It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.
Best?
When Gideon was visiting me, he found a 2014 Dodge Charger he liked at your establishment. (What is it with my kids and muscle cars? Just teenage boys, I guess.)
We took a drive to Nashville, Illinois, and purchased the car on the spot.
Gideon save up $2,000 for the down payment.
We were assured that you had inspected the car and all was well. We purchased a warranty to be on the safe side.
We drove back to St. Louis, and arranged for Gideon and Eddie to come up this weekend to drive it back to Georgia.
Worst?
I took the car for safety and emission inspections to get it registered.
I bet you know what is coming.
It failed the safety inspection because it needed a new catalytic converter, engine mounts, an engine leak fixed, etc.
I think you knew this. That’s why we got such a good deal.
And your warranty doesn’t cover any of that. Of course. (So what good is it? I’d love to know.)
More than $6,500 later, the car is finally road worthy.
Happy about the car. Not happy about the 12-hour drive ahead.
Sigh.
It was worth it to see Gideon so happy, but I’ll be contacting you tomorrow for a discussion.
My guy, WHAT were you smoking when you created City Museum? Whatever it was, it was some good stuff. City Museum is like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life — in person or in movies/on TV. Not even “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” comes close to this crazy place.
When I moved to St. Louis, people kept telling me I needed to visit. However, I don’t like museums. (It’s true. I’m sorry. But I don’t think you do either.) Finally, my friend Kate said that it is not a museum in any traditional sense of the word. She tried to describe it, then basically gave up.
“You have to see it,” she said. “It’s … sensory overload.”
So I went. And she’s right.
City Museum is like a museum in the way that I am like Beyoncé: barely any resemblance in form or function.
It is a building that houses artifacts — artifacts presented in chaos. It’s a 10-story fever dream.
I’ve now been four times.
Why?
You created notable features such as:
• An actual school bus cantilevered on the top floor over the street
• A Ferris wheel on top of the building
• A 10-story slide
• A five-story slide (that has not been open any of the four times I’ve been)
• A cave system
• The world’s largest (maybe) pair of underpants
• Two airplanes
I can’t even begin to summarize what is there. And every time I go, I discover something new.
Dominic and Gideon were in town, and I said we were going. They, like me, are not into museums. I said, “Hold that thought.”
Neither of them could believe what you created. Dominic lamented that, at 6’2″, he is too big for some of the tunnels.
“I wish we had come here when I was a kid.”
I fully agree. This could have entertained them for HOURS, and they would have slept well. (Every parent knows a day that wears out the kids is a good day.)
Here is just a sample of what we got into at your creation.
A seagull disgorges Dominic.Gideon finds a tunnel under the first floor. No, thank you.Dominic goes where I won’t.This is the entrance to a slide. Seriously.The caged bird yells, “Take my picture!”My hips don’t lie, nor do they fit in this opening.Dominic makes it to the top of one of two castles.
Speaking of the castles:
I’m sorry, TWO WHAT NOW?
There were a few moments where I worried about their safety and mine. I was right to worry. From the actual City Museum website:
The do-it-yourself, trying-anything nature of the museum led, not surprisingly, to injuries and, also not surprisingly, to dozens of personal injury suits. Mr. Cassilly’s response was to post telephone numbers of lawyers at the door.
The kids and I developed the habit of them going first into some cave/tunnel/hole to do reconnaissance then reporting back about the viability for me.
This tunnel was not for me.But this one was ok.
Yes, I used my own children as canaries in a coal mine.
I make no apologies. They were willing participants. And had a fabulous time.
I would never have known about it. That’s what neighbors are for, I guess.
I had no idea that hundreds of naked people would be riding along the street that is perpendicular to mine: tits and bits mere steps from my front door.
Naturally, we pulled out the chairs to watch the procession.
I had a moment of concern as I had Gideon, 16, with me. But I’m not prudish, and he has access to PLENTY through his phone.
Here they come!
I needn’t have been worried at all. It was not, IN ANY WAY, a sexualized, deviant event.
In fact, the ride might have put all of us off sex for a very long time. 😉😂
There they go.
Good for all the riders for promoting body positivity and the reduction of our carbon footprint.
And thanks, neighbor, for making sure I know about crucial local events. This one was (as you well know) right up my alley.
I see my friends posting about prom and honor societies and college visits and whatnot. Though part of me wishes you wanted the traditional high school milestones, most of me loves that you are doing things your own way.
For example, you eschewed the actual prom to have your own prom in a friend’s back yard. (Props to that mom: She did a great job!)
This is a fancy party! (Photo credit: Petra McKinnon)
And no one seemed to care about dates. It was one big friend group.
Girls seem to be an afterthought, which is fine by me. I’m not ready to be a grandma! I do wonder if I’m somehow a gang mom. What are those signs they are throwing? (Photo credit: Petra McKinnon)
I’m surprised there were real suits. You two had threatened to go to Actual Prom in your Spider-Man costumes.
Not that there is anything wrong with that, I guess. It’s really par for the course for you and your pals. After all, this is how you go to school:
And how you go to Target:
I don’t know how you can go shopping. You spent all your money on a Batsuit.
My son, The Batman
It’s movie quality. It should be for the amount of money the two of you spent. (I still can’t believe you chipped in, Gideon.)
But you know what? You AREN’T spending money on drugs.
Your habits are nerdy and wholesome. I’m a fan.
And Dominic, you’ve been a Bat fan for your whole life, so I’m not surprised.
Uh oh. You spotted the Joker!
I love you both very much. And I love that you are individuals.
As they were playing on a Wednesday, I made a little trip to Market Tavern before I met my friend Hannah at the show.
I walked in to someone warbling a song I didn’t recognize. Then I realized it was supposed to be “Let It Go” from “Frozen.” That’s a bad AND good sign. It’s a good sign of bad karaoke.
Perfect.
I got a drink and chose a seat at the back of the bar where I could sit alone and not draw attention. Smart move.
It was in front of the men’s room. Not a smart move.
My first gentleman caller was a man with a fully tattooed face. Think knockoff version of The Enigma.
He asked me if was going to sing.
At least, I think that’s what he asked me.
He could have asked me if he could dismember me in the Gents, and I wouldn’t have known.
He was 102 and drunk with a very thick Stokie accent that was hard for these American ears to understand.
My view from the hostess stand for the men’s room.
My next new friend was a man with four teeth and four iron cross tattoos. Delightful! He also sported a Confederate flag wristband.
He wanted to know if I had a boyfriend.
I toyed with the idea of saying, “Yes. He’s a Jewish man of color from Poland.” I think I could have made him explode “Raiders of the Lost Ark” style.
An older woman at the next table came over.
Her: Are you alright on your own there?
Me: Oh, yes. I’m fine, thank you.
Her: You’re American!
Me: Yes. What am I doing in the middle of Hanley, right?
Her: Well, yes.
She went to the loo, and I checked my phone for word from Hannah. I suddenly felt hands touching my shoulders. I yelped and turned around.
Creepy George: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.
Me: Well, you did. Please do not touch me.
Didn’t mean to startle me? Someone who doesn’t know you and has her back to you? What did he expect? “Hi handsome! Please come back to my temporary accommodation for stranger boning.”
When I went to the bathroom, I took my drink. Women know why.
Meanwhile, the show went on. It was definitely a crying-in-your-beer kind of vibe.
Thanks for going on a road trip with me to bring Eddie some stuff that ended up with me in St. Louis.
It was a great bonding experience for you and your new brother.
It took nearly 16 hours of driving (should have been 12), but we made it manageable with stops in Chattanooga (no time for towing, sadly) and Atlanta (so you could harass all your school friends).
Barb the Minivan (rental) served us well. She was spacious enough to allow for a litter box for Leo’s bathroom breaks.
It turns out that he’s good on car trips.
Just so everyone knows, I don’t usually put clothes on pets. But Leo is naked, and it was cold when we left St. Louis.
So thank you for making the trip with Leo and me. Next time, I promise we will stop in at a ridiculous museum that will amuse us both.
Thanks for being my first non-family visitor to test out the guest room! I’m glad it was during the ramp-up to Mardi Gras, but sorry there was still snow and ice all over. (Especially sorry for the Missouri drivers and the shards of ice flying off their cars.)
Having you in town was a great excuse to visit the Gateway Arch — the iconic monument I hadn’t explored since moving here.
Tiny Terror that you are, we had to explore my neighborhood bar too.
And also my neighbor’s ice-cream shop.
And Taste of Soulard — my neighborhood’s neighbor.
I enjoyed meeting your cousin Claire!
That’s where we saw interesting people like this guy.
I wonder if he knows that portable Bluetooth speakers exist.
And a goat who is the GOAT.
And racing weiners.
I promise a more comfortable sleeper sofa the next time you visit. And that I will have become a regular, “Cheers” style at the local bar.
Love and kisses!
Your fren, Beth
P.S. Thanks for the hostess gift. I wouldn’t call me “sweet” by any stretch of the imagination, but I appreciate it.
In my last post, I noted some, um, issues with my move — issues beyond those caused by the seller, my neighbor. Your moving company caused additional agita.
Let’s start with the fact that you were supposed to send three guys between 10:30 and 11:30 a.m.
I was there waiting at the storage unit by 10. I left just before noon to go sign the closing papers. My saintly realtor took my place while I was closing.
We had no way of knowing that you meant 10:30-11:30 Hawaii Time.
Your guys showed up just after 3. And there were only two of them. And these two had been on two other jobs previously. So they were tired. Moving SO SLOWLY. Great for you as you charge by the hour.
🙄
Footage of your movers “in action.”
For THREE HOURS, you promised me that two more guys were coming. When they finally showed up, one left immediately. Again, third job of the day. The other stayed, but complained the whole time, talked to his baby mama on the phone, and barely did anything. And he was wearing slides. SLIDES!
Night fell.
I was DYING.
I couldn’t stand it. I started helping.
Yes, you read that right: I was paying your company to move my stuff, but I put myself to work.
My bruises are proof.
You sent two more sloths workers. Around 8 (8!), the storage unit was finally empty.
Let me remind you that one man, one woman and four teenage boys loaded the same size truck in less time than your “professionals.” And for the price of Zaxby’s.
Then it was time to unload at my house. Angry man left. The others stayed. Actually stepped up the pace. They wanted to be done as much as I wanted them to be done.
Everything was in a bit after midnight. MIDNIGHT, MIKE!
But then I overheard the two original guys talking about how they were going to get home. They don’t have cars. Their buses weren’t running. You — their boss who had scheduled them for three jobs in one day — told them to figure it out themselves. An Uber would be very expensive.
Sigh.
I drove your employees home, Mike.
Josh was going to walk back to just outside the Central West End. He apparently walked to work — a three-hour journey.
I don’t know how Jeff was going to get back to Washington Park, ILLINOIS.
I got back home around 3 a.m.
I think you should have given me a massive discount, but you didn’t.
I think the money I spent should go to your employees, but it won’t.
You thrive because you pay them $14 an hour, no benefits.
I told Josh and Jeff that Target pays $15 an hour with benefits.
I hope they take my advice.
More advice to anyone who will listen: Don’t use your company.
Observe and report 