Cheers to more adventures in the new year.

Hello. My name is Charlotte, and I'm a write-aholic.

One of the reasons why I enjoy blogging and chronicling the stories of my life is because it's always interesting to look back at where life ended up taking you. It's often very different from where you may have "envisioned" yourself . As December 31st approaches, people reflect on the past year and often bring forth their visions for the future. I often find that each unexpected experience was exactly where I needed to be, in retrospect. So for 2009, I simply resolve to roll with the punches, continue following my gut, and work hard...all while having too much fun.

It's a personal mission of mine to have my passport stamped at least once per year and to be in a new, different place on my birthday, and 2008 continued in that tradition. I closed 07 with a trip to Rochechouart, France, and a few months later I was cruising up the east coast with some artists and musicians the week of my birthday.

The underground music culture in Pennsylvania, a semi-creepy unexpected late-night "tour" of Capitol Hill (the GPS made us do it!), the quiet towniness of West Virginia and Jersey, and the eclectic hipness of New York's different burroughs were all incredible things to experience. That trip made me realize that I want spend more time living in all regions of the country, at least for a little bit.




Whereas the year before I had been all about good ol' rock, 2008 widened my musical tastes as well. World-renowned, Jamaican dub reggae DJ Mad Professor opened my eyes to the world of dub at the Abbey Pub on April 5. Dub reggae is trippier, more electronic, and a million times different from the commercial Bob Marley flavor. That spring and summer, two of my girl friends and I went to multiple stops on Hanson's "The Walk" and the "Walk Around the World" tours in different states (although Hanson isn't a new passion of mine--more like 11 years in the making).

Stevie Wonder and Chaka Khan were fantastic during the Taste of Chicago in July. I also watched Ornette Coleman, who created "free jazz" over fifty years ago, perform at the Chicago Jazz Fest on August 31 (and subsequently wanted to die from my sheer level of amazement). I also became a true-blue fan of chart-topper Lil' Wayne--although it wasn't his radio hits that initially won me over; I was exposed first to different mixtapes of his that weren't being broadcast every hour.

Regardless, I also rediscovered my appreciation for smash hits and Top 100 tracks--Timbaland, Rihanna, Katy Perry, T.I., Kanye, Estelle, T.Pain, Lady Gaga and even Britney. While I will always love independent and non-mainstream music, I still raise my glass (and shake my ass) to those who come up with catchy beats and unforgettable hooks.

While working at the members-only clubs at Soldier Field, United Center and The Cell, I watched our teams rise and fall and decided to withdraw from the emotional roller coaster that comes with being a fan of Chicago sports. It's just too much.

In 2008, I rekindled my love for David Sedaris' memoirs and became newly fond of Augusten Burroughs' similar dry wit. Alice Sebold's novel The Lovely Bones was a good read, and I enjoyed classic pieces from Dostoevsky, Voltaire and Nathaniel Hawthorne.

This final year in my undergraduate studies exposed me to some gems of artwork and new ways of perceiving the world, and also pushed me to the extreme in regard to writing, blogging, and reporting. Traditional journalism and the media are changing, but this generation is lucky to be on top of new technologies and ride the wave of lightning-fast change. My background in journalism adds substantiality to my blogging, I believe, and this year I learned just what it takes to continually be looking for and creating content and updating constantly.

As a firstborn, first-generation daughter to parents from Zambia, Barack Obama's Nov. 4th election was especially groundbreaking and a collective victory--and nobody has any excuses anymore. I was in the crowd of love that historic night, knowing that I was a part of something beautiful. After the euphoria fades, however, my hope is that people are inspired to be the change they want to see in the world, rather than wait for a handout or magic wand solution. I have faith that President-Elect Obama will be a wonderful leader for this country. For the first time, I know what it means to take pride in your country...and pride in your city.





This past year solidified my love affair with Chicago. Whether I was dancing at the Petrillo Music Shell, contemplating inside the Agora statue park, or attending a showcase at the River East Art Center, I loved every minute. Sushi in Lincoln Park, Mexican in Little Village, or vegan in Wicker Park--the city has everything I need. Great food, good people, and a decent transpor system. Chicago is bound to be at the epicenter of a lot of worldwide attention thanks to Obama and the Olympics, and rightfully so--it has a lot to offer!



Looking back, I never would have imagined that I would have experienced all that I did--how can you? So again, I'm just going to go with the flow, continue putting positive, creative energy out there, and see what adventures come my way next.

Cheers, and welcome to my column and 2009.

What kind of pants does Mario wear? Denimdenimdenim.

Winter break 2008 has been quite a trip thus far. It's the same every year--I flip the script on constant studying and reporting, and make it a priority to never turn down an opportunity to go out and see people I wouldn't have the time to during the semester.

On Christmas Eve eve, one of my roommates, Megan, was crazy busy at work making pies and delectable desserts for the holiday; many of which she was taking to her boyfriend's family Christmas dinner. I was busy helping her lick the stirring utensils clean, as well as eating whipped cream from the container.

Her French silk and pecan pies are ridiculously delicious and they looked fantastic! She also scooped my Hazelnut Terrine with Raspberry Sauce recipe from my blog archive, although she may not have ended up making it. If she had, however, I'm sure it would have turned out looking a lot better than mine...that's what I get for skipping steps (such as "strain the seeds from the raspberry sauce--I won't post pictures of what the seedy rasp pulp looked like. Yikes).


French silk and pecan: heaven in a crust.






Only my immediate family lives here in the midwest, as the rest of my relatives are on the east coast and in Zambia; so we've always been big on coordinating the holidays with family friends. On Christmas day, my fam collaborated with my mom's friend Suzanne for dinner.

My sister and I were busy taking photos of ourselves when we heard "My Name is Jonas" coming from the kids' bedroom. GUITAR HERO. We wasted no time joining in the festivities, only to be told by my brother and his friends that we had to "wait our turn." Whatever happened to respecting elders!?







Suzanne and her daughter, Ariel:


My brother, Zeke, and Suzanne's boys Tyler and (I forget the little one's name):



Their dog, Fluffy:


Ariel and their rabbit (bunny? Sara? What's the difference?):

Chloe and I being dorks again:




And my beautiful mother:



Clearly I was having trouble holding the camera steady here.



Dinner was amazing, and after that I drove to Allie and Tommy's house for late-night gift exchanges, and more vino, food, and video games.


My second family from left: AJ, myself, Allie, Tommy, Valerie, and Davy:

I seriously can't believe how much Allie's little brothers have grown up. I remember AJ to be this adorable little freshman punk kid, wearing the black skin-tight jeans with a mohawk and always getting into trouble. Now he's this funny, but mature, 17-year-old and is such a sweetheart. Davy's always been a really good kid, but he is also so big and tall now! He and AJ dominate us all in size. ;)



My second beautiful mama and her daughters (and Tommy's hand):



Later that evening, Allie showed me the video Tommy made for his proposal, then showed me the video he recorded to capture the entire moment, from when she sat at the desk to watch the video to when he showed her the ring. I laughed at all the great photos, and cried my eyes out as I witnessed that beautiful moment between the two of them. I don't even remember the last time I cried, so the waterworks were running. They are just the perfect couple and I love the heck out of both of them so much. Allie and Tommy are so made for each other. Jeez.

Ridiculous:

THIS IS CLASSIC!


The ghost of TCon, running at full speed up and down the hall with Buddy:






Yum. A dog after my own heart.


Allie and her mother are insanely sweet--one of the gifts they got me was the super classy Sutton purse from my homegirl Gwen's L.A.M.B. line. It is ridiculously hot and I was so surprised!



On Christmas Eve as I was heading from Chicago to Palatine, I was thinking about how I hadn't yet listened to Hanson's Snowed In record from 1998. I always make it a point to spin that disc at least once per year, and I just hadn't yet! When Val handed me the CD I fell on the floor laughing because it was just so perfect. I mean, I own the record; I just have no idea where it was. I had jams to listen to on the drive home!


Gawd I will love those boys forever and always. You know Sara, Natalie and I will still be going to 3+ shows per tour when we're 65; mark my words. It's already been 11 years and counting..

After the gift exchange and eating a second dinner, AJ gave his mother a ride home and Allie, Tommy, Davy and I went to the basement to play some Super Mario Bros. 3; girls vs. boys.




Can I just say that I have never laughed so hard while playing that game? Tommy was making Luigi dance to the music SPOT on, and his sound effects were hilarious. Also, Allie is a bad ass gamer girl who completed the levels flawlessly, winning us keys and flutes and mushrooms and other wonderful things.

"What kind of pants does Mario wear?" Davy asked us, as Tommy was making Luigi dance. "Denim denim denim." It's a classic joke that everybody's heard, but it was funny at the moment.

He told it again about ten minutes later.

So cute.

We played for a couple hours or so, then went upstairs so the boys could play Madden (EW) and Allie and I could have two-hour girl talk about everythang. I truly think that I am the richest woman in the world because I have such incredible friends, and Miz Brewster is one of them. People like her are so rare...total gems.





Later that night after I got back to my mom's house, I pulled out my laptop and signed onto AIM on a whim (I haven't since May!). Scott was online, and we ended up talking for hours about our writing and the future. He's pretty much a blogging master--he's made thousands in revenue over the past year just from his blogs and websites. He's been on me to join him in writing a column and publishing content for www.ReviewChicago.com for the last year, and I've finally joined the team. After taking a bunch of web journalism classes and blogging for dominiNET, it's something I finally feel confident doing.

This startup website, barely a year old, is totally legit, and Scott's gotten to the point where he's getting all-access passes to Smashing Pumpkins shows and sit-down interviews with Sara Bareilles and Blessid Union of Souls. In addition to that, the ReviewChicago brand has the potential to branch out into so many different services, so I think he's going in the right direction.

He is also going to help me create my own websites--a professional portfolio, marketing my multi-faceted writing services, and a personal blog--so I can stop making MySpace money with these blogs and start controlling things for myself and making ad revenue. He obviously knows what he's doing, so I think this is a great time to embark on this endeavor that I've wanted to do for so long, but never really knew quite how.


"RckStrScott: you have just enough sass, you are young enough, and have just enough adventure to make yourself appealing to basically any market.. a black market, a teen market, a music market, a political market.. youve travelled, youve done a lot in your short life.. so its just a matter of branding yourself properlly. you could easliy be someone like Dooce. easy... then you can even use your blogs to promote your products such as books

RckStrScott: i know blogging. thats for sure. i learned a lot. i just am not as intresting to random people as you would be.. i am just a 30 year old boring guy these days.. but i know what it takes to make a personal blog successful.. i can coach you on your blog, help build the traffic and show you the ways you can make income off it.. in return you contribue to reviewchicago and its win win for everyone"

I'm in.

Dooce is Heather B. Armstrong, a blogger who makes over $300K a year simply from her websites. Essentially, she blogs about her life from the comfort of her home, she has a huge following, and now she and her husband clearly don't have to work. Once an aspiring model and a successful web designer in LA, she was fired from her job because she blogged about work (I better watch out...).

Um, yeah, I can do that.

So, I have started compiling my ridiculous body of writing, weeding through the crap and gathering the substantial things I've created to flesh out my new websites. I will be making the move from MySpace to a real website soon, and I am so excited for the prospects, especially since I'll be graduating soon. I'm done making other people money--entrepreneurship is the way to go in this day and age. Also, I'll be whoring out everything I post on ReviewChicago and my new sites here so people won't miss a thing and can directly link to the actual content.





It was a beautiful Christmas...and now the weekend's only begun!

Breaking open the...shell.

"Psst. Hey. Do you smoke?" A 19-year-old black guy asked me one night on the Green Line from Oak Park to Chicago. It was finals week; I was heading home from a night class. That week I was consumed with hating everyone and everything, not really wanting to talk to anyone. I was taken aback by his forward question.

"What? Why? Are you selling some green or something?"

"Yeah, you know. Just lookin' out; you never know where you'll find a customer!" Clearly my appearance was non-threatening and/or receptive enough that he'd feel comfortable asking me, a random stranger on a near-empty train car, if I wanted to purchase some marijuana.

"Ha! You better be careful," I told him, genuinely laughing for the first time that day. "And no, I'm good, but...thanks for asking?"

"No problem, just lookin' out," he said again. "Where are you from?"

Where am I from? What does one mean by that? I never really know how to answer that question, because the people who usually ask me that are hoping for an explanation as to why my "accent" is different. I've lived in Chicago the past five years. I grew up in Palatine, a northwest suburb. I was born in Michigan. My parents came here from Zambia 25 years ago. It has the potential to be a multi-faceted answer; but not one that will sufficiently "explain" anything. Depending on the asker and my perception of how in depth they really want to get, I'll either tell them all four facts, only one, or some combination.

"I live in the city, but I grew up in the suburbs," I decided to say in this case.

"Oh, okay, I gotcha. It's all right, I'm from the south; I used to sound white when I spoke too." But he didn't really get me, because there are plenty of black people who grew up in Palatine like myself whose vernacular is still different.

It's funny when people say that. It often happens when I'm around the city and interact with black strangers. I've come beyond getting offended. One could get all huffy and puffy and say, "Well, how can you talk like a color? How can one sound white?" It is what it is if you take the political correctness out of the equation. And PC just bugs the crap out of me.

Beyond that, though, this random stranger's forward question made me geuninely laugh out loud and sparked a friendly conversation for the 20-minute ride from Harlem to Ashland--one which would have been me brooding in silence and stress, perpetuating my bad mood into the rest of the night as I went home to do my work.




This past Monday I was beertending at Soldier Field for the last scheduled home game of the year (unless the Bears, by some miracle, make the playoffs). The unique thing about that stadium, and the season ticketholders' Cadillac Club in particular, is that there are so many employees in that building--alcohol servers, cleaning crew, security, guest services, Miller reps--and we all are hired and managed by different people. Especially in my position selling drinks, there's no real sense of teamwork or even real co-workers since we mainly work independent of one another.

During the game, this guy in his early twenties was making his rounds cleaning off counters and tables and throwing out trash. I'd seen him around on game days, and I made my judgments of him based on his appearance: a white kid with tattoos, saggy pants, a "swagger," longish hair and a whigger vernacular I overheard as he spoke to his particular co-workers.

At some point during the game he was clearing off empty beer cups from my stand and looked at the book I had on the counter. Yes, I bring books to work because there is SO much downtime--employees have to get there four hours before kickoff! I smiled, but kind of ignored him until he started talking.

"So what's a shaman?" He asked me. The book I'd brought with me, Daniel Pinchbeck's Breaking Open the Head, had intrigued him.


I explained to him that shamans explore the realms of different states of consciousness, often through consuming psychedelics naturally found on earth. Shamans do such for healing, or life revelation through divination, or to communicate and connect with the spiritual realm--much different from trips on mushrooms or acid or rolling on ecstasy, although I can't speak from firsthand experience on those three things.

Discussing the book sparked conversation about spirituality, life, and keepin' it real. I discovered that this kid wasn't much different from me and we had similar paradigms in regard to life, happiness, and being. It was refreshing, considering the number of people whom I genuinely like in the Soldier Field building is literally fewer than five.

And while I think neck tattoos are ridiculous, the ones on his hands were pretty cool:



Love life. Isn't that what it's all about?




I often seem to have synchronistic encounters with like-minded people in my day-to-day interactions. I generally find it relatively easy to "randomly" start conversations with people I don't know, albeit I have to be open to it--and that wasn't happening very much during the last couple weeks of school!

Regardless, I am a social person by nature who thrives on interaction with people. This happens to me daily in different forms, but you never know who will bring you back to the present moment and make you laugh and forget you have six projects due in 12 hours. And the kid you thought was just a douchebag cleaning boy may actually be able to hold a decent conversation, helping you to stop focusing on the cold air sweeping in the stadium club as the insane hardcore football fans walk in to defrost from subzero temperatures.


As I thought about the above brief encounters, I revisited an old article from Steve Pavlina's personal development website about Soulful Relationships. It's all about

Here is a short excerpt from that particular page:

The mindset of empowered relationships

Everyone you meet in your life — even total strangers — is already intimately connected to you. The idea that we are all separate and distinct beings is nothing but an illusion. We are all parts of a larger whole, like individual cells in a body.

Moreover, everyone and everything you see out there in your world are reflections of you. Just as the cells in an organism carry the same DNA, other people are walking around with some part of you inside them. When you look at other people, you’re really looking at yourself. When you notice other people, it’s just like your eyes observing your hands. We’re all parts of the same whole.

Here are some facets of this interconnected model of relationships:

• Connectedness - You don’t have to “build” relationships with others because you’re already connected. You need only tune into the pre-existing connection that’s already there.
• No risk - Little or no courage is required to approach strangers. You’re never actually building new connections from scratch. You’re just recognizing what’s already there.
• Equality - You can feel just as close to total strangers as you do to your friends.
• Significance - All relationships are significant; none are irrelevant. Even the strangers you pass on the street are important parts of you.

And some of the effects of the empowering mindset that we're all inherently connected:

• Synchronicity - You’ll experience a swell in synchronicities that lead to chance encounters, meeting people you feel very drawn to meet.
• Social courage - Have you ever seen someone at a distance you felt you were supposed to meet? Have you ever run into the same stranger multiple times in the same day? With the right belief system, you’ll feel confident beginning a conversation with such people, and you’ll find that your hunches were right on — you were supposed to meet.
• Deeper relationships - You’ll enjoy deeper, less superficial relationships, getting to know people at the level of soul.
• Energy - You’ll attract relationships that energize you rather than drain you.
• Reading people - Because we’re all connected, you can mentally connect with other people and literally share the same thoughts in a way that goes beyond words, voice, and body language. You can even do it at a distance.
  

---


Now, I'd be lying if I said I don't make snap judgments about people by first impressions and outward appearances--but I tell the truth when I say I believe you can find something good in everyone.

The longest quarter year in my life, Conclusion: The day of reckoning

Previously in the end of an era series: A wrong turn on a one-way street, coupled with my failure to renew my insurance policy in May 2008 unfurled a long series of events which made my life much more complicated than necessary. Two months after my Cook County court appearance, the Secretary of State placed a four-month suspension on my Jetta--of which I was not aware. Within a month, I was rolled twice by suburban cops, which made me really stop driving. After I made the two harrowing appearances in a suburban court, I was "let off" much easier than expected!

I served my suspension period (amid gnashing of teeth and long bus and train commutes) for three months (i.e "the longest quarter year of my life), feeling as though December 15th would never come.

But come it did. With a huge surprise.


And thus ends my life's most recent saga:



Part VII: The day of reckoning.


It was my judgment day. So I Twittered.

"Is this really it? Really the day i've been waiting for for four months? 11:45 AM Dec 10th from txt"

I really just wanted to say "for for four" in a sentence.

Since the judge in July told me to maintain my insurance and come back with the fine, I gathered my proof documents, transitchicago.com'd my trip, and headed out in the blustery cold to head to the Clark and Lake El stop near the Daley Center courthouses. As always, I left my house giving myself the least amount of time to get to the court by 1:30. If all went well, I'd get off the train at 1:23 and get through court security at 1:30 on the dot.

Except I was three stops away at the 18th stop when I realized I'd left my insurance papers on my bed in my haste to catch the 1:10 train. Damn it! Again I cursed myself. Can I seriously walk into court without those docs? Not only do I not have enough money to pay, but now I don't even have my proof insurance. Idiot. Now I'll probably have a continuance on my case to next month and delay being able to drive again...damn it! I considered going back home, but figured I may as well just go into court. Besides, the little white slip they'd given me only told me to return to court to pay. Right?

I didn't know, but there wasn't enough time to turn back.



Arriving on time, there were about 14 other people in the room. I went up to the clerk to sign in with her, letting her know I was there, and she waved me back to my seat, saying, "Oh, I already got you, you're fine, take a seat." What? Okay. She must have recognized me when I walked in from the photo on my driver's license. Oh, my license...I hadn't seen that in almost eight months.

The Honorable Chevere came out and explained what was going on. She talked about how lack of insurance penalties were the most expensive of all offenses, and so on. I instantly liked her.

The cases before me were so entertaining. A Mexican man ahead of me spoke no English and the "conversation" between the Judge, the man, and the court translator was hilarious.

"You were pulled over while driving for not renewing your license plate sticker. Do you have a current sticker?" Judge Chevere asked, as the translator spoke to the man simultaneously (I wondered why she didn't address him in Spanish since she was clearly Latina herself).

"I don't know why, but I got parking tickets for expired plates," he responded (via translator).

"Yes, you were ticketed while parked, but that has nothing to do with you being here. Do you have a sticker? Did you renew your registration?"

"Ah, someone stole the sticker off my car."

"But did you renew your registration?"

"Oh, well, I was cleaning my car with gasoline and the sticker wore off."

"You were cleaning your car with gasoline?!" It was like a case of the People's Court or something. Everyone in the room was cracking up, as was the seemingly clueless defendant. "Okay, but you did renew your plates?" Judge Chevere asked again.

And back and forth about five more times. Finally, "Oh, I have my plates here!" The man went back to the bench and showed the judge a license plate wrapped in a white cloth. It was completely worn out--you could barely read the letters and numbers on it. And there was a license plate sticker, but it also was rubbed off and you couldn't even tell what color it was.

"Ah, okay!" Judge Chevere exclaimed. "So you're saying you did renew your plates, but either someone stole the sticker or it disintegrated. Well, you're in luck--the Secretary of State is just down the hall, and our lovely translator will be your friend of the court and walk you down to their offices. If you did renew your registration, they will be able to give you proof that you did buy the sticker and you can come back and show me and it'll all be fine!"

"Oh, I can come back?" He asked in Spanish.

"No, not a continuance. Well yes, a continuance--to the next half hour! Go on now, we'll see you soon."

You had to be there.

Eventually, the Judge called me to the bench. "Okay, Charlotte...mandatory insurance...looks like you're just here to pay, right?" She looked over my ticket with the district attorney who was standing by as well. "All righty! Are you ready to pay today?" She asked. I told her yes. I wanted to ask how much it would be, but didn't want to risk sounding like an idiot since I'd clearly been informed of my fines. "Okay, Ms. Mutesha--just go around the corner to the cashier, wait for them to call your name, and you're all set!" She smiled. I seriously wanted to be her when I grow up.

"Thank you!" I told her, and left the courtroom. I literally had said one word--she didn't ask for proof of anything, which made sense since my slip had simply said to return to court with my fine--so I didn't have to worry about leaving my dumb insurance papers at home anyhow. It made me a little bitter, though, that I'd been making insurance payments on a non-drivable car--but obviously I had to send the SR-22 info to the Secretary of State in order to properly serve the suspension time. Oh, the catch-22 of SR-22s.

I briskly walked out of the court, smiling that my case had been so simple, but also wishing I could have seen the conclusion of the Mexican man's court case. I totally bet he didn't renew his sticker!

I sat on the bench and waited for the cashier to call me for about half an hour.

I Twittered.

"Wow court today was actually really entertaining! Spanish speaking ppl are the funniest. I think i love that judge lady i wanna be her! 1:57 PM Dec 10th from txt"

Ange asked me who the judge was.

"@AngeliqueK Judge Chevere at the Daley Center..she's hispanic and a bad ass! Too bad i'd never want to go to law school.. 2:04 PM Dec 10th from txt in reply to AngeliqueK"

As I watched the chick cops walk around, I thought about how I could be them too.

"I would totally be a cop if the pants weren't so ill-fitting on the women. I'd wanna look like Beyonce in 'If I Were a Boy' hot 2:16 PM Dec 10th from txt"

When I finally was called up to the window, the sweet Indian man smiled and asked me, "This is your license, right?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed. "Oh, my goodness, it's been so long since I've seen that!"

He laughed as he punched some buttons on his register. I prepared to tell him I only had five hundred odd dollars when he said, "Okay. One-ninety."

"One-ninety?"

"Yes. One-nine-oh. $190."


Again, my heart stopped for a moment. Or ten.


I wasn't sure that I heard him correctly and I handed him $195 in cash, I don't know why. Yay, tipped jobs. He counted it and gave me the five back. "$190."

I seriously thought I was hallucinating. One-hundred ninety bucks? Seriously. SERIOUSLY. SERIOUSLY?! My mind was going crazy.

He handed me my receipt and my precious, beloved, long-lost driver's license, smiling. "You're all set!"

"Amount still owed: $.00."

I could have danced out of the Daley Center, but I maintained my composure and freaked out in my head.

Do I seriously have angels intervening on my behalf or something? Archangel Michael? Or Alan, Sue's Angel of Investments?


I instantly Twittered:

"OMG STFU! I was told in june my fine was 625..the cashier had me pay 190! Omg that just made my LIFE! I haven't seen my license since 4.28! 2:31 PM Dec 10th from txt"

With my sudden extra cash, I decided I deserved a caramel macchiato at the Starbucks in the Daley Center. Walking back toward the Thompson Center at Clark and Lake, I stopped at the German Christmasfest which filled the square and admired the gigantic Christmas tree. I would have taken photos, but cameras aren't allowed in the courthouse for obvious reasons (crazy journo people like me would try to record incidences like Mexican man and blog about it later using that as a visual aid).

There are Secretary of State facilities in the Thompson Center, so I went down to the basement to see what I had to do to lift the suspension on my vehicle. I knew that there was a $100 fine required, and since I had the money I figured I'd pay it today in order to have everything cleared by the 15th.

The lady behind the desk punched in my license plate information when I asked if I could pay my fine to the State. "Charlotte Mutesha? What's your address?" I verified all the information. "Okay, let's see...did you have insurance on May 12?"

I thought for a moment. I know I'd got it in May, but I wasn't 100% sure of the date I'd purchased it. "I believe so," I told her.

"Okay, well, all I need is your proof of insurance on or before the 12th of May...or else you'll have to pay $100 to lift the suspension." Of course, since my insurance documents were at home, I couldn't definitively answer her question nor pay the fine. I thanked her and left.

As soon as I got home, I checked my papers.

Ba-ZING. I WIN AGAIN!

Proclaimed via Twitter:

"Can 2day get any better? Sec of State needs proof of ins for 5/12 to waive the $100fee. I got insurance on 5/9 so i dont have to pay it! 3:29 PM Dec 10th from txt"



If you've been following along and keeping a tally, this is how everything worked out financially.

$625 - fine for operating uninsured vehicle in Chicago--initial citation. Actual cost: $190.
$3000 - operating uninsured vehicle in suburbs, 1st time, + driving without license. Actual cost: $300.
$1000 - operating uninsured vehicle in suburbs, 2nd time. Actual cost: $100.
$100 - fine to lift suspension from license plates as per Secretary of State. Actual cost: $0.00.

$4725 vs. $590.

Clearly nobody wants to lost nearly $600, but when it's compared to over $4000...yes, I'll take it. I'd say I made out of the situation a very fortunate person.

The entire ordeal--losing possesion of my license, serving the suspension period, coughing up money I'd have rather spent elsewhere--was difficult. It made getting around much more trying and added plenty of complications what with the court dates, long work and school commutes, and seeing people I love.

However, it is safe to say that I've learned my lesson. It only takes one police search and a couple harrowing court incidences for me to learn that there are many ways that I could make my life easier, if only I'd just abide by the law. Sure, I'm an obsessed traveler and consider myself a citizen of the world. Of course I'd love to only live by intergalactic universal laws, but for now, I'm a Chicago, Illinois citizen and Lord knows I will never operate a car sans insurance again. Nor will I ever take the luxury of being able to drive for granted.

It is certainly the end of that era. If my story can convince you that all the complications are not worth it, then I will not have suffered in vain. And even if it doesn't, I'm just glad I survived to tell the tale without too much damage to my bank account and my freedom intact: all's well that ends well and I have proved to myself time and again that I can get through anything.

I can't apologize, though, for sounding cliche--I am a firm believer that circumstances always have the potential to work out, even when you absolutely can't see how. Even the most stressful, seemingly impossible situation--whether it be getting to a suburban court without a ride, coming up with $600 fast when you have a two-week break from your main job, trying to jump-start your dream career, overcoming any obstacle--can be rectified.

You just have to push yourself, persevere, work your ass off and most importantly, take responsibility for your actions. I know that when you do those things with a little faith and try to live virtuously, things will fall into place. And if you don't have faith in yourself, find someone who believes in you and gives you that reassurance and encouragement--it's important! I cannot tell you how many phone conversations, emails, texts, and generous actions have helped me through very difficult times and I am so thankful for all those people I can lean on.

You just have to trust that wherever you are in your life in the present is exactly where you need to be. Maybe school sucks, or your job sucks, your relationships suck or life in general sucks. But instead of looking at how horrible things are, zoom out and ask: what is this present situation here to teach me? What can I learn from going through this? And what can I actively do to make this better?

You can choose to believe it, or not (and if you don't believe me after hearing this story [and I have many more where this one came from], then I don't know what it'll take). But I am living proof that you can beat the odds, even when they're stacked.


And sometimes I think I mainly go through these things to tell the entertaining, ridiculous story of my life.



Thanks for reading. On to the next saga, infinity, and beyond...

The longest quarter year of my life, part VI--Lessons learned and the scramble for cash

Previously: I welcomed major difficulty to my life through not abiding by insurance laws, creating a series of unfortunate but humorous events over 2008. Police searches, court dates, car suspensions, long commutes and countless other complications truly gave me a new perspective. I had to think about why I let simple things snowball, literally, into more serious situations. Hindsight is 20/20, yes, and I knew I could not leave this experience without having taken something from it...



Part VI: Lessons learned and the scramble for cash


It was hard. You know how when you're driving in the rain and see the poor people huddled under bus "shelters" to stay dry and you pity them? I was one of them. You know how when Chicago turns into God's personal snow globe and the sidewalks and gutters are covered in black slushy slop but you still have to drag your blocks-of-ice feet to the El platform to catch your train and all you can think about is how much this sucks as your snot runs all over your scarf cuz you forgot to bring tissues again? Yep, my life. Ever been on a sardine-packed California bus where 80% of the riders just got out of County four blocks south and won't shut the hell up about how they're "never going back"? Mmhmm.

Granted, it wasn't always that bad, although I experienced all of the above a number of times.



I must say though, after having the convenience of a car forever and being accustomed to driving four city blocks just to go to the liquor store...resorting to complete dependence on CTA, planning my routes via transitchicago.com rather than Mapquest, and buying 7-Day Passes every week instead of filling my gas tank made for a very difficult transition.

But remember what I said about "good" and "bad" and our perceptions? On the flip side, I am thankful for the whole annoying experience. In the same manner as restaurant courtesy--if you don't have enough money to tip, you don't have enough money to dine out. If you "don't have the money" for car insurance (which was another of my initial excuses/straight up lies), you don't have the right to drive, plain and simple.

In all honesty, I was thankful that I live in Chicago, which provides me with a way to get around. Sure, I had to wake up an hour earlier and leave my house much earlier, but at least Dominican University, Soldier Field, United Center, my mom's, Shane's, and The Angel Lady (the only places I ever really needed to go) are easily accessible via public transportation.

And most of all, it's much safer to do your makeup on the bus or train rather than while driving on the highway (guilty).

I would have never learned how to ride the Metra trains out to the suburbs (seriously), which came in handy when I decided to start working in Naperville again. And in the warmer months, well, even in the colder times, I really "connected" with the city. My journalistic nature forced me to take photos of everything and write about my experiences. I had so many meaningful interactions and conversations with people around town. I began to view the various neighborhoods from a different perspective, rather than just driving past landmarks.

























I should seriously be a photographer.



As my fourth and final court date (which actually would have merely been my only return date had I not had the suburban complications thrown in the mix) approached, I actually became a bit nervous for the first time. The judge and that loser D.A. had told me my fine would be $625.


Given that they'd allowed me nearly half a year to allocate these funds, it shouldn't have been so difficult--but we all know, life happens, and a girl's gotta go shopping once in a while. But the day was getting closer, and I wondered how I would come up with that cash so fast. It also didn't help that the circus comes to United Center during the last two weeks of November:


...and the Chicago Stadium Club, the VIP bar/restaurant where I work in the building, isn't open for the circus--only game days and most concerts (i.e open for Celine Dion, the Eagles, or Madonna, but not for Jay-Z , Mary J. Blige, nor Lil' Wayne, aHEM. Bitches).

So I had two weeks off of work, very minimal obligations at my other jobs, and essentially only four potential United Center work days in December before my court date to come up with $625--while still being able to pay my rent and utilities on top of everything come the 12th. And wonderfully--I had to take off two of the four U.C. events in early December because of my Tuesday and Wednesday night classes. Wonderful!

However, as always, I believed in myself. I had no idea where the money would come from, but I knew I'd make it happen since I always pull through.

Talk about blind faith. But faith, in any sense, but mainly faith in yourself, is significant.

And somehow, things turned around to my advantage, and money-making opportunities arose.

Sue Storm, also known as The Angel Lady/Naperville author whose books I ghostwrite and edit, started emailing and calling me even though I'd been ignoring her since July (see blog entry: "She Talks to [Voodoo] Angels").

Apparently, this time Sue got a real book deal with the Barnes & Noble distributor, and needed to start writing now. Obviously after some of her assertions during our Florida trip, I didn't want to go back to dealing with her, but would have been foolish to refuse her cash payments for work and writing that I consider to be incredibly basic and mindless. The timing was uncanny.

Since we'd had problems in the past, I gave my stipulations: she'd have to pay me via check or cash at the end of each day (as opposed to bi-weekly), and give me compensation for the cost of Metra fare since I clearly couldn't drive out to Naperville. Since I'm her best writer, she of course obliged, and I went back to work. Thankfully, due to my numerous trips to and from the city with or to see Shane, I was quite comfortable with the whole Metra/city-suburb commute. Again, blessings in disguise...

There was also a single Bears game at Soldier Field in which I made a ridiculous amount of cash thanks to my sweetheart of a manager Tom--the only "higher up" at Soldier Field whom I don't loathe. And I loathe them all. He, however, always takes care of me and makes sure I leave with something substantial...even though I had ditched a Sunday morning 8 a.m. employee call time game or two this season in favor of staying in bed hanging with Shane. I can't believe the shit I get away with sometimes...

After saving every red cent I could, doing some freelance writing jobs, going to United Center two hours early per shift to make the overtime cash, busting ass at Bears games, and spending 20+ hours at a time at Sue's (yes, I spent the night a couple of times at her suggestion. Very scary at first, but I only did it to rack up the hours and avoid unnecessary commutes! Desperate times call for...), I had more than enough money in my bank account on the weekend eve of the court date. And I did this all while attending school full time. I seriously amazed myself.

But then Tuesday night I checked my current Bank of America statements online, only to see that my insurance payment had cleared that day, leaving me about $50 short of the $625. How ironic. Damn it! It's always something, I thought to myself. It was a small drop in the ocean of my fine, but how the hell would I come up with that deficit by 1 p.m. the next day? The worst part was, Thursday night there was a Bears game scheduled and I'd definitely have some good money that day, but alas, it was a day too late.

Instead of going into panic mode, I mentally talked myself through it. It'll be fine, I told myself. You can just go to the judge and tell him how much you do have. But no sob stories, no trying to garner pity; just the facts.

See, I'm the kind of person who hates giving excuses. For example, if I miss an assignment at school, I never give my professors excuses--which I see as bullshit with frosting on it. At least in my case, with school, any excuse I'd ever give would most likely be bullshit, so I don't ever bother. I just tell them simply, "Sorry, I couldn't get this done. If you'll still accept this submission, I take responsibility for whatever repercussions there may be." And they usually don't penalize me and I usually get As anyhow! And in legitimate cases of me not being able to attend extracurricular activities, instead of crying about how busy my life is, I just tell them straight up: "I did not attend the mandatory event because I had to work. I couldn't see myself forgoing rent to watch a musical. It is what it is."

I hate BS. And I find that sincere, straight up honesty and acceptance of responsibility gets you way further than making pathetic excuses. At least it does for me.

But what if the judge just says, "Well, you had six months to come up with the money, so no mercy!" I thought. But I had to stop psyching myself out. It is what it is, Charlotte. You'll go in tomorrow and see what happens. Why worry about something you absolutely cannot change in this moment?



And what happened in the next moment nearly blew my knickers off.




Next up: THE Conclusion (for real this time).