First thing's first: YOGIN'S COMING HOME TOMORROW NIGHT!!!! :) :) :) :)
I'm so excited!! I was looking at pictures of us today and I actually pet the monitor where his face was. Haha. I'm lame. :)

Second of all, McFly's new album is AMAZING!! I only wish I could get my hands on it. Grah. Yet another reason to live in Britain. They gave it out for free!

And now I shall begin my extremely extensive summary of my recent trip to Chicago. LOADS of fun, but it also made me realize that it is a rare beauty to be able to spend a long period of time in constant company of another person. We set out Thursday morning for Santa Ana to pick up Sarah and then go to John Wayne Airport. My father lectured me thoroughly on keeping my temper and not yelling at my mother, if only for my friend's sake. Sarah's whole family (minus Andrew, who was at work) came out to see her off. Sarah's mom gave her money to my mom because she didn't want Sarah to lose it or spend it all on the first day, which annoyed Sarah and made me laugh, though I knew it wasn't a good idea to give all that money to my mother. (Yogin!! Remind me to tell you about this!) After lots of hugs and kisses (the Springfields didn't want their baby girl to go), we all piled into the car and went to the airport for what was only Sarah's second flight ever. And the first one doesn't really count, because it was for 30 minutes. We passed the time waiting for the flight flipping through Sarah's "Vogue" and critiquing all the models and their dress. Every time there was an Asian model, my mom and I exclaimed, "ASIAN!!! ASIAN!!!", usually followed by some comment about how ugly she was. Seriously, white people think the weirdest looking Asians are pretty. Anyway, there was this blonde, very matronly looking woman in her mid-50s sitting next to me absorbed in her sudoku, and every time any one of us said, "Asian!!" she would look over and glare with a look that seemed to say, "Asians? Pfft. Despicable folk!" To her statement, I have only one response, "I wonder who invented that sudoku you're so engrossed in?" It was the final death knell when she started interrogating us on what zone we were in for the plane to tell us when to board, when no one had asked her and we knew perfectly well when to board.

Once we did board, our seats weren't together, and sadly, no one would trade with us because they didn't want to sit in the middle seat, and so we had to sit about three rows apart opposite of one another. The woman who sat on my right was the skinniest woman I've ever seen! She was definitely up there in her years, but she had the look of one trying extremely hard to preserve her looks, and her inordinately long, manicured nails that prevented her from accurately using the touch screen of the plane television struck me every time she lifted her hand. That, and the fact that she never smiled during the entire flight when I was forced to speak to her to use the restroom. They had a trivia game on the plane, in which all passengers could compete against one another in 20-question-long games on a variety of subjects, from sports to music to history to general knowledge. Before long, I was absorbed in the game, and I am proud to say, won all five games I played in a row! :) They had each person's seat number listed on the rankings, and I soon realized that the man who sat next to Sarah and had refused to switch seats with me was my main rival. Once I won the first game, he turned around and saw who it was, gave me a thumbs up and a sportmanslike smile, and nudged Sarah to tell her about her friend's victory. I heard him say, "Your friend must be really smart!"
"No. She's not. At all. She just thinks she is," Sarah drawled, enunciating every syllable and glancing teasingly back at me to ensure I heard her. I stuck my tongue out at her, being the mature creature I am, and resumed the game. Both Sarah and her other neighbour, a middle-aged woman, joined in the game, and before long, all three of them in the row were working together to beat me, pitting all of their knowledge against mine. AND THEY LOST! HAH! I could hear them yell when I got a question wrong and they got it right, or implore unbelievingly, "HOW did she know that?" It was very nice for my ego. :D I really failed at the "music" and "movies and TV" sections though, because they were all from the 70s and I don't pay much attention anyway. By the third game, Sarah's neighbour thumbs up and smile had turned into a glare, responded to with a smirk. :P
Sarah felt bad sitting next to that guy because he was a hardcore Christian minister from Hope University or some other Christian establishment and Sarah knew the answers to all the trashy, sexual movies and would inadvertently curse when making a mistake. That, and because the man was so large that he spilled over onto Sarah's seat and she had to scoot all the way to the edge of her seat.

After a layover in Atlanta, a city I detest if only because of the many layovers I've had there, we boarded the second leg of our journey only to discover that we had been upgraded to first class!!!! In the innumerable flights I've taken, I've never been first class, and it was only Sarah's second trip and we were upgraded! Still, I'm not complaining. We sat in the very first row of the plane, and promised that we'd be very quiet so as not to get thrown out of first class. The moment we sat down, the flight attendant, a pale, tall man with grey hair, kind eyes, and heavy smile lines, asked us what we would like to drink, a shock to both of us. And there was already bottled water on the extremely wide armrest (so we didn't have to fight for it) waiting for us! It had to be heaven!!! The flight attendant, who happens to be the nicest person ever, could tell we'd never ridden first class before, and kept helping us put back our tray tables (mine got stuck..) and fussed over us with good-natured laughter and no condescension. And when the real drinks came, they were in GLASS cups! Forget plastic!! We were amazed... and he wouldn't stop refilling them. I felt like I was going to burst. What a difference first class was from coach! On the first flight, Sarah had taken both cookies and crackers, and the flight attendant had glared at her, but on this flight, we hesitatingly picked out one snack item each from the basket placed in front of us, and the flight attendant shook the basket and asked, "What? You don't want more? Take more!!" After glancing at each other in shock and laughter from the memory of the first flight, we eagerly picked out another snack item each. We're so silly. :) And he kept asking us if we wanted more.. we've been pampered. We arrived in Chicago late at night and headed to the airport hotel to stay for the first night before moving into the nice hotel downtown.

After a ride that consisted of taking two shuttles and then the metro for an hour, we arrived at the Merchandise Mart (luggage in tow) to help my mom set up for her show. Three pairs of hands are definitely better than one, which my mom discovered as we helped her, even given my predisposition for dropping things and my inability to lift even remotely heavy objects. Lunch was McDonalds, which started the "MCFLURRY" obsession that lasted throughout the whole trip. Basically, Chicago is filled with McDonald's, and Sarah and I developed an unhealthy love for McFlurries and iced coffee. We would go around chanting.. or at least I would. But more on that later. My mom's show neighbours sold the prettiest products and had the prettiest booth ever. They had to, given the amount of time they spent OBSESSING over each detail. There were three of them, and every five minutes we would hear one of them ask, "Does this rabbit look too hidden here?" and the other two would rush over and they would then debate it for the next 10 minutes before finally deciding to add a touch of grass there. They were CRAZY.

And now begins my first epic story of the trip. My mom had ordered 10 quilts from her previous show in Atlanta and had them shipped, for some mysterious reason, to Chicago instead of to home. Thus, as the three of us trekked from the Merchandise Mart to our hotel downtown, we had, in addition to our purses and suitcases (my mom and I each had one, and Sarah had two), one large garbage bag and one large cardboard box. My mom put Sarah's suitcase on top of hers and rolled it, Sarah carried her suitcase and the garbage bag in each hand, and I "tried" to balance the box on top of my very small rolling suitcase. As you can see, "balance" was in that last sentence, and so obviously, this would not work out well. We had all sorts of difficulties, in addition to looking like homeless people, just getting onto the metro, and then, of all the things that could happen, I couldn't get off the train in time and watched my mom and Sarah's horrified faces through the window of the train as it pulled to the next stop. Well, they were worrying for nothing, because I would simply take it to the next stop and take it back. However, that did not take into account my baggage (HAH! PUN!). Having already lost control of it many times, I realized in horror that I would have to carry them down a flight of stairs, across the platform, and then up another flight of stairs to get on the train. In the short distance between getting off the train and getting to the first flight of stairs, I dropped the box four times, and every single person, from the people behind the steel walls of the train to the people standing on the platform, stared and gawped at me, but not a single person reached out to help. I dropped all of it right in front of a group of five, healthy-looking, bored guys, and they LAUGHED instead of trying to help. Thoroughly fed up with my mother and her quilt-happy idiocy, as well as the chivalry (or lack thereof) in Chicago, I was halfway down the first flight of stairs, with my suitcase in one hand and the box balanced precariously in the other, when it all tumbled. From the distance, a young Indian guy came running, asking most distressedly if I was alright and then volunteering to help me, and before I could even try to be polite and refuse, picked up the box and went down the stairs. When I got to the bottom as well, he asked me where I was going next and that he would happily help me to wherever it was I was going. Extremely touched and thanking Krishna, I thanked him profusely, but told him that I could manage the next flight of stairs on my own. But basically, that guy made my day. :) When I finally made it back to meeting Sarah and my mom, I told them what happened, with the emphatic claim that Indian guys are the best. :) :) Sarah rolled her eyes, of course, and my mom said, "It's the spirit of Yogin come to help you from India!" :D

We checked into our luscious hotel around 3:30 in the afternoon, and after resting our feet and collapsing on the extremely soft bed, set out to explore. First stop: the Art Institute of Chicago, conveniently located two blocks away from the Palmer House Hilton. I must say that after the five days in Chicago, I am a self-proclaimed EXPERT of the El metro system and also a seasoned walker of the streets between Millennium Park and the Water Tower. Wabash, State, Madison, Monroe, Adams, Michigan, LaSalle--bring it on! :)
Anyway, since no one knows what I'm talking about, I shall get back to the story. The Art Institute, free on Fridays after 5:30, was MAGNIFICENT! All those glorious works of art to fawn over. What I found slightly ironic was that you could take pictures to your heart's content (as long as there's no flash) in the art galleries, but could not photograph the photography gallery. Sarah and I wandered from painting to painting, photographing and fawning, and Sarah had to find something wrong with every single painting to spoil it for me. "Look at how thin his fingers are in contrast to the rest of him!" My favourite was this one where this woman was calmly reading a book, and in the very back of the painting, behind a wall, was this dark, creepy Roman-esque soldier's hand floating menacingly. It was creepy. Sarah enjoyed it profusely.
Next door to the Art Institute is Millennium Park, where, once I finally got my fill of European art, we went to enjoy the free concert. And when I say free concert, I don't mean the lame concerts in the park every Wednesday a la Chino Hills, I mean full orchestra with a pianist and classy singers. We came too late to squeeze into the seats, so we sat on the steps and listened to the music and people-watched, which, when you're with my mom and Sarah, is the worst possible thing. They are the two people who would die on a desert island simply because there were no people to watch and criticize. They. NEVER. STOP. "Look at her red hair!" "WHAT is she wearing?" "OMG THE OLD MAN'S PLAID PANTS!" And when Sarah hears a piece of someone's conversation as they're walking by, she repeats it in even greater exaggeration. "HOW many are you buying? OH MY GOSH!!!" :P I love you Sarah!

At the end of the concert, people started leaving (naturally), as they didn't seem to realize there was an encore, so we made our way down to the seats and relaxed while listening to the tribute to George Gershwin. I was taking a picture of some random thing, when, all of a sudden, this guy turns around and asks, "Do you want me to take a picture of you?"
I gaped wordlessly at him for a moment, completely uncomprehending why this strange white guy with a pudgy noes and glasses was speaking to me and asking for my picture.
"What?" was all I could stammer out.
"Well I just thought that since you had your camera out and the three of you are looking so nice and you can't take a picture of yourselves, that I could do it for you," he said so quickly I had to break out of my incomprehensive stare to follow him. Sarah and I looked at each other, then looked back at him, and looked at each other again, until my mom, in her unwavering exuberance, said, "Sure!"
I felt my camera being handed to him, and smiled for the picture, which actually turned out quite nicely. As my camera was handed back to me, he said, "Now you have to take our picture," patting his friend, who had thus far not turned around, on the back.
"What?" I stammered once again. Wow. I was feeling intelligent.
The heretofore silent friend now turned around. He was, like his friend, in his twenties, but he was much better-looking, but still not actually very good-looking, with very large, bright eyes, and he was Indian. What is with me and Indians? Anyway, the two of them now insisted that we take their picture.
"Why?" Again with the one-worded answers. Brilliant, Elaine.
"Well, we took your picture, so naturally, you should take ours too."
"What is she gonna do with your picture?" Sarah interjected.
"You can email it or Facebook it to me or something! Whatever you prefer! I'll give you my email or something," the white one, who's name was Eugene I later learned, fired off rapidly.
After much persuasion on their part and my mother's, who, for some reason had taken their side, I snapped a photo of them, and then expected to be left alone. Not to happen. They interrogated us about where we were from, and the moment "Southern California" left our lips, came the wave of expectations that the SoCal stereotype brings. "Does it really look like that?" "You guys are so spoiled and rich," etc etc. They told us that they had met as pre-med freshmen and Eugene was a year from graduating from med school and was doing rotations and the Indian (who refused to tell me his name, quite frustratingly) was already a doctor. The conversation ranged from casual topics such as our lives to theology to pharmaceutical companies. It really was extremely bizarre. At one point, the Indian, with his eyes glowing and many elaborate gestures, sitting very straight up, told us, "Every single holy book is written by man, and since man is inherently flawed, aren't all those scriptures flawed? And thus, there is no religion that can be 'true'."
Hmm... atheistic tendencies in an Indian. How strange. I asked why God didn't just write his holy book himself instead of imparting it to Mohammed or Joseph Smith or whoever else, and that led into other questions.
After about an hour's conversation, we finally left and headed back to our hotel, with Sarah telling me how big of an idiot I am. We explored the awesome hotel, from its ridiculously soft and plush sofas on every single floor and the old-fashioned, spiral staircases throughout the building.

Saturday

The next morning, my mom left for her show early, and Sarah and I slept in till later than we expected. When we finally made it out, we walked around, passing the Chicago Theatre and seeing the theatre at which "Wicked" was playing. Sarah had to restrain me from worshipping.. and then went inside the Marshall Field's-now Macy's store. I went there last time, but oh my gosh. The effect doesn't lessen. All eleven stories of it all designed like a Roman cathedral, with stucco and fresco and gold molding and marble. I'm sure you've seen the pictures on Facebook, but we basically went floor after floor and photographed and fawned (haha like at the Art Institute--this is becoming a habit.) When we finally had our full of all eleven stories, we took the bus to the TRIBUNE TOWER!!!!!! After paying homage to the great Chicago Tribune and wishing we could work in that illustrious tower, we went inside, which I had never been, and felt awed by the sense of holiness and quiet within that only seems to come with cathedrals. Then we read all the inscriptions on the walls about the freedom of the press and felt imbued with the righteousness of free-speaking, truth-bearing journalists. We continued on, making for the Water Tower, which is one of the few buildings not burned down by the Great Chicago Fire. Along the way and at the Water Tower, which is gorgeous, we saw four separate couples getting married. Sarah just about fainted with delight, and went around STALKING them with her iPhone camera. "OMG LOOK AT HER DRESS!" "SHE HAS NINE BRIDESMAIDS!!!" "OMG HOW PRETTY!!!" Seriously. *rolls eyes* I'm sure they enjoyed all those people staring at them. One of the brides at the Water Tower really was a bitch though. I must say, even if it was her wedding day. It's a public venue, but she basically thought she had the right to keep everyone else out, and yes, everyone's going to give you your way because it's your wedding, but you really ought to have some manners. We were standing in the gorgeous hallway right at the entrance, and they came over to take their wedding photographs there, and she basically gave everyone there an icy stare, even though we were already getting out of the way. We made for the front steps of the church (which occupies the Water Tower) to be out of her way, and right when Sarah was posing for a picture, the bride and groom come and stand there, looking as if they need to get across. So I stop taking the picture and say, "Oh go ahead!"
"Actually," the blonde bride says in a matter-of-fact attitude, "We need to be there," pointing at where Sarah was standing and looking at me like I was vermin that needed to be squashed. We hurriedly got out of their way, but I really wanted to tell her that, "Bitch. I have a right to take as many photos here as I want. You don't own it and that's what you get for having your wedding at a tourist hotspot in the middle of Downtown Chicago."
But that's okay. She looked mean. Elaine wouldn't last in a fight.

Across the street from the Water Tower is the Hancock Observatory, which is where we were headed. It's the place where you go up to the 94th floor and look down on all of Chicago. However, when we tried to press the elevator button for "observatory," it wouldn't stay (a problem we had throughout Chicago, where we discovered that elevators don't go to each floor. At our hotel, for example, there were elevators for floors 1-7, then 8-11, 16-21, and then 12-15.. so ridiculous), and so we were transported up to the extremely fancy restaurant where we couldn't afford anything. We looked around for a moment, along with the Italian couple that were very comfortable with PDA in a crowded elevator. We finally discovered that you have to go to a different location to get to the observatory, but when we got there, $15 was too much for one person to go take pictures on something that wasn't as beautiful as the Eiffel Tower.

At a loss as to what to do next, I gazed at my handy-dandy map that had saved us on so many occasions, and LO!!! THE NEWBERRY LIBRARY!!! I must explain that Sarah and I are very dedicated, obsessed fans of "The Time Traveler's Wife," a book that she introduced me to. If you are unfamiliar (and thus a heathen), the protagonist of the novel, Henry, is a librarian at the Newberry, and the library features very prominently in the novel, which is set completely in Chicago and lauded for its detailed accuracy to the city. Basically, Sarah and I are completely obsessed and in love with Henry. So we make it to the Newberry Library after much trepidation on my part of having misread the map, and !!!!! The only thing that was still open was the bookstore, and what did I buy there? MY OWN COPY OF "THE TIME TRAVELER'S WIFE!!!" It was FATE. We then settled down in the park right next to the Newberry, which happened to be the nicest park in America I've ever seen. (Second only to the one in Paris whose peace Kathleen and I disturbed.) It had a fountain in the middle, with benches and flowers encircling, and on every bench was seated at least one person quietly reading. Sarah and I loved it because it was like a little haven in the middle of this busy city, where everything was peaceful and you could totally even forget where you were. That was probably the nicest neighbourhood in the city, because you could find the city on your doorstep yet be completely separate from it as well.

After exorbitant but delicious Ghiradelli's ice cream that I devoured with no regard to the consequences to my shirt or napkins, we spent 10 minutes staring at the wrong bus stop sign trying to figure out which direction Navy Pier was. Sarah, in a flash of ingenuity, figured out that since Navy Pier was on Lake Michigan, it had to be east because that is the most eastern point of Chicago! So we were on the wrong side of the street to catch the right bus! And I realized just now, like at this moment of writing, that I could have told us that from looking at our map..

Navy Pier really wasn't that exhilarating, and we were really tired, so after walking the length of it and seeing the lake, we took the bus back to Millennium Park. However, this wasn't before Sarah begged me to go watch "The Dark Knight" with her at "AMC," which we pronounced not as individual letters, but "AMC." And to this day, I still can't say "AMC." I always say "AMPK." It's terrible. Grr. I will persevere. At Millennium Park, we met up with my mom and went to the next night's free concert, which again, was a tribute to Gershwin. And we arrived at the park at the exact same stage in the concert. It was our mini-tradition in Chicago. Go to the Millennium Park concert every night at the same time. :D That, and take pictures of the cute Asian security guard there who just got cuter every night, according to Sarah. I just thought he was cute throughout haha. We loitered and then went back to our hotel and watched "Sex in the City" (which I was subjected to by the two fanatics) and "Will & Grace," which I love. Yay!

Since it is now 2 AM, I will summarize more on the morrow!
YOGIN'S COMING HOME IN 18 HOURS!!!!!!!! YAYYYYYY!!!!!!