Turning in his Hoosier card

My cat is from South Hanna Street. Sounds rough right? Kind of. For the Chicago people, lemme put it in perspective. Fort Wayne's southeast side is not as bad as the worst Chicago neighborhoods but a lot rougher than, say, Hanover Park or Streamwood. By far. A lot of poverty. Drugs. Just a shady neighborhood. But that's where the SPCA is, and that's where I met Chachi. He was turned into the SPCA after someone found him and his brother and sister in a paper bag, doused in kerosene.

Next subject.

I originally selected Chachi's brother, because he had a more angelic face (I know what you're thinking-my guy is the most handsome cat you've ever seen, how could there be a cuter kitty?) The SPCA makes you wait a day after you first pick out your animal to make sure it's a decision you really want to make. When I went back the next day, I decided to hold both of the kitty brothers, just to be sure. Chach's brother was cute, but he really had no reaction to me. Chach could not stop purring when he was in my arms. I made a last-minute switch and never regretted it. As the nurse at my vet always says, as she pets his cheek, "She saved you."

Now that I'm moving, Chach is going to have to give up his Indiana residency. He'll have "roommates" for awhile (aka, my parents). His toys won't all be in one place. He'll hopefully stop being a scaredy cat since so many people come in and out of my parents' house. Chach is an odd cat in that he actually likes to travel. He'll sleep in his cat carrier when we're at home. When he's in there, I like to think he's put the "do not disturb" sign up. So he likes being at my parents and exploring and having their attention.

So look out for Chach at the DMV, getting his Illinois state ID. Kitty cats don't drive, silly.

Things I'm breaking up with

So everybody knows I've broken up with boys. Or been broken up with. I'm not married, so the jig is up on that one. But in my 28 years of wise-ass-ness, I've realized there are a number of things I'm sick of pretending to like. I continue to act as if they need to be a part of my life and what I really need to do is cut them out.

THE LIST

*Potato salad: At any given barbecue, you'll see me spooning heaping piles of potato salad on to my plate. When this moment is occurring, I really do think I like potato salad. But then I sit down and take a forkful, put it to my mouth and realize: "I hate this stuff." It's mustardy. It's starchy. It has celery (one of my vegetable nemesis). Grandma Lil had somewhat of a redeeming potato salad in that it had hard boiled eggs in it. But all in all, I'd say potato salad and I are done for good.
*Cole slaw: Otherwise known as potato salad's younger, grosser sister. Again, I trick myself into thinking I like this crap. I think deep down, it's been psychologically burned into my brain that I must like potato salad and cole slaw, because my parents had it at every party we had. I outright rejected Italian sausage, but somehow the other two salads didn't make it into that category. Done.
*Candy canes: This also includes the circular mints you get at restaurants. I want to meet the person who has eaten an entire candy cane. If I'm eating candy, I'm rockin' Snickers or Hershey Kisses. If I need fresh breath, I'll kick it old school and pop some Spearmint or even go exhibition and sneak a Tic Tac in my mouth.
*Crowded bars: A couple weeks ago, I went with crazy college friend Neha to a couple bars in Wrigleyville. I hadn't been to Moe's Cantina since the Sangria incident (where Lauren was nearly banned from Bacchi pizza for "messing" up their bathroom). I haven't been to John Barlycorn's since my days of smoochin and runnin' (a lucky spot for me, I must say). But, I returned on the premises of a bar crawl. Big mistake. It wasn't necessarily the young crowds at these bars that turned me off. More the inability to move. I kept wanting to say "can we find a table so we can talk?" But I knew nobody would hear me over "Apple bottom jeeeeeaaaaaannnns ...booots with the fur (with the fur)."

My latest obsessions

I have a habit of finding things within pop culture and becoming rather obsessed. Previous victims have included "Jon & Kate Plus 8," profiles written in Rolling Stone and Vanity Fair, and the movie "Walk the Line," which prompted a separate obsession with Johnny Cash and June Carter.

There've been a couple new obsessions lately.

*"Grey Gardens": This began after Drew Barrymore won the Golden Globe and SAG Award for best actress in a miniseries. I've had trouble getting through the HBO movie, but after a friend sent me video clips of the documentary the movie was based on, I was hooked. "Grey Gardens" is based on Jackie Kennedy's aunt and cousin, who started out as rich socialites in New York but ended up living in isolation and squalor in the Hamptons. Grey Gardens was the name of their house, which would later be filled with dozens of cats, their poop and pee, cat food cans, raccoons, filth and just stuff. The mother and daughter had this sick dependent relationship that could only be summed up as cuckoola. What's my obsession you ask? I don't know. It may have something to do with their accents. A cross between a cockney/Boston/New England sound.

Visit http://www.life.com/image/78828047/in-gallery/24971/the-real-women-of-grey-gardens to see what I'm talking about.


*"Glee": This one only surfaced in the past couple days. Obsessed is putting it lightly. I started seeing articles about this show choir show before it began airing on Fox in the fall. It was the "It" show this season. Friends would tell me I HAD to watch it, but these were the same jamokes who watched "American Idol," "So You Think You Can Dance" and other jazz hand shows. So I didn't pay much attention. It stated getting nominated for awards, and I hate to be out of the loop when watching awards shows, so I set my DVR to record some reruns. AMAZING. It has just the right balance of show tune and contemporary music and a compelling storyline. There isn't an unlikeable character, and the musical numbers absolutely give me chills. I watched the mid-season finale last night and when Rachel sang "Rain on My Parade," I had to watch it four times. Then dowload the song to my iPod. And five others.

Rachel's performance. Tell me you're not downloading this Streisand classic after.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pj54q_fgk7I

*NPR: Or, National Public Radio to you cool people. I started listening more religiously when I was actually ON the radio. I was invited to be on a local NPR radio show to talk about education and, since I couldn't hear it live, was searching the Web site to find an archive of it. As a rule I hate how I sound on TV and the radio, but I wanted to see if I sounded as much like an idiot as I felt when I was talking. I actually didn't, so that was good. Anyway, when I was listening to the show, I was taken aback by how soooooooothing it was. Low voices, smacking lips, articulate words (until my nasal Chicago voice came in). It drew me in. When I lived in North Carolina, the school superintendent had his own TV show on public access where he interviewed people within the school district. The premise was mind-numbingly boring. But anyone you talked to who flipped by it on the TV was hooked. It had soft lighting and the superintendent's lips smacked when he talked, leaving a little bit of spittle on his lips. Add a Southern accent and you're done for. That's what NPR is to me.

Golden Globes Red Carpet: Hour Two

I'll stop when the awards start. Full disclosure: also chatting live with Moogs, my co-judger in life.

*Waiting for Stephen Moyer and Anna Pacquin to start doin' it vampire-style. I've been in a "True Blood" fog lately, so forgive me.
*I want to go on a double date with Will Arnett and Amy Poehler. My dad was quite proud of himself the other night by pointing out they were married when Arnett guested on "Parks and Recreation."
*I love how none of the women are wearing the Haiti ribbons on their dresses, because they don't match.
*Tina Fey FINALLY didn't wear black!!!
*Something's attacking Chloe Sevigny!! Wait, it's just her dress ruffle.
*I heard earlier that Jay Manuel, Mr. Jay of "America's Next Top Model," is 6'1". Wouldn't have thunk it.
*Penelope Cruz (aka Moth Face) keeping it real by holding her own umbrella. I'm going to officially remove the Moth Face label from her. You heard it here first. But I still think she takes herself too seriously. Lighten up lady. And also walk the red carpet with Javier Bardem. You guys are too hot to not be together all the time.
*Quote from my mom "(David Arquette) actually looks human." And if Courtney Cox wins for "Cougar Town" ... well I don't know what I'll do, but I'll be pretty freakin' mad, because she sucks on that show.
*Oh God. Mariah Carey. I hope she gets drunk again and gets to talk. Nick Cannon must have a no talking clause in their pre-nup.
*I love Robert Downey Jr. Kinda wish he'd wake up in his neighbor's kid's bed again, but I like him clean too.
*God dammnit Draper! You had to rock a beard!
*My night would be made if the "Jersey Shore" cast suddenly appeared on the carpet. GTL!
*Insert rage Lauren would have for Jennifer Garner here. Lauren hates Garner because she's "average looking."
*Draper's gf always annoys me because she's always trying to talk over him. He's the star, you guested on "Grey's Anatomy." Shut up.
*Taylor Lautner is shorter than Giuliana! He really is a baby!
*Where's A-Rod Kate? Heh. Heh.
*Giuliana is absolutely humiliating herself. She's screaming to George Clooney to come over while she's interviewing Anna Kendrick. The girl is mortified.

OK, quitting early but want to go get ice cream. Ciao!

Golden Globes LIVE blogging of the red carpet: Hour One

Chachi and I are front and center for the Golden Globes red carpet. Translation: He started out next to me on the couch, forced me to move my computer off my lap so he could lay there then bit me and got crazy eyes and is now sleeping. I'm armed with my second glass of pinot grigio and am ready to tell the world exactly what I think of celebrities I've never met. Unless Fonzie, Alfre Woodard or Cheech are invited, I'm writing about people I'll never see in the fleshness. Get ready for a series of random observations that have no relevance to anything important. I realize this and don't care.

*Why must Ryan Seacrest adopt a British accent when interviewing British celebs? Emily Blunt knows you are not from London. The jig is up.
*Is Quinton Tarantino in his PJs?
*Jennifer Morrison from "House" said her boyfriend bought her dress for her for Christmas, so she decided to wear it. She didn't seem to excited, and I can see why. Dress is uggo.
*Must. Watch. "Glee." Stars are so cute.
*Diane Kruger from "Inglorius Bastards" looks like she just got back from the prom. In 1987.
*LOVE Gabourey Sidibe from "Precious." The movie was so good but so depressing and it's so fun to see what a gregarious personality she has in real life.
*Ugh Mickey Rourke. New wife barely speaks English. Must be love.
*Sandra Bullock is the man. Even though "The Proposal" sucked. I need to see the back of her dress before I commit though. Eek, I just did. Not into sheer.
*Ugh, we get it Fergie and Josh. You're still together. He "didn't cheat on you with a stripper." Just wait until Rebecca Budig gets over her divorce from Bob the Bachelor. Then she can marry Josh just like when they were a couple on "All My Children." LEO AND GREENLEE FOREVA!
*Disappointed by January Jones. Looks like she put her headband on to wash her face.
*It's become quite cliche to say how hot George Clooney is. I don't care. I want to strip that beard off his face and rub it on me. Then we'll save Haiti together.
*Just saw Alfre Woodard. Her daughter is Miss Golden Globe. I'm legit now. I posted her pic above the symbolize the only celebrity there I've actually met.
*Moogs has just informed me via Facebook chat that George Clooney's girl has an arm tatoo. Rewind the DVR: ew yes. An awful looking tribal band.
*Official girl crush on Marion Cotillard
*First time ever I'm disappointed by the sight of Joshua Jackson. He's with the 1987 prom queen and his hair looks like Richie Rich.

A decade of New Year's Eves

Everybody's doing countdowns to commemorate the end of a decade. So in honor of New Year's Eve, I'll run through what I've done on the most overrated night of the year. These are in order of the year, not in order of how much fun I had. I'll keep that to myself, so I don't hurt anybody's feelings. The year is the one we rang in, not the one we left.

2000: A guy I knew in high school had a party at his parents' house. My, how times have changed. I'm not sure if his parents knew he was having a party. I don't know that I brought anything. But this was the debut of the backless shirt, later to be known as my JLO shirt. Freshman year of college, I bashed girls who wore those so bad, calling them slutty. Suddenly, I was on board. This shirt was H.O.T. It was magenta satin and, obviously, tied in the back. It would pave the way for later backless shirts that included: a purple cotton one from The Limited; a metallic one someone gave me (too slutty for them, I guess); and a leather-inspired one Neha gave me. The evening was enjoyable and I remember everybody checking the TV to see if Y2K was really going to blow up the world.

2001: Boyfriend at the time was obsessed with the University of Iowa. Friend Stefanie went to school there. Let's go. Only problem: no car. Boyfriend didn't have one (lucky me). Stefanie didn't have one. I had one but John Sod was putting the kibosh on me driving it. My cousins still quote him saying "My cars don't go to Iowa." Even though this was my car - I bought it off them - thus giving them power over how it was used. The day before NYE, Stefanie went to her waitressing job at Rainforest Cafe, and her boss offered to let her drive his car to Iowa City. She went home and told her mom, who, I think, said if she was planning on doing that, she shouldn't come home. Steffie didn't care, and we were on our way. We ran into a problem on the way there when the glove compartment wouldn't close, and we were afraid the light inside would run out the battery. Not sure how we fixed it. We walked into Stefanie's apartment, and it was so messy that boyfriend seriously said, "Oh my God, you've been robbed." But we had a really fun time dancing at The Union.

2002: This was the NYE in which all NYEs would be measured against. None of us were 21, but we had all been in college for more than two years, so it's fair to say we enjoyed a cocktail or two on the illegal. My high school girls and I went down to University of Illinois to spend a night in a land where you only need to be 19 to enter the bars. We all strapped on our go-go boots and headed to Clybourne, where insanity ensued. I can't even say most of the stuff that happened that night because people's moms, including my own, read this blog. Just mark my word, it was a time.

2003: Now we're 21!!! Went to VooDoo Lounge, a now defunct club in Schaumburg. A friend of ours had connections at the La Quinta Inn, so we got a free room next door. Stefanie and I made sure we secured boys to smooch for the ball drop so we had a good time (even though those guys didn't get the message that once the smooch was done, so were we). But the other girls we were with didn't have much fun and ended up retiring to the room to watch a "Sex and the City" marathon. Only snag was when VooDoo smooch guy called me a week later and wanted to take me on a date. I told him waiting a week to call a girl was ridiculous and told him no.

2004: Worst NYE ever. I had moved to North Carolina a couple months prior, didn't know anybody, and sat at home. Sad face.

2005: First NYE downtown experience. Paid $80 for some appetizers, a glass of champagne and an open bar at Lincoln Station. Spent most of the night on the phone with jealous new boyfriend. However, this was the first time I met Heather's now husband Jason. At breakfast New Year's Day, Heather kept telling us she was going to marry him and, since we had heard that before, we didn't believe her. I made her sign a statement on the back of an order form. They've been married two years and have a baby!

2006: Another horrible night. Paid $100 to go to a swanky party in the lobby of a high rise downtown. Open bar, tons of food, lots o' people. Only problem: I was severely hung over from the night before. I went to see "Brokeback Mountain" with my mom, aunt and cousin and went home and had pizza and my famous melon martinis. Many many melon martinis. Needless to say, it was the one time in my life an open bar was not making me loony tunes.

2007: Kept it low-key that year. Made dinner and drank at Heather and Jason's apartment in the city. Things got hairier when some guys from high school showed up wasted. Then went on an adventure with Moogs that went awry.

2008: Another top night. Kept it real in Fort Wayne and went out for a nice dinner and to a bar. Highlight of the night was when I was dancing with a bottle of beer in my hand. I was waving my hands in the air and ended up pouring beer on my head. But in my drunken state, I was convinced someone was standing above me pouring water on me. Boyfriend at the time had to correct me and say "No, silly, YOU'RE the one pouring beer on yourself." So in every picture, I look like I shot-up heroin: glassy eyes and wet hair. Boyfriend and I closed down a dive bar called Billy's Dugout, cleaned out their buffet, used our literally last three dollars to buy cans of beer (boyfriend had to borrow money from a random guy to tip). I spent the last minutes chatting with a black guy in a leprechaun hat.

2009: Went to Heather's and made dinner. Food was excellent, but I was in one of my non-drinking moods.

2010: My friend Meghan is coming to Fort Wayne from Chicago to hit up the town with some Hoosiers. Pre-dinner cocktails at my place; to Catablu for dinner with a group of people; then downtown for some boozin' and dancing. Pray for another top night!

A Very Merry Raidy Christmas

This is the first year my brother hasn't been at my parents' house Christmas morning. He moved into a condo a couple months ago, so he chose to sleep in his own bed Christmas Eve instead of on the couch. It's very weird.

My mom is making breakfast, and we're drinking coffee waiting for Danny to get here so we can open presents. Not that he would've been up at this hour (before 9 a.m.) in the previous couple years anyway. As Danny and I have gotten older, the hour we wake up on Christmas morning has gotten later and later. I used to be so excited by the prospect of presents that I would, no joke, saunter downstairs around 3:30 a.m. to check everything out and then restlessly fall back asleep until my parents woke up. Then I'd be up around 6 a.m. I couldn't stand it anymore.

The rule in our house is you can look through your stockings but have to wait for everybody to wake up before opening presents. this can make for late mornings, given my parents' tendency to have a cocktail or two (Or many, like the infamous Christmas Eve of 2003 where Uncle Kevin fell down in the kitchen, giving himself a black eye; Chris's hair was wild and unruly; and my dad climbed into my cousin's bed to spend the night, prompting Danny and I to say he was ruining Christmas. The Crown Royal shots were flowing that night. As insanity ensued upstairs, the of-drinking age kids were downstairs playing "Lord of the Rings" chess.

When you're younger, you're so excited to get STUFF. Any kind of STUFF. This year, I'm more excited to see what everybody thinks of the gifts I bought. My mom picked out her own gift, a heart monitor that counts the number of calories you burn when you work out. I bought my brother some stuff for his new place and "The Hangover," which I hope we watch after. The wild card is my dad, as is the case every year.

He asked for a Green Machine, which is to carpet cleaning as the Dustbuster is to vacuuming. He told me I could find it for $29.99 at the WalMart. My mom said he was stuck in the 1970s, and it would no-doubt be more expensive. So, I'm thinking it'll be around $40 or so. Imagine my surprise when WalMart has it on sale for $79.99. It wasn't the cost that got me, it was the fact that my dad was so off on the price. Then again, he thinks jeans should still cost $10.

I also ordered my dad a flannel shirt from L.L. Bean. Normal gift, right? No. My dad will only wear flannels that are not 100 percent cotton. Try finding this mysterious creation. I'm convinced it doesn't exist. It's like he's JLO requesting only green M&Ms in a jar. He wants a blended fabric because he says they don't shrink. Legend has it my grandma used to be able to find the shirts for him. Every time I'm in the men's department anywhere, you'll find me checking the tags of flannel shirts. So I found a shirt on L.L. Bean.com that claims it will never ever ever shrink. It's still 100 percent cotton so this will be quite the experiment at the Soderlund house.

I'll let you know how it goes.

The day will be spent at my aunt and uncle's house having a Very Merry Raidy Christmas. It's the best damn Christmas dinner you've ever had. The tradition started a long time ago with my cousin Jon, who owns his own restaurant. Jon made us prime rib and the freakin bestest estest twice-baked potatoes you've ever had in your life. (I'm quite hyperbolic in this post, I realize). So after a meal of prime rib, twice-baked potatoes, asparagus and hollandaise sauce, Uncle Ron usually makes a show with some bananas foster in the kitchen. The crowd oooos and aaaas as the alcohol hits the pan and it erupts in flames.

A mean game of White Elephant grab bag is next where, to steal a line from my cousin Christopher, "there will be bloodshed."

Merry Christmas!