It’s almost time for Teri to get super excited about soccer again! The 2010 World Cup in South Africa starts off this Friday, June 11th. [Notice: I'm about to link way more information than you're probably interested in.]
FIFA Website
TV Match Schedule
Make Your Own Bracket!

The 2014 games are in Brazil, but the United States has put in a bid to host either the 2018 or the 2022 games. [Warren: Phoenix is one of like 15 or 20 candidate cities as well so... get on that.] I would love for the Cup to be in the U.S., as that significantly increases my chances of being able to attend.

In wedding-related news, I contacted my youth pastor from junior high / high school and asked him to perform the ceremony. His response was an ethusiastic yes, so that’s just aces. I didn’t like the idea of someone who doesn’t know me doing the wedding, you know? Like when you go to a funeral and it’s obvious that the minister did not know the deceased? That annoys me.

And in music news, I’m probably not going to attend Lollapalooza this year. There are a handful of bands I would like to see [Spoon, New Pornographers, Cut Copy, The Strokes, and Lady Gaga mostly] but they are spread out all over the place making it not worth the $90/day ticket.

They say that your tastes [or tastebuds or whatever] are supposed to change as you age. From that link I also learned that fish can taste with their fins/tail just as well as their mouth. I don’t know what you can do with that bit of information, exactly, but there it is–a free gift from me to you.

But I digress. When I was a kid I had all these ideas of things that I hated. I am trying them again as an adult and am discovering that [whether due to changing taste buds or sheer idiocy] I was wrong. I like root beer now. That may be an understatement. I daresay I love root beer [A&W]. And creme soda. I hated those things as a kid. And ketchup is moderately tolerable in small quantities instead of being the Horrible Goo of Disgustington that I had formerly believed it to be.

I’ve never liked ginger ale, except in small doses in a Boston Cooler [like a root beer float, but with ginger ale instead of root beer].  Mr. W and I bought some ginger ale and vanilla ice cream to make them and I thought, “I bet I’ll like ginger ale now, too!” So I poured myself a glass of the stuff…

I still don’t like ginger ale.

I’ll stop drooling.

The soccer game was pretty awesome, even if I did end up going by myself. For some undiscovered reason, I hate doing things by myself. So it was nice to make myself do it anyway. Not only did I get to see the delicious David Beckham up close, but Chicago won 3-1. I wish it were easier to get to the soccer stadium, because I would totally get me some season tickets. I’ve missed going to soccer games, I tell you what.

Seriously, I’ll stop drooling now.

You ever wake up and just know that it’s going to be one of those days?  It started out pretty simple–I was getting ready for work and my hair wasn’t doing what it was supposed to and my clothes just weren’t feeling right.  I thought right there, Today is going to annoy me.

The train was crowded, as usual, but this time there was a guy right behind me who, I sincerely believe, was intentionally rubbing a certain part of his anatomy against me.  I say it was intentional because it didn’t quite follow the natural swaying of the train, when accidental brushing is most likely to occur.  So the next the time the train swayed I “accidentally” elbowed him in the stomach.  I murmured a half-hearted apology and went back to my book.  The rest of my train ride was brush-free.

Then at work, one of our applications stopped working.  (I’m actually writing this while waiting for IT to get back with me on the app status–though this will be posted in my journal much later.)

And I just found out that Paul has an ear infection and isn’t sure he can make the soccer game tomorrow.  He’s going to the doctor, but it will depend on how he’s feeling.   Of course I was understanding, but honestly, I have to question the boy’s commitment.  I mean, you won’t see me letting something like a little ear infection get in the way of seeing David Beckham.  It’s just an ear–one of the smallest things on your body.  Much smaller than, say, a leg or an arm.  And it’s not like you don’t have another one; a “spare”, if you will.  Sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet.  Well, to be perfectly honest, you always have to break a few eggs to make an omelet.  Otherwise, you’re just hard-boiling some eggs.  And we want breakfast, damnit, not Easter.

But yeah.  David Beckham.

I spent yesterday evening at Paul’s.  (Have I mentioned his name before?  Perhaps not.  Well, there you go.) 

Me: "I’m not against  having kids, but I’m not all about it either."
Him: "So you’re just apathetic about it."
Me: "Usually.  I just don’t think I have strong maternal instincts."
Him: "Your husband will come home from work, ‘Honey, where are the kids?’ and you’ll say, ‘Eh, something about a sandbox…’"

I really enjoy talking with him.  He picked me up from the metra station and we started talking about the current mess in the financial world and I was just impressed.  Outside of my work (where it’s a huge deal) people don’t either seem to know what’s going on or understand too much about it.  And he did both.

The only thing that bothers me is the distance.  He lives in the suburbs, so we don’t really see each other as often as we could otherwise.  When I go to his place, I’ll take the Metra train and he’ll drive me home.  But I always feel badly that he has to drive the 45 minutes to take me home, and then 45 minutes back.  One time I mentioned how I felt and that I appreciated the ride.  His response:
"Well, what else am I gonna do?  Point out the nearest bus stop and say, Hey Teri, have a good night’?  Last time I ever get to see you." 

Italy v. France