Year of our Lord

Unreal checks back in with our favorite Filipino beauty queen, fiddles around with a $10,000 custom violin and encounters a blogger who's moved back in with Mom. Plus: One very pissed off Cardinals fan.

I guess I will sit here and bide my time for another 24 years and hope I get another chance to see a game like Friday's, but in the meantime, if there are any lawyers out there wanting to file a class-action suit against MLB for damages — give me a call.

Ever get the urge to jump up and ____ this damn town? Tell Unreal about it! [email protected].

Mike Gorman

Local Blog O' the Week

"Sugared Harpy"
Author: Melissa
About the blogger: "Although I had my children as a teenager, I have a BA in Art History and an MA in History and Museum Studies."
Recent Highlight (October 18): Last night, I moved back to my mom's. I'm sure the moment I walked in the door, my grandmother sat straight up in bed, elbowed my papa in the ribs and said, "Melissa just moved back home, right this very minute."

I not so much moved back as I took an overnight bag and two kids, stayed twelve hours and came home.

We are yes, moving in with my mother but partially living at our home due to work/school issues. Two nights a week we're just sleeping at our normal house with Mike, it's easier on the kids because of the next morning and it is hopefully good for talking and reconnecting. We hope it will help anyway. That, and therapy. I hate therapists. Please tell me you're not all therapists.

Tonight, we'll be home again and then Thursday we'll attempt to get the ball moving by hauling crap over there and buying a big girl bed for me. Don't tell me if living partially at our house is a bad idea, because I'm really just going to stick my fingers in my ears and recite Dante until you cry.

An unexpected feature of moving back home is that apparently, my mom lives with her boyfriend most of the time, the super creepy one, which means I just landed myself a lovely three-bedroom house free and clear a lot of nights. Score. This is most fabulous but when you pull into someone else's garage and they aren't home, even if you grew up in that house, it still feels weird.

With no grande dame around, the boys and I immediately set about cluttering up her clean home. There were towels strewn around (which I washed, dried, and folded by this morning), dishes dirtied (washed and put away), clothes thrown carelessly willy-nilly (removed from the floor), and beds all asunder (made).

When all was said and done, I realized that I do not know how to hook up my laptop with her dial-up internet access. That's right, mom has dial-up.

It hurt, people. It hurt.

Know of an Unreal-worthy local blog?
Send the URL to [email protected].

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