road, THANK YOU for your support, your web-friendships and for all of the laughs.
Stay tuned 
Bob
It would really suck to have a name that sounded like someone famous.
The co-founder of the Hover Round is named Tom Kruse. Brutal.
So, I’m trying to get back into the blogging swing of things so I thought I’d share a little bite sized gem I found on Craig’s List regarding a writing for trade deal.
I get that it’s a good idea to trade services…a you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours kinda thing…but this doesnt seem like anything I’d want in return for some writing work.
The title: Write your way to some free rent
The trade: Free rent for a room in a slightly haunted building near UIC/Bridgeport
Just what I’ve always wanted…a free, slightly haunted room!
A girl can dream,
Bob.
Listening to: Martha teaching me how to cook
On my mind: When Michael Buble sings, he sings right to me. I promise.
…it bruises easily.
I know I seem super tough on the outside. Almost a Madonna-meets-Indigo Girls-meets-Demi Moore in GI Jane-tough.
But really I’m just a softy.
So when we were hanging around our Safari campsite and our cook Stephen made the following comment, I almost packed up and shipped myself back to America. Stat.
“She’s like Mr. Bean!”
Yep.
Mr. Bean.
The unsightly British man who, if I remember correctly, doesn’t even talk in his movies…just grunts. Is he even remotely funny? Any Bean fans out there?
I mean, I had a feeling my sense of humor wouldn’t translate in Africa but I never imagined it would come to this.
Stephen was laughing so hard he was crying and he kept repeating, “Mr. Bean…Mr Bean”
He may as well have tarred and feathered me and left me out as lion food.
Please glance upon the below image of Mr. Bean and tell me how you would respond if the comparison was made.
And of course Clare and Fulms could not stop laughing and have spent the rest of the trip reminding me of the uncanny similarities between us.
Stephen told me he thought I was so funny that I should stay in Kenya and he would be my business manager. I politely declined when I imagined the caption that would run underneath my press releases: American Female Mr. Bean Impersonator Delights Kenyan Audiences.
Aannnnnd Im out.
3 days till I’m home…I’m hoping I can round things out with a Carrot Top or Roseanne comparison.
Fingers Crossed,
Bob.
Listening to: “God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You” by N*Sync playing at the cyber
On my mind: I’d rather not have a perfume in my name at all then have it be selling at Walgreens or Walmart.
Guys.
I leave tomorrow for Kenya.
My freak is totally freaked but I’m so excited.
I promise to come back with more blog inspiration (blogspiration) and without a raging case of yellow fever.
Or malaria.
Or typhoid.
Ohmygosh.
If you want to follow the kenyan adventure and hear about how I’m probably making huge cultural faux pas, check out www.yeswekenya.wordpress.com
Keepin it real since 1983,
Bob.
Listening to: A waitress last night tell me that if i run into any trouble, to claim that I’m a Canadian. My friend Meggie then told me if I run into a pack of rabid dogs, not to run. Instead just back away slowly. What would I do without this solid gold wisdom?
On my mind: I’m really glad I can sleep on planes.
Goodbye for 3 weeks! Don’t forget about me!
One of the joys of living in this blessed city is the plethora of people that come visit you.
From old high school friends to distant relatives to baby’s daddies (just seeing if you were paying attention), everyone and their mom (seriously, they bring their moms) makes plans to visit Chicago at some point in the year.
And then we get to strap on our fanny packs and play tour guide.
This weekend is no exception and my older sister Meredith is coming into town to visit Emma and me.
I have posted a few things in the past that gives some insight into the psyche which is Meredith “Patron” Rush. (Nickname derived from a family function where Meredith made Emma and me take shots of Patron because she “couldn’t handle the fam right now”).
She lives in South Beach, she loves Gucci. She is an absolute riot. And we love her.
But with any visitor, there comes a list of expectations for their Chicago experience. Which means that to my dismay I have been to the Sears Tower and Art Institute and Navy Pier more than I care to divulge.
The following is the tall order that Emma got in a text from our sister about what she wants to do this weekend.
Really see the city. Mani pedis for all us b*&%$#s. You have a Chinatown? Yoga. Go down by the lake. Cubs game. Dive bar. One really nice dinner. Meet boy. Fall in love.
Shouldn’t be a problem. We come from a long line of multi taskers.
I wonder if there is anyone who has the name Manuel Labor?,
Bob.
Listening to: The 500 Days of Summer soundtrack that is changing my life the same way the Garden State soundtrack changed my life in ‘05
On my mind:Me likey crepes.
Sometimes I look at my blog stats and say to myself, “How the HECK did some of these people find me?”
I know I was in MSNBC
I know I link my tweeetz to this site
I know I force all of my friends and family to have this on their ‘favorites’
But other than that…how does the mystery of the world wide web play a role in my blog visitors? (Perhaps Sandra Bullock can tell us someday)
Well, thanks to wordpress, I have a glimpse into the search engine terms that brought some of you here. Many make sense: “bob loblaw” or “unemployed blog”. Those are obvi. Others remind me of some of my old OLD posts that I had forgotten about. Like: “Johnson baby shampoo”, “Who invented the snuggie?”, “Nilla Wafer” or “Joey Fatone”. The following fall under the category of “I bet these people were surprised when they typed this into google and my blog came up as a resource”: (these are 100% factual)
- Inches of hair
- Magician’s assistant wanted
- Sounds like my ex
- Rascal dog
- Grandparents golfing
- Cute bobs
- Get paid to party
- Dunk tank “cold water”
- Clean up kitchen, signage
- Cute animals no water?
- Tongue depressor
- Office party
- Ugliest dog
and my personal favorite,
- Trustworthy man
Bet you didn’t know you were getting all of THAT when you hacked in here did ya?
But sers, for realzies…thanks for stopping by. I xoxo you.
Back on a futon…I’ve come full circle,
Bob.
Listening to: I sleep with a fan.
On my mind: What’s more inappropriate in a professional email: a smiley face or a winkey face?
The key my sister made me to her house--where I'm staying for the next 2 weeks.
Well, we moved yesterday. (Cue Charlie Brown music and montage of the last 2 years)
With the gracious help of our friends, we packed all our lives into a 10X10 storage unit fondly named “Madam Tussaud’s House of Crap”.
I also discovered I’m a really good packer. It goes against all logic that i would be good with organizational details such as these but poof: I’m kind of the master.
The tricky part was that we had to pack accordingly for A. Our 3 week trip to Kenya (In 12 days!) B. The interim 2 week period before Kenya C. What we will need when we get back and are living with friends before we find permanent housing and D. The rest of our belongings/crap.
So I came up with a system. We marked everything 1 2 or 3 according to each phase of our lives in the next few months. I know. Its mind blowing. When I first thought of it I exclaimed, “By golly, this is so brilliant it just might work!”
My biggest life lesson is that packing makes you realize how much crap you own and how much dust was under your bed. And where that Werther’s Original that fell out of your mouth that one time ended up.
From a 4 leaf clover earring that fell out of one of my boxes, to the pair of underwear our guy friends found when they moved our dresser, to the 2 stuffed animals that we uncovered when packing Fulmer’s bed, to the Joey Fatone bobblehead that was in one of our boxes, the day was full of shame and excuses. Mostly shame.
What can we say? You accumulate a bunch of stuff in 2 years. So sue us.
Also, one of our biggest boxes was, of course, our costume box. Complete with corn on the cob costume, leopard print pantsuit and pair of hot dog hats. These are the irreplaceable treasures of life, my friends.
Couch Surfer,
Bob.
Listening to: “Bad Day” by Daniel Powter came on Saturday night when we were packing up the kitchen. It was so perfect.
On my mind:I bought an asexual bag for Kenya and brought it into work full of books for my research. One man walked by and asked if it was his (he has the same one) and a woman stopped and said her husband has the same bag. Never felt like more of a woman.
There was a lot I knew about in the 8th grade: Malls, Umbros, Abercrombie, The Chicago Bulls, and angst.
That’s right: angst.
According to a book of poems I just uncovered whilst moving out of my current apartment, 13 year old Lyndsay had emoting down to a science. A rhyming science at that.
From sexism, to the apocalypse, to racism, to dating: I covered it all. After all, who better to comment on these important issues than an 8th grader in Minnesota?
So, in honor of the young activist from once upon a teenage time, I plan on sharing one or two stanzas from these mid 90’s masterpieces, once a week, until I’m fresh out. It’s only fair that the world benefit from my pre-pubescent-ly deep thoughts.
First up, an expose on “Men”. (Someone remind me how a middle schooler knows anything about this?) I’d say my thought process is spot on. I was so mature.
I actually cannot believe I’m putting these out in cyberspace. I have a feeling I’m going to regret this. Here goes nothin’.
Men, men what can I say?They think they’re all cool, but try as they may.They cannot look cool in front of their ‘her’s’,But most of their ‘her’s’ think they’re immature.They yell and are loud to get her attention,But the end result is usually detention.They rant and rave and make lots of noise,Maybe it’s cuz the only men in my class are BOYS
Lots can happen in a day, eh?
Here’s what’s been going on in my glamorous life.
Tuesday I overheard a D bag telling his friends a story about a girl. I just caught the tale end which sounded like this: “A single tear. Down her cheek. A single tear! hahahahhaha”
Then they all chest bumped, slapped each other on the arse with gym towels and used rifles to shoot a deer. Which was weird because we were at a sushi restaurant.
I also got passed on the sidewalk by a pedestrian. AKA I was walking at a leisurely pace and this guy in a backpack got off the sidewalk, passed the parked cars, got into the bike lane to speed up and get back on the sidewalk ahead of me. The twisted part was, as soon as i realized what he was doing, I picked up my pace. Which almost completely defeated his point. Haven’t you ever done that? I do it in cars too. As soon as I think someone wants to pass me I’m all, “Oh YEAH? I’ll show YOU slow.”
Anger management.
Yesterday, while walking home from some errands, my ipod shuffled to a Taylor Swift song called “Place in This World” (not to be confused with the early 90s ballad by Michael W Smith of the same name). When she sung “I’m just a girl, tryin’ to find my place in this world,” I said out loud, “Me too, Taylor, me too.” Lucky for me, and the unassuming public, no one was in close enough range to hear my one way convo with Tay.
Also on Tuesday, Fulms and I went to REI to try on travel packs for Kenya. We couldn’t have looked less granola/kayak/Patagonia. We were both in sundresses and looked completely out of our element. Ways we made our sales rep uncomfortable: 1. As he is measuring my torso to see what size I need, Fulmer goes “Get it gurl”. 2. After he fits a large, weighed down pack to my back I comment, “It fits well. Sort of like you’re spooning. I might never take this thing off.” I imagine he hasn’t ever heard a lonelier backpacking analogy in his entire career.
Lastly, my highlight from this week was when we had Bridge and Emma over for a final dinner at our apartment and after her toast, Fulms raised her glass and said “Here Ye, here ye!”
It was the most judicial toast we’ve ever made.
Stay tuned tomorrow for the first edition of: Poems from Jr High: Pre-teen Angst Revisited. Where once a week I will delight you with my 7th 8th and 9th grade thoughts on the world.
Be Ye Warned,
Bob.
Listening to: My body hate me because I was up before 8 AM today. I’m not cut out for mornings.
On my mind: I bought 8 wine glasses at Crate and Barrel and carried them home on my bike. How’s THAT for talent. I need a car.
