Decisions, decisions

I'm in Chicago for a couple days teching Bohème. It's pretty great. Right now, though, after 11 hours of almost nonstop decision-making, I am going to bed because I'm completely exhausted. Or, according to CameraMan, DRUNK WITH POWER.

Speaking of which, my picture is on the roster among pictures of fancy people. Can you see it? Pinch me, please.

Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin' town

A couple nights ago we were at dinner with a friend and he asked me how I liked Chicago. I opened my mouth to answer him, and 5 minutes later I finally took a breath. Because I liked Chicago. A lot. It felt like home, and the thing is, I knew it would, and at the same time was sure it wouldn't quite live up to my expectations. A little like Paris, which I just absolutely knew I would love love aimer, all the while being terrified that the Paris I loved was in books and movies and maybe the 1920s, and not at all in reality. It's terrible to be disappointed in something you've built up in your mind, but in some ways it's worse to be vindicated, to have the place you've exalted actually be just as amazing as you pictured. Because now all I want to do is move there. Immediately. I'm talking about Chicago, but it could just as well apply to Paris, actually.

So I'm crossing it off my list.

72. Live in Chicago.

I've done it. I've lived right in the middle of Chicago, with Millennium Park as my backyard and the Art Institute and Symphony Center right down the block. I've ridden the El and the Metra to the neighborhoods and the suburbs. I've eaten deep-dish pizza more times than I'd like to admit. I've seen theater both big and small. I've complained about the winter and crowed about the fall. I've walked the Magnificent Mile and been to the top of the Sears Willis Tower and had cocktails at the top of the Hancock Building and taken an architectural boat cruise and eaten funnel cakes at Navy Pier. I've lived in Chicago.

And, like the best items on my list, now that I've crossed it off, all I want is to do it again.

My kind of town, Chicago is.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Ever since my schedule for this year was set, I've been bragging about it. Not in terms of the jobs themselves, but in terms of the weather. Autumn in Chicago, winter in Houston, spring in New York. Sounds perfect, doesn't it? And so far, it has been. Crisp fall days, changing leaves, hot cocoa, and most importantly, fall clothes. Velvet blazers, cashmere scarves, cable-knit tights, jeans tucked into riding boots, sweater dresses...this is what I live for. Sure, it rained some, but mostly it's been idyllic, with just enough unseasonably warm days sprinkled in to give my favorite silver ballet flats a workout.

I have no complaints. Except...

This is Chicago. In December. Is it too much to ask for one teeny tiny snowfall before I leave? It doesn't even need to stick—I just want to feel it. Real honest-to-goodness Midwestern snow. Where is it? Time's running out, and there's not a flake in sight.

Besides which, if I leave now, without having experienced even a little bit of the infamous brutal winter, I'm going to have to be physically restrained from moving here the minute I get the chance. Because so far, Chicago hasn't given me any reason not to.

Come on, I dare you.

How to win friends & influence people

I was walking into the train station to get a Jamba Juice before rehearsal (original Peach Perfection with an immunity boost, if you're buying) when I heard her voice: I love your bag! I don't mean to brag, but I get that a lot about this particular bag, a large orange patent leather tote. (Sidebar: actually, the bag was mentioned in a New Yorker article about a soprano I worked with last year, because she was using it in rehearsal. I would have to look it up, but I believe the quote might have been "chic orange tote." But I digress.) So when I stopped to tell her where I had gotten the bag, this girl, about my age, started asking me all kinds of questions about myself. It seemed a little weird, but there is a lot more chatting among strangers in Chicago than you might think—mostly about the weather—so I didn't think much of it. It briefly crossed my mind that she might be hitting on me, but I wasn't really getting that vibe from her. I was anxious to get to work, but she seemed nice, and I don't have such a plethora of Chicago friends that I'm about to be rude to a nice girl who wants to talk to me. You never know, right?

Except that sometimes, you do know. Because not 3 minutes into our conversation, she said, So if you're from Texas, you must know my company. It's based in Dallas. Some of you have already figured it out, I'm sure, but not me. What company does she work for, you ask? What else: MARY KAY. My heart sank and I immediately began inching closer and closer to the Jamba Juice, my eyes darting back and forth looking for an escape route. And while I attempted to evade her, there was no controlling what came out of my mouth. I think I claimed to already have a MK representative, an imaginary friend in Houston who's just selling makeup on the side to help pay for college and isn't really interested in making it full-time. WHAT?!? SHUT UP, LOUISA! And then I think maybe I told her I was too busy for any of her upcoming seminars, but she should just give me her card so I could contact her when my schedule freed up. And it would have been great if I stopped there.

Except I didn't. Because then she asked for my phone number, and for some ungodly reason, I gave it to her (yes, my REAL number). I can't explain it; I was panicking. And, wouldn't you know it, she has already called me and left me a frighteningly perky voicemail. She wants me to learn more about the "executive side" of the company while I'm here. I will not be returning her call.

I made the mistake of telling a couple people at work this story, and now every time they see me I hear, I love your bag! Because apparently that is all it takes to get my phone number. And now you know.

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The inside of the opera house is absolutely gorgeous, and as I often do in my job, there are days where I have to pinch myself that I get to do what I love in these beautiful spaces. This picture didn't turn out quite how I wanted it to—good thing I'm here for a couple more months to try again.





Opening night of Animal Crackers at the Goodman was like a palate cleanser after lots of intense French opera. Tap dancing, silly gags, and THE MARX BROTHERS! I might have smiled for the entire show. Also, there was a cast party with yummy Italian food. So basically, heaven.





Sometimes there is nothing better than crawling into a bed of clean, sweet-smelling sheets. This is the best-smelling fabric softener I have found yet.

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I am falling more and more in love with this amazing city every day that I am here, dreaming of ways to move here for real (no offense, Houston). My almost nightly walks in Millennium Park might have to end at some point due to cold weather, but for now I will enjoy the proximity of this unique park for as long as I can.




I missed another day, and I'm not even going to apologize about this one. The past couple weeks were so insane at work that it just wasn't happening. Instead, I'm linking you to an awesome video postcard that CameraMan made me. I've only watched it about 10 times.






Opening night at the Lyric is very glamorous. There was a red carpet, and a buffet of hors d'oeuvres, and lots of gorgeous gowns. I dragged The Best Friend along and we sat in incredible seats for a beautiful production of Tosca. And not a single boo was heard during the curtain call.

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I'm attempting to combat my natural tendencies, the tendencies of an antisocial hermit. Saying yes to invitations, contacting friends, being proactive. It's mostly going well, especially when I'm not working crazy weeks like this one. Last week there was this party, on a gorgeous rooftop in the middle of this amazing city. The sun was shining, and the skyscrapers were all around us, and there was Leiny's Sunset Wheat, and I was very very happy. And then later that evening I had an interview via Skype, and it went well, and I got the job, and I took it.

So all in all, a good day.

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Far from my stuff and my loved ones, it's the little things that make me feel at home. Even a candle helps.






There is an amazing farmers market in downtown Chicago, just blocks from where I live. I spent a lovely Thursday morning exploring the goods and came home with lots of treats: luscious ears of sweet corn, perfectly ripe tomatoes, artisanal bread, yummy leeks, sweet cippolini onions, fragrant basil, and delicious honeycrisp apples.






Yet another shot of this incredible city at night.

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I like living on the 36th floor because it makes me feel fancy. Also, have I mentioned the view?





Currently my nighttime snack of choice. When I can resist the siren song of Ben and his friend Jerry, that is.





One of the best parts of my day is walking home through downtown at the end of the work day. I take my time, strolling at a leisurely pace, trying little variations to my route, often with my camera out. Sometimes even while experimenting with manual focus. Whoa.

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For anyone out there who's BK (Baby Krazy), I highly recommend checking out the fountains at Millennium Park on a warm day—they will be FILLED with children playing in the water. These 2 cuties came from a set of identical red-haired triplets, impossible to photograph all at the same time because they were moving around so much. Telephoto lenses were made for taking pictures of other people's adorable children. What, is that weird?





Every night when I get home, I raise the blinds and look out over this glorious nighttime view. I love feeling the city all around me.





I was having trouble cuddling on the couch without my kitten or my CameraMan, so CM sent me my very own softest blanket in the world. You'd be surprised how much it helped.

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A ridiculous evening at the Museum of Contemporary Art with the Best Friend resulted in many failed pickup lines (theirs, not ours), mediocre food, and just a little dash of art. This picture is of a light and water installation that caught my fancy.





CameraMan came for the holiday weekend, and we spent the first evening at Navy Pier with the New Oregonian. Navy Pier is lots of fun on a warm summer night: funnel cakes and fireworks and ferris wheels, oh my!





CM introduced me to some great foodie/pianist friends over an incredible meal. This is just the dessert: homemade peach ice cream with roasted peaches. I'll be dreaming about this one for quite some time.

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I'm loving my new backyard.





And my neighborhood.





And my art collection, especially its new gorgeous Modern Wing.

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We tried out a new Houston restaurant, the Broken Spoke Cafe. Moules frites and a Stella…delicious!





My first night in Chicago, just taking in the breathtaking view from my 36th floor apartment window. I think I can handle this for a few months.





And then I forgot to take a picture. So I'm changing it up a little. Instead of a self-portrait of me looking ashamed for missing a day, here's a bonus pic of the Bossy Cat in the car. I miss my baby.

My kind of town, Chicago is

I spent a lovely afternoon in downtown Chicago yesterday walking around alone through Millennium Park and the Art Institute and taking lots of pictures. Then I met KT for drinks and appetizers at a Chicago institution (not the Wiener Circle; sorry, Wise Soprano) and then we were off to the Lyric to see their fantastic production of Falstaff (for free, no less). It was the perfect day. It was cold but not too cold, the sun was shining, and the camera wasn't letting me down.

Millennium Park. I am fascinated by the bean. Do you see me?

A few of my favorite things at the Art Institute.

In other news, this post is Little Ms. Bossy's 100th post! It's been almost 6 months since I started blogging, and I'm so glad that I did. At first it provided a much-needed escape from things I didn't want to deal with, but gradually it has become so much more. Through the blog I have learned to love writing and have forged new relationships both real and imagined.

In honor of the milestone, here are a few of my favorite posts, arranged chronologically:

E-i-e-i-o

Just play it cool, real cool

The girl in seat 38-J

A purely hypothetical exercise

Adventures in air travel and karmic retribution

Thinking out loud

Illinois is for lovers

There are two things you can always count on when the Best Friend and I get together: 1) we will go shopping and spend more money than we plan to; and 2) we will consume mass quantities of chocolate and other sweets, often in lieu of a normal meal.

Yesterday was certainly a prime example. We spent most of the day shopping. The closest shopping to the Best Friend is an outdoor mall in Skokie. Yes, that's right, an outdoor mall. I don't know what would possess someone in the suburbs of Chicago to build a mall where you have to go outside to walk between stores, but we braved the cold, all in the name of contributing to the economy, obvs.

The Best Friend and I have a rhythm to our shopping that we can never quite duplicate with other friends. Our endurance is greatly heightened. For some reason being together enables us to hit more stores with fewer breaks. This leads, of course, to greatly increased spending. This used to be a real problem when we lived in the same state, but I don't have too much guilt about it now, since we see each other only once or twice a year (my most exciting purchases yesterday were this and this). For the Best Friend, on the other hand, the buyer's remorse is just part of the fun. Generally as she's trying something on and I'm telling her how good she looks in it (genuinely, too, because one thing we never do is give false compliments), she looks at the price tag and says something like, "I really want it, but it costs x. If it was just a little cheaper I could justify it… But look how cute it is. I love it!" This is my cue to say something along the lines of, "But it's black, so it's versatile. And when you find something that fits you so well, you should really snap it up." If it's a bigger ticket item, it gets put on hold. Then we move on to other stores, occasionally mulling over whether or not she'll go back and buy it. Inevitably she does, which leads us to the justification stage, in which we discuss the many uses for the item she has just bought, all the different things already in her wardrobe that will go with it, and all the situations that it will be just perfect for. All this will be repeated (for/by both of us) when we get home and try on all our new clothes for each other again. It may sound silly, but it's a routine we've developed over 10 years, and it works for us.

After our exhausting afternoon of shopping, there was really nothing we could do except go to Ethel's and eat chocolate fondue for dessert (see #2 above). It didn't hit us that it was Valentine's Day until we sat down.

Nothing says romance like sitting at a table for two surrounded by shopping bags, stabbing a gourmet marshmallow with a fondue fork and dipping it in chocolate.

That toddlin' town

Cozy under blankets on the couch. Chats with the Best Friend. Bundling up. Crunchy snow underfoot. Sunshine. Breakfast scramble with avocado. Midwestern accents. Podcasts on the train. Final dress of Barber at the Lyric. A seat next to The Fabulous Ms. Wilson. An exciting email on my iPhone. Meeting the incomparable Yankeediva (happy birthday!). Hilarious stories from a living legend. Coat buttoned up, hands stuffed in pockets. Brisk walks. Pasta and catching up with KT. Dessert with 2 spoons. Clear crisp weather. A terrible movie. 45 minutes in the Metra station. Juno soundtrack. Walking the wrong way on Main St. Getting warm. Cozy under blankets on the couch.

Baby it's cold outside

On Sunday I spent the afternoon at the zoo wearing a tank top and a skirt. I closed my eyes and spread my arms out wide in a gesture that could only be described as basking, said "Bring on the Vitamin D!" (yes, audibly), and bragged that soon I would be a bronzed goddess (if soon means never gonna happen, that is).

And today? Today I flew to Chicago. Today I obsessed over winter weather advisories and flight delays. Today I flew through piles of fluffy clouds that left ice on the window next to me. Today I got off the plane and was met by a wave of cold air the likes of which haven't been seen in Houston since…umm…never. Today I bundled up in my winter coat (which has been severely neglected since I got home from Germany), scarf, and gloves, and queued up for a taxi so that the Best Friend didn't have to brave the dangerous icy roads. Today I saw my breath in the air, lost sensation in my legs, and actually felt my body heat escaping through my hatless head. Today I sat in the back of a cab and listened to local news stories such as a brand new addition to the snow plow fleet ("It's a sight to be seen, Bob.") and Evanston's street salt shortage ("We're just hoping spring comes really early this year.")

It's a different world here up North.

Thank goodness the folks at Continental eased the shock for me by keeping the cabin temperature at a crisp 48 degrees for the duration of my flight.