Dizzy Up the Girl

I may have a filthy mouth and a crude sense of humor, but I’m really a delicate little flower. I get dizzy. A lot.

It’s kind of become a problem in my life. There are things I can’t do, because I get dizzy.

I took ballet when I was 4 years old. I promptly quit, because I got dizzy. At the mature age of 9, I thought my problems were behind me, so I joined jazz class. Too many turns=dizzy girl. I quit.

The infamous teacups incident at Santa’s Village proved I cannot go on spinning rides. I can ride any type of roller coaster, but put me on a spinning ride and you better be ready to leave the theme park. Again, I thought I was over this when I went on the Mad Apples at the Schaumburg Fest. My friend Jeff turned into a maniac and would not stop spinning that damn wheel, despite my desperate pleas to stop.

Now, a lot of people get dizzy on carnival rides. Here’s where the delicate flower part comes in.

I also get nauseous during movies. I had to walk out of the theatre during “The Blair Witch Project.” I was breathing heavily in the Sony Theatres lobby (after sneaking into the movie of course) trying to get it together to see the end of the movie. When I saw “Speed 2” at Tradewinds (RIP), I had to sit on the floor in the back of the theatre. I left “United 93” early.” “The Bourne Ultimatum” ruined my night.

It’s the handheld camera effect that gets me. I honestly do not understand why directors use it. You’re not making anything more realistic, because I can walk down the street and not get dizzy, thank you very much.

I even got sick during “Avatar” during the 3D.

Oh, and I also get seasick. When my family went to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, we chartered a boat for the guys to go deep-sea fishing and the ladies to be dropped off at a beach to go snorkeling. Turned into the ghetto sea ride of the year, since the boat wouldn’t go faster than 12 mph, and the beach the captain dropped us at was lined with guys holding machine guns, people selling burritos on the sand, and water that was over your head after two steps.

Back to me. On the boat, all the captain had to drink was Coca Cola, so I downed a bunch of those before throwing it up over the side of the boat. I suppose being 16 years old and a little hung over didn’t have anything to do with that …

The latest bout with nausea came this week when this big shot commuter made a mistake on the train. The Metra train (which goes from the suburbs to the city) has seats that you can flip so you’re facing one another. I got on the train after work and sat in one of those, in hopes it would discourage others from sitting by me. As soon as the train pulled away from the station, I realized I was facing the wrong way! I had to decide whether to tough it out or become super awkward and sit next to the lady sitting across from me. Remembering my train etiquette, I decided to ride it out. But I still had to close my eyes for the remainder of the trip.

I sound like a hoot, huh?

The cut-throat business of breakfast

Last Sunday was besties, babies and brunching. I met Moogs, Heather, her son Ean, Lauren and her son Santino (Sonny to his close friends) at Eggstacy in Oakbrook. It. Was. Delish.

The menu was overwhelming. And they had a full juice and smoothie bar with at least 30 different choices. I ended up getting the caprese eggs benedict (egg, tomato and mozzarella on a ciabatta bun topped with pesto sauce) and a banana smoothie that had whipped cream and drizzled caramel on top. But those were hard choices considering they had carrot cake French toast, chocolate velvet French toast, etc. sweetness, etc.

It was a little pricey for brunch (my bill was about $20) but, as I always say, I’m worth it.

This was a controversial trip, because I usually eat with the Breakfast Club on Sundays. This group consists of my parents; their friends Paul and Gail; their daughters (and my friends) Janine and Adrienne; friends Ron and Janet; their son (also my friend) Greg; and new addition, Janine’s son Owen Wilson (really it’s just Owen, but you know the Soderlund’s have to give everybody a nickname).

Every Sunday at 9 a.m., they eat at Brunch Café in Roselle. This was not always the case, as they had a long-standing table at Sunny Side in Elk Grove. But everybody grew sick of Sunny Side’s food, and Brunch Café recently opened with a fantastic and creative menu, so the Club gave it a tryout.

By most accounts, Brunch Café was doomed to fail.

First off, we had to wait for a table. When we went to Sunny Side, they knew us, so they always had one waiting. But, after only two visits, Brunch was willing to take a phone reservation and have a table waiting for us every week.

Next, there was no vanilla cream on the table. The Brunch staff shortly rectified that by bringing it out from the kitchen. Now the Club members were really sweating.

The final test: what brand of tomato juice do you serve? Now, I don’t know the answer, but I do know it was the right one for my dad and Paul.

You may think these are minor things in the scheme of one’s life but, believe me, Club members take these aspects very, very seriously. Alas, Brunch Café had prevailed, and the Breakfast Club made the switch.

My friends asked if the Club would ever try something different, such as Eggstacy. I said, “No freakin’ way.” If it’s not within a 10-minute radius, they’re not interested. I asked my parents this question, just to see what they’d say and got horrified looks in return.

“That’s crazy talk,” my dad said.