Miscellaneous Windy City notes

*It’s really really windy downtown. They’re not kidding when they say “cooler by the lake.” The meteorologists will never say how much cooler, tWhen I get off the train in the suburbs at the end of the day, it feels like I’ve driven 300 miles south.

*One of my roommates, we’ll call her “Manice” to protect her identity, let my two black tank tops dry on the bottom rung of the drying rack. Well, the Tank Top Bandit struck again. We’ll call him Shachi, to protect his identity of course. Somebody’s belly is filled with two pieces of black camisole straps. “Can’t we just sew them back together?” Manice asked as she pieced the broken straps together, forming a loop the size of my wrist. “Does your arm fit in that?” I asked.

*I think I’m assigning celebrity faces to regular people. I thought I saw Kelly Cutrone from Bravo’s “Kell on Earth,” walking into Bloomingdale’s today. Nah, just a regular girl. Then I thought Suze Orman got on the elevator at the ADA. Wrong again.

*I’m amazed at the shoes girls wear in the city. Don’t get me wrong, I love shoes, and I’m a high heels kind of gal. But I’m allowed to wear gym shoes to work, and I take full advantage of it. Would my outfits look better with some kick ass stilettos? Of course. But I would not be a fun girl to be around by the end of the day. You do A LOT of walking when you work in the city. I’ve worn heels twice since I started here and both days I went home cursing.

*Chicago has its advantages and Fort Wayne had its advantages. But it’s time for a story that will award a point to Chicago. Purses. The girls here have better, more stylish purses. I can say this with full authority, because I am a purse slut. The purses many girls carry in Fort Wayne are just ugly. Mostly because they all think they’re super stylish because they carry Vera Bradley. I know some people be hatin’ on me because I’m calling out Fort Wayne’s darling but, in my opinion, 98.4 percent of the Vera Bradley bags are ugly. The solid color ones aren’t bad-I have a black one I like.

*When you do a ring check in Fort Wayne, odds are the guy is married. Switch that in Chicago. Awesome. Marriage is for chumps (Until I do it).

Choo choo

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As you know, I take the train every day to work. Most days, I catch the 6:08 a.m. out of Schaumburg (freakin’ early right?) I get downtown at 7:03 a.m. and take the 125 Water Tower Express bus to Chicago and Michigan and walk half a block to work.

I just gave you a map for how to stalk me in the a.m. If you did, it would probably be the most interesting thing to happen to me all day.

I digress …

People on the train think it’s all about strategy. I’m here to say most of their “strategies” are bunk.

Train commuters will try to sit in the seats closest to the door. Even if there’s someone already in them and there are empty seats further back. They believe it will yield a quicker exit when they have to get off.

I, however, enjoy an empty seat for a stop or two, and I enjoy sitting by the window. Every morning I battle feelings of comfort vs. insecurity. I’d prefer sitting by myself, but sometimes find myself offended when people don’t choose to sit next to me. This apprehension was calmed yesterday when “The Smelly Train Guy” sat next to me on the way home. Not only was he “Smelly Train Guy,” but he was “Snotty Train Guy” and blew his nose all the way home. Oh, and he was “Chatty Kathy Train Guy” and yakked on his cell phone the whole way.

People will line up to get off at Union Station before the second-to-last stop (Western Avenue) just to ensure they can exit quickly. So everybody getting off at Western Avenue has to mow the Speedy Mcgee’s down just to get off the train. But here’s the catch, people will line up to get off, yet they’ll still let the people who are sitting down get in front of them when everybody’s getting off the train. They still allow the traditional “airplane exit,” where one row at a time leaves.

I lined up a couple times, but once I realized I had no more time advantage than the slackers sitting down, I decided to relish my last 15 minutes on the train and remain in my seat, reading my US Weekly or listening to one of the many NPR podcasts I downloaded (GEEK ALERT!!)

Train commuters also employ strategy when getting to their cars at the end of the day. By strategy, I mean literally running at top speed from the train to their car so they can get out of the parking lot quickly. It’s a funny sight, let me tell you.

In some train station parking lots, like Roselle, I can see the point. It’s a disaster trying to pull out without hitting anybody and even more of a catastrophe trying to make a left to get onto Irving Park Road. In Schaumburg, I find it fine to leisurely find my way to my car and exit at a normal pace. I’m only turning into a residential subdivision, and I don’t find it necessary to drive 45 mph through the parking lot (I wish I could employ this thinking while on regular roads).

These are my thoughts and don’t even get me started on the bus …

2012

On Dec. 19, 2012, it's all Soderlunds report to base. Apparently we'll have two days to drive each other nuts enough so when the end of the world comes, we'll welcome it.

My parents are among the crazies who really believe the end of the world is coming Dec. 21, 2012. We made the mistake of watching the movie "2012" on Friday, just to really drive it home.

Apparently the Mayan calendar doesn't go beyond Dec. 21, 2012, and people are taking it to mean the world will cease to exist after that date. The Mayans have a regular-guy 365-day solar calendar and also a 260-day spiritual calendar, but they also have a 5,128-year world calendar, that ends on the doomsday.

Apparently some pretty catastrophic stuff is going to go down, but nobody really knows what. Are we going to crash into another planet? I would find this weird since it seems like our nine (well eight now that Pluto punked out) planets seem to have a pretty good orbital gig up in space. Or is a black hole gonna show up and suck us all in? Or will the sun just start freaking out and raining down on Earth? NASA and NOAA have yet to sign off on anything.

Some people think it's not catastrophe that will occur but a spiritual enlightenment. The world will either change for the better or worse. John and Jan Soderlund (whose science accomplishments include cutting high school biology) have dismissed this theory altogether.

According to the countdown on the Web site December212012.com, which calls itself the official Web site for the Apocalypse, we have 991 days, 22 hours, 23 minutes and 35 seconds left. The Web site counts such celebrities as Mel Gibson, Montel Williams, Woody Harrelson and Lil' Wayne as believers. I'm dying to jump aboard the crazy train carrying those guys.

There's also believe that the Earth's magnetic field, which is apparently weakening, will shift and reverse the North and South poles or displace them. That doesn't sound so bad. It might cost some money to rewrite the textbooks and educate everybody on the switch. But if Wisconsin is the new South Pole, as it was in the movie, I can sign off on that. Wisconsin is really cold anyway.

Apparently the end of the world will be preceded by a slew of natural disasters. Thanks, Haiti and Chili earthquakes for solidifying this theory in my mom's mind.

Conspiracy theorists, like my godfather and uncle, Ron Raidy, believe there's a bunker underneath the Denver Airport meant to house the elite when this happens. Supposedly there's a mural in the airport pointing toward such a location.

I don't think this is going to happen. I think this is the new Y2K and instead of everybody thinking their VCR's won't make it to the Millenium, they think the sun is going to freak out and kill us all. If it does happen, my parents will surely be prepared with the appropriate provisions. We already have a minimum three cases of beer in the fridge; three cases of warm bottled water (It's never cold for some reason); an endless supply of A1, mustard, maple syrup and sardines; and enough brake parts cleaner to ward off anything bad.

Roommates

I walked downstairs on a Saturday night, and my parents and aunt and uncle were taking their blood pressure.

I'm home.

Apparently this is how they spend their weekend nights-taking their blood pressure with an electronic machine until they get a number they like. My dad acts as if his is perfect, omitting the fact that he's on blood pressure medication. So basically, he's not perfect; the medicine is just working. Instead of just rolling up his sleeve, my Uncle Kevin was half shirtless as this went on.

Moving back home has had its good and bad points. Mostly good. I come home from work every day and have a home-cooked meal waiting for me: salmon, steak and lobster, pork chops, chicken, etc. It's so nice to walk in the door after a nearly 90-minute commute and not have to worry about what to make for dinner. I'm still getting used to all the questions from my dad: "Where are you going?" "How much money are you depositing in the bank?" " Who called you on your cell phone this morning?" (Answering the last question is better than him actually answering my cell phone, which has happened many times). Then he can't hear the answers, so it takes two more times to repeat what i just said. It's also hard to have all my stuff in one room. I have a storage unit that's holding 90 percent of my stuff. But it's hard to have just every day things and papers confined to my bedroom. I've made a conscious effort to try and keep my stuff just in my room to avoid the notorious fights about my stuff being all over the house.

I've lived on my own since I graduated high school. So almost (vomit coming up ...) 11 years. But the temporary situation is worth it to save money, be by my family again and have dinner made for me every night.