This is Stevie

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Harlow and I met him today at the dog beach.
He's a rescue pup.
He's six months old.
And he's blind.
Did I mention his full name is Stevie Wonder?

He was found on the streets of Texas with eyes so badly infected
they both had to be removed.
But don't worry, this is a happy story, I promise.
Because Stevie now has an owner who takes him to the dog beach pretty much every day
where he runs around frolicking in the water,
and gleefully skips right into anyone or any dog who gets in his way.
He's seriously the cutest thing ever.
And if he could just learn to play to play the piano he could be the
biggest Youtube sensation since Sophia Grace.

Stevie would desperately try to chase Harlow all over the sand,
pausing every so often to stick his nose in the air to figure out where he was.
All the while, a puppy smile on his face,
and his long tail wagging for all else to see.

You know I can't resist me a good doggy story whenever I come across one.
You've met Stevie, now meet some of the lovely new blogs on my side bar.
(how's that for a random transition?)

This Hive

Live Out Loud

Mish Lovin' Life

Total Basset Case

I'll be introducing you to the others over the next fews days.
So get excited to check out some new great blogs.
Or revisit the ones you've already discovered.
Just do yourself a favor and head over their way.


The Olympics Are so Hot Right Now

I feel like I've been watching more Olympic coverage this year
than ever before.
And then I remembered the last time the Olympics were on was in 2008,
which was the summer I moved into 7240 Dorchester with my three best college pals.
So we had a lot better things to do than watch the Olympics.
(Like drink)

this was also one of those "bang" phases of mine like I've mentioned...
Tye. Kate. Steph. Tay. P2B 2008.

But I digress.
For the three odd years in between the Olympics, I don't watch sports.
I'll watch football, but by "watch" I mean play on my phone and pretend to pay attention for Chris's sake.
And I'll watch basketball during March Madness, but by "watch" I mean play on my phone and pretend to pay attention for Chris's sake.
So why am I so intrigued with the Olympics, I wondered? And then it hit me.
It's because the moment my attention starts to fade, a new sports comes on.
It's great. And also a little confusing if you're not really focusing.
Yesterday I was watching water polo, took my eyes off the screen for a second,
and then when I looked up the same girl I thought was the goalie was now in a kayak
rowing down rapids.
And I thought, holy hell water polo is way more intense than I thought.
Luckily,  I got everything figured out by the time the screen switched it up again to ping pong.

But here's some things I've picked up over the past few days:

Leotards tend to have the reverse effect.
They make men look girly
(the flowers they are holding don't exactly help either)

And they make females look a bit manly...
That elastic is pulled just a little too tight down by their lady bits.
A little more fabric wouldn't hurt anyone,
that "V" should be more like a "U" to make everyone a little more at ease.

If you put him in a beret,
Lebron James looks like the creepiest Man-Girl Scout I've ever seen/
long lost member of the Troop Beverly Hills.

After years of me writing to the Olympic committee they finally took my requests
seriously and let Whoville have some representation.
You go Beth TweddleWho, make Whoville forget Cindy Lou Who even existed!

Chlorine does a body good.

You don't actually have to compete in the Olympics for people to think you're an athlete,
just get a tattoo and you're golden.

Gabby Douglas is the new Dominique Moceanu.

Can a 25 year old have a hero that is only 16?
Because I do.
I want to be just like her when I grow up.

Keep watching, America, I think we're only just getting started.
Plus we've all got to keep an eye on that Chinese female swimmer who is beating the men.
That's got robot or vampire written all over it.
Someone needs to make her sit in the bright sun for a few hours just to be certain,
if she's a robot her battery will eventually go into 'Too Hot" mode and she won't be able to move.
Or is that just an iPhone thing?
If she's a vampire, she'll just die.

We'll get to the truth sooner or later.


Eating Cupcake Paper

Monday, July 30, 2012

Is it true that some people really workout in the morning?
I've heard of it, but I can't believe people actually do it.
I'm talking early, like before 7 a.m.
Well I think it sounds pretty horrible neat.

And I'm pretty sure I heard somewhere (I think from Jessie Spano) 
that working out in the morning is supposed to give you more energy throughout the day.

So after this morning when I sat down on my couch to send some emails
(watch the Olympics)
and then accidentally fell asleep for two hours, I decided I should probably try the whole
exercising thing again.
It doesn't help that I've been staring at asses made of steel for the past 48 hours
with all of the Olympic coverage going on.
If I have to look at one more female Olympian with an ass that looks like it would punch me back in the face if I were to touch it, I'm going to start a hunger protest.

Speaking of hunger protests,
would you like to see the Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Brownies I made yesterday?
They won't make your ass punch,
but I bet they'll make it jiggle.
Layer cupcake holders with frozen cookie dough (I chose chocolate chip)
put a drop of peanut butter in,
then pour brownie batter on top.

The perfect recipe to make any nonOlympian feel better about life.
Except for Harlow.
He was pretty much tortured through out this entire event.
I think I literally heard him whimper
"I want peanut butttttterss"
more than once.

The ending result are these heavenly little treats.
The best part is you can freeze whatever you don't automatically binge eat.
I'm eating a frozen one right now as I write this post about not having an ass of steel...
The only downfall is once you freeze them I found a few were kind of hard to peel away from the cupcake paper.
So I've basically just been eating the paper as well. What can you do...
#fatgirlproblems: I am literally eating cupcake paper to ensure I don't miss a bite.

On that note, I'm taking Harlow for another walk.
Is it Friday yet?

I Love Weekends

Sunday, July 29, 2012

And another great weekend for the books.
Our friends, Mal and Laine, came to town and we've just been going non-stop 
since the moment they arrived Friday evening.

Brunch, Cubs game, margaritas,
eating 800 pounds of Italian food downtown...
So I don't usually do this,
but just this one time I'm going to resist "writing" and call this a photo post.
I'm sorry. I'm just oh so lazy right now.
And those damn Olympics are kind of consuming me.

So feast your eyes on the weekend we just enjoyed here in the windy city.
Please notice what the boys are drinking vs what us gals are drinking...
More drinks downtown.
And we could not have asked for better weather than we had last night.
All in all, a pretty great night weekend.

And it's still going on.
We're off to get some pizza now.
If I'm not too carbdrunk when I get home I'll post pics of
the Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookie Brownies I just made.
Don't worry, they're super healthy.


The Games

Friday, July 27, 2012

Today is always a very bittersweet day for me.
Opening ceremonies for the Olympic Games.
You see, back in 2004 I was supposed to compete in the games.
But because of lack of talent and overall ability, I never made it out
of my YMCA intermediate gymnastic class.
But believe you me, in August of 1996, I made a promise
to myself I was going to be at the 2004 games.
I remember calculating that I would be age sixteen, a little old,
nine-year-old me thought. But I legitimately remember believing it might
be for the best if I was going to compete in both gymnastics and track.
I would probably need the maturity of a sixteen-year-old to do that.

So while I always get chills and sometimes a little teary eyed
when the American athletes walk onto the field
(just like I do when the Husker football defense does the tunnel walk)
I also can't help but feel a little resentment.
I know that sounds unpatriotic, but I can't help it.
Especially when I hear their interviews and they all say,
"I always dreamed of getting here, and I knew it would just take a lot of hard work,
but if it happened for me, it could happen for anyone. You just have to want it."

Because that's a boldfaced lie.
I wanted it. And I worked at it.
I spent countless hours on my trampoline playing "1996 Olympic Gymnastic Team"
for five hours a day, every summer, for at least four years.
By ten-years-old I could land the one legged Kerri Strug Vault routine
better than Kerri Strug.
I had mastered a more believable Romanian accent than Dominique Moceanu had.

And don't even get me started on my track accomplishments.
I ran suicides in my driveway as an eight year old trying to build agility.
My dad had me on a weightlifting routine when I was nine.
Creatine supplements by ten.
I was listening to Tony Robbins inspirational tapes every night before bed
at age eleven.
So don't tell me about want.

But that's just life. We weren't all made to be Olympians.
I guess some of us were just made to watch the Olympic games from
the safety our own little garden level Chicago apartment, living underneath our Jewish owners,
sipping on Two Buck Chuck.
Just living the American dream.
One rent check a month.

Sorry about that, I didn't mean to just get that dark.
But I think it's pretty obvious how deep my desire was rooted to be an Olympic athlete.
You don't just get over something like that in a few (16) years...

What I'm really just trying to say is cheers to the games and all of the athletes involved.
Except for the Chinese gymnasts as I don't believe any of them
are actually old enough to read. Or talk. Or even walk for that matter.
That's probably why they just tumble around to get from one place to the other.



The Most Indistinguishable Girl in the World

So you're all familiar with the Most Interesting Man in the World, right?

He doesn't always drink beer, but when he does it's Dos Equis.

Well here's a little Friday fun fact about me:
I don't want to boast, but I am the Most Indistinguishable Girl in the World.
I'm not kidding.
For a very long time now, at least five years I'd say,
I get falsely recognized/someone thinks they know me, at least once a week.
I'm not even exaggerating.
And I'm not trying to be one of those girls who's saying it because,
"yeah, everyone tells me I look like Megan Fox..."
Not at all.
No, apparently I look like your cousin, or your friend from college,
or the girl who dated that one guy, what was his name again???...
That's me.
It happens every where.
At bars, at restaurants, shopping, working, weddings, there is always someone
who thinks they know me, but they're not sure how.
I get it, I'm generic looking.

wait, is that the girl from the bar who wouldn't pay the bathroom attendant last weekend?

The most recent situation was Tuesday at the school I was working at.
A very large, and very vivacious African American woman came hauling up to me,
grabbed my arm and pulled me aside and said,

"Now girl, I know I know you. Which high school did you go to?"

"Norfolk Senior High." I repeated.
Which is roughly 800 miles from Chicago. In northeastern Nebraska.
So that connection would have been real out there...

"Hmm, really? How do I know you then? Because I know I do. I know I do!"

It's how it always go.

I think I know that girl from college. Is she the creep who used to try to catch the stray cats on campus?

A previous situation was just a few days before that, last Friday evening in Wrigleyville.
The door guy at the bar we were heading into looked at me and laughed and said:
"Damn, you finished that bottle fast."

So I thought that he was either implying:
a. I already looked drunk- which made me feel bad because it was only 6:00 p.m. and I wasn't!
b. he thought I was sneaking a bottle into the bar.

"What? I don't have a bottle." I said as I opened my purse to prove it to him.
And then he looked all confused and said,

"Sorry, I thought you were someone else."

You and the rest of the world.

Isn't that the girl who performs at little kids' birthday parties?

So after many years of trying to figure out what to do with this super power of mine,
I've finally decided.
I'm going to screw with people.
From here on out, I am going to be that girl they know.
When someone says, "hey I recognize you, are you..."
I'm just going to butt in right there and say,
"Yes, yes I am. Now how the hell have you been and why has it been so long?"
And then we'll take it from there.

The Most Indistinguishable Girl in the World:

At the doctor's office,
they've never asked her to fill out a form.

She's been invited to six high school reunions, 
none of which were from the school she went to.

She gets told "welcome back"
to places she's never been.

People often recognize her from the gym,
even though she doesn't belong to one.

When she's growing out her hair,
people tell her they like her new haircut.

Waitresses will bring her extra ranch,
even though she didn't ask for it.

She's been yelled at in sign language,
on more than one occasion.

She once dyed her hair pink,
and then accidentally walked into a Nicki Minaj concert.

She's considered a "regular"
at places she's never been.

For Halloween she went as herself,
nobody recognized her.

She doesn't often drink beer, but when she does,
it's always something you can't remember.

She is
the most indistinguishable girl in the world.

Happy Friday.


Back to the Dog Beach

Thursday, July 26, 2012

So yesterday was the first day I returned to the dog beach since
 the day the water turned brown.
I didn't want to go.
But Harlow insisted.
And when Harlow wants something, you might as well forget all other plans for the day.
I'll be sitting at my desk and he will continually try to climb in my lap,
slap my leg with his paw,
or just howl at the top of his lungs.
So I really had no other choice.
But I didn't put on my swimsuit, because I was not getting in that dirty water.

Once we got out there Harlow ran across the beach like he was Andy Dufresne
just released from prison.
And if you don't know that Shawshank reference we can never really be true friends...
I instantly felt bad I had kept him away for so long.
He was literally jumping vertically in the air he was so excited to be there.
He took off for the water and I stayed on the beach to watch.
Did I mention it was 104 degrees here yesterday?
So it started to get a little hot.
And I soon noticed every other owner was in the water...
Harlow noticed too.

He was bouncing up to every person in the lake begging them to play,
but of course they were all too busy with their own pups.
Dogs are like kids, they get absolutely ecstatic
when they see their parent playing in the water.
So Harlow would run between the water,
and then back to me on the beach to see what was up.

And then I thought, what am I doing?
This is ridiculous.
Everyone else in the water seemed to look okay,
and it's not like I've ever been one to let a little shit get in my
way of having fun.
So like a fat kid at day camp, I got in the water,
tank top, running shorts, and all.
And Harlow was thrilled. So was I.
That is until I saw Harlow's new friend, Captain, approach the shitposish next to us,
and I got the hell out of there before I could see the outcome.

On our way home from the beach I stopped at Trader Joe's to pick up a watermelon.
And once at home I was instantly reminded why I only buy one watermelon a year.

Because they are a pain in the ass to cut.
I will most definitely be paying the extra money to buy precut next time.
That sucker took me at least 25 minutes.
And note to self: don't give Harlow watermelon.
I put a few pieces in his bowl, and naturally he pulled the pieces 
from his bowl and took them to eat in the living room
(because eating from his dog bowls is far too animalistic for him)
and proceeded to suck on them, then spit them out on the white carpet,
and then eat them.
I read somewhere that some dogs have identity issues if you treat them too human like
and they will actually start to think they are humans rather than dogs.
I told Harlow this and his response was,
"what's a dog?"

Oh, that Harlow.
Too bad Marley and Me was already written,
because I could make a killing on Harlow and Me.


JoePa was Sandusky'd

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

So they finally Sandusky'd the Joe Paterno statue
at Beaver Stadium.
In true Dusky style, they creeped in during the middle of the night
and took it down while no one was watching or could put up a protest.
I can't help but think this was kind of cowardly however,
if I would have been in charge of this "take down",
I would have let each and every victim come in with their tool of choice:
(baseball bat, golf club, blow torch, ext)
and just full on beat the crap out of the statue themselves.

But that's just me.
Okay, maybe I'm taking it too far.
After all, it wasn't really JoePa's fault, what did he do that was that bad?
is what Hitler might ask.
As for anyone else who wonders this,
well then I encourage you to read the testimonies of the victims.
And then try to explain to those people why a bronzed statue
is more important than the innocence they lost during their childhood.
Why a winning record means more
than what happened to those children? Over and over again...

Mourning a statue? Really?

I'm honestly amazed disgusted at how many people try to defend
Paterno by saying he didn't really know what was going on.
Come on! He for sure at least knew of one case, which is one case too many.
And I'm sorry, but if you find out your "friend" enjoys the company of
small children aren't you going to think, hey, maybe there's a problem here.
You don't just look the other way...
Nobody just has a "bad night" and accidentally ends up with child.
The saying isn't called babycoyoteugly.
"Yeah dude, I got so hammered last night I woke up next to Mason Dissick."
That's disgusting. And that's my point.
This kind of shit doesn't just happen.
It's premeditated.
Joe Paterno might not have known the existent (but even this I doubt)
but he did know he had a pervertedmothaSanduskycreep working for him,
and he didn't care. Even after he "fired" him.
And why should he? As long as kept winning dem foosball games, that's all dat mattered.

I'm not sure why I wrote that previous line as voiced by Kathy Bates circa Waterboy,
but it just felt right.

He was a selfish good ol' boy who was only concerned with winning.
Nothing was to interrupt his football. And that was that.

The source of this rant comes from one too many
Facebook/Twitter updates from idiots on my feed regarding
how they "feel so bad" for everyone else being punished because of one man's crimes.

I feel bad for the victims.
That's it. No one else.
The current players can transfer, and I assure you, they'll get over it.
The previous players will always know the numbers of games they won,
the NCAA can't take this away no matter how hard they try.
But what about the victims?
Do you think they'll ever get over it?
Taking the statue down might be one very tiny victory
in a life where they have had to fight mental battles on a daily basis.

I think it's time we let Sandusky out of his isolation cell and into the
everyday prison cells.
After all, he was the one who said what happens in the showers is all just
"a little horsing around."

If you read this and happen to be deeply offended,
would you do me a favor and email me at
I try to see both sides in situations, but for the life of me
I just can't seem to understand why anyone would justify keeping this statue up.
Maybe you could better explain it to me.
(and to everyone else not taking crazy pills.)




Tuesday, July 24, 2012

So I lost another follower this week.
And one might think, "it's just one follower, no big deal."
And one who doesn't blog might think, "what's a follower, stop being a creep."
A follower: i.e. someone who actually takes the time to click
"join this site"
over there on the right---->
And it shouldn't be a big deal. But I'm a dweller.
And since I get so excited when someone does click follow (#patheticbloggerexcitment)
I get just as dissapointed pissed when someone clicks unfollow.
Do me a favor and just don't read, is it really necessary to break up with me via social media?

So as I was stewing about this and wondering what I had done wrong
or which post had offended someone to the point of leaving my lovely little site
(I had quite a list of possibilities going through my head)
I realized how insecure my blog is.
My blog is Regina George. Think about it...
It thrives on followers.
Its outer appearance never feels adequate next to other, prettier blogs.
It gets super bitchy at blogger when it doesn't listen.
It's always trying to lose weight.
It tends to get jealous of other blogs who have more followers...
And it tries to buy peoples love.
and it hates Lindsay Lohan.

I'm comparing my blog to Regina George.
Clearly I've gone off the deep end.
It's been one of those weeks. And it's only Tuesday.
Here's the other thing that happened. I didn't want to mention it because I'm so ashamed.
But I know if it happened to anyone else I'd call them out.
So it's only right I call myself out.

Notice anything about my name?
Like the way it's spelled wrong perhaps?
For over six months I have been sending emails with my name spelled wrong.
Pronounced like Eore, I assume. Only Tayor.
So much is wrong with this.
 I'm even more embarrassed to know how many of have you
probably noticed and didn't say a thing.
You probably felt bad for me. Thought I had a learning disability or something.
Finally yesterday, a very kind (and sarcastic I can only assume) reader
whom I won't mention her name Emily Borgmann addressed me in an email as:
"Taylor (or is it Tayor?)"
I die.

So yes, I am the girl who not only spells her own name wrong,
but proceeds not to notice for over six months of email correspondence.
The worst part is Google continues to shame me and won't
let me change it on emails that I already had a thread going.
It's like they want to punish me for being so stupid.

I know you've noticed by now I tend to have some
grammatical errors. Frequently...
I'm sorry.
I'm always in a hurry, that's the only thing I have to blame it on.
You can tell me to slow down
 (like every other teacher I've had since preschool)
but chances are I'm not listening because I've already moved onto something else.

If you'd like to check out a blog from a girl who can spell her name
head on over to Jenni and check out the giveaway I'm hosting this week.
Her name is even in her blog "Jenni Austria Germany" so that makes it
even more impressive she always gets it right.

The blogger formerly known as Tayor


Jef & Emily + 1 big 8 year old

Monday, July 23, 2012

In what might be one of the greatest (mediocre?) finales ever,
Jef won himself a fiancé.
a mom.
 a child.
a family.
The only other place you could take home such a package is Mexico City.
So well done, Jef. Well done.

And of course I think it's going to work out great for all of them.
When isn't it a good move to get engaged to a man
your child has only met one time?
It's how all of the best marriages start.
In a way, I kind of like to think of Emily and Jef like Mary and Joseph.
They didn't even have to consummate their love and yet they were
blessed with their own little Ricki Bobby baby Jesus.
Kinda neat, if you think of it that way.

Yup, sweet Little Nicki Ricki just landed herself the best dad ever.
He swims.
He plays with puppets.
He eats cheetohs.
What more does a kid need to know when choosing their dad?
And if all else fails at least Rick knows she's always got a career in Reality TV waiting for her.

So what about... Arie?

Well I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume Arie's
got a pretty cushy career/life ahead of him.
The way he dealt with Emily "breaking up with him"
had every girl drooling over the new "pissed off Arie" we hadn't yet had the pleasure of seeing.
Or was that just me?
He went from happy, to confused, to worried, to sad, to pissed,
to over it.
All in like four minutes.

The love potion part was just painful to watch.
He was just so happy and light hearted and
yet everyone knew what was coming, everyone but him.
I honestly thought it was a shitty move on ABC's part to show that.
I'm personally not a fan of watching (good) people be humiliated on reality TV.
It makes me feel like I'm watching the Hunger Games. Or the Truman Show.

But honestly,
I wouldn't be surprised if by now Arie's already dating someone like Jen Aniston.
Or ScarJo. Or both Olsen twins. Or Justin Bieber.
That's how cool I think Arie is.

He just didn't have "the edge" Jef did.
According to Emily, anyway.
But apparently she and I have a different meaning for what the "edge" is.

All jokes aside, I kind of liked Jef in the end.
Not my type, oh no, not at all.
But he seemed pretty cute and genuine,
in an 80s movie kind of way.

I think the biggest question at this point is who will be the next Bachelor?

If it's Sean, I won't watch. He's cute, but boring as helllllllll.
If it's Arie, well I think we know what my thoughts would be on that one.

The only thing that matters is that in the end,
Jef was the victor.

Or was hairspray the real winner here?

Or was it Pauly D?

You be the choice of that...
Until next season.
Over and out.

PS. My mom is looking for a web designer to help her out with a new website she is working on.
She's starting a blog called The Daily Sandy.
But she is working on a site, so if you are in the biz of graphic design or web design,
send me an email at so we can talk a bit.