Hiatus

I'm back! Sorry to have been gone for so long. Sort of got swept up by the holidays and work of all things. I don't even know where to start to try and catch up. Here is a short summary of the last few weeks:

Thanksgiving: As always, my mom makes the best meal ever. This year's turkey topped off at 29.2 pounds. We had all the fixings, 4 pies and my dad's Brandy Alexanders. It was a perfect day.

Day after Thanksgiving Traditionally, my mom, aunt, sister and I go shopping on this day. This year was no exception. We braved the crowds, avoided the sales rack cat fights and had a lot of fun. It was a good start to the season.

With Thanksgiving out of the way, it's been full blown Christmas-mode ever since. I have spent the last few days cleaning and decorating for my Christmas Cocktail party. It should be a fun time -- good food, good drinks and great friends. I have been planning and decorating and prepping like a mad-woman. Only drama is that I am currently the storage unit for my friends' wedding gifts. It is looking like the boxes may form another buffet table.

I need a hero?!

I have never considered myself a feminist. (Stop the groaning and hear me out). I have always thought of myself as an equalitist. Pay me the same amount of money for the same work and give me the same chances and I am a happy camper. Part of me is a bit old fashioned. I like a door opened for me every now and again. I like to bury my head during scary parts of movies. I like to walk down the street holding someone's hand. I like to feel safe and protected. However, it doesn't mean that I am incapable of protecting myself a bit, too.

In my 29 years of life, I have built myself a nice self-protect mode. I can assess a situation and decide if (and how much) I want to invest into it. I can hold enough of myself back to minimize the damage of a broken heart. I can look into someone’s eyes and see whether or not they have good intentions. (Well, most of the time). I can make decisions and take risks. I think that most intelligent and strong women are capable of this.

That being said, what is with men trying to protect me? I am not talking about shielding me from oncoming traffic, I mean protecting me from them. And, I am not the only one. This seems to be a common practice these days. My friend’s boyfriend is about to be deployed. He is pulling the “If I push her away now, she won’t have to grieve later” routine. Nothing more confusing than that--especially for women. We see pain and scary times up ahead and we want to pull our guy closer and keep him safe. They see potential danger and they want to push us out of the way before anything happens.

I understand the basic need in them. Guys are protectors. They think that if they can keep us away from this (sometimes imaginary) potential hurt, then we won't get hurt. They don't see that the pushing away piece is the part that hurts the most. No matter how much a guy thinks he is protecting us from potential future hurt, he is hurting us in the present and that is sharper than anything. Men don't realize that a woman can handle whatever comes her way, as long as she knows that she is in his heart (and he in hers).

So, in this situation, what’s a girl to do? Fight or Flight? It almost seems like quiet acceptance is the only answer. She can’t force him to see that she needs him more than his protection of her from him. She is already invested, so flight is still going to break her heart. If he takes his head out of his ass and sees that he is better with a partner and a supporter than alone, great. If he never sees that she can be a hero as much as he can, then the relationship really wasn’t strong enough to survive. Why do I feel like he is protecting himself as much as he is protecting her?

I'll Jump If You Jump

I'm getting ready for my Christmas party, which sounds ridiculous since it is not even Thanksgiving. I realized though that there are a few weekends in December and if you want one before Christmas, you got get the evite out early.

Here is the fun thing about my party....it is the 2nd Annual. People know about it. They were there last year. I polled them this year about what date worked best for people. And yet, I have 4 RSVP's (including myself), 7 Maybes and a few that I knew were going to be No's. The evite has been out for a few days. Granted, the party is a month away. Sometimes people don't know their schedules. However, most of the people on this guest list are planning on being there. They just don't want the social implications of RSVP'ing too soon.

My friend Nic was the big girl that RSVP'd first. Thanks for being brave! Phylisa was 2nd on the list. Both women are from my professional life. Elaine was the first friend to RSVP and she did it knowing that the party is being held on moving day. The rest of the friends are sitting in limbo. Planning on coming, but waiting for others to respond first. The funny thing is that they check the evite daily. I wonder if they realize that every time you open an evite, it marks the date. Yes, that's right all you evite scopers, I know this is a daily ritual. Don't worry. Someone will soon Jump in the fire...then you can all follow. (Well, that is everyone but one of my closest friends, who told me that he would need to wait to see what his plans were and let me know. Glad to know how I rate...but that is an entry for another day).

Habitat! Woo? Cubs! Woo?

Last night Jen, Jen 2.0 (as she is sometimes affectionately known) and I went to a benefit for Habitat for Humanity hosted by the Wicked Cast. It was supposed to be an evening of entertainment with the cast singing their favorite songs. Given that we love Wicked, a good show and a great cause, we all decided it would be fun to go. Below, in no particular order, are my bulletted observations:

* One of the only songs I recognized, Bobby McGee, was performed by Ashley. Who turned out to be a guy with a great voice, but a spastic ADD-like bouncing knee.

* The best performer of the night (well, really of the first act, since that is how long we stayed) was the set carpenter. He had a beautiful voice and sang in tribute to New Orleans and Habitat for Humanity.

* A love story in three acts makes no sense...even when there is a tutu involved.

*A bunch of people dressed like Fosse dancers...do I need to say anything more?!?

* In no way, shape or form did I think that I would see Ronnie "Woo Woo" Wickers wearing his uniform at this benefit. Though the show was iffy, that was worth the entrance fee.

And nothing is rhyming, oh Mandy

I'm not sure that I have ever met a girl who has bragged about attending 3 Barry Manilow concerts with her fiancé in the past year. Um, Katie – I mean Kate – seeing any warning signs yet?

Operation Million Cup

This is a bit of a repeat entry, but with the holidays coming up, I thought it was the perfect time to participate in this program. You can visit Boca Java's Operation Million Cup directly from this page.

From bocajava.com:

Boca Java has been supporting our troops for almost two years by sending coffee abroad to our troops. They are doing a great job for us and we want to provide them with a little taste of home!

In the spirit of making this a special project, we have set a goal of donating one million (1,000,000) cups of coffee between our July introduction and December 31, 2005. We know it is a lofty goal, but with all of your help we can do it! To formalize this, we are naming this OPERATION MILLION CUP.

For every bag of coffee you donate, Boca Java will match the donation by sending an equivalent bag of coffee.

In addition, we are providing the coffee for donation at a discounted price of $4 per 8 oz. bag. For just $4 you can send 60 cups of delicious coffee!

They do so much for us, this is a way for you and Boca Java to give something back to them together!

Know a troop stationed abroad that would like to receive some coffee? email us the name, mailing address and email address to coffeeforthetroops@bocajava.com.

Proud to Be An American

After photography class tonight (another fun filled evening of test strips and contact sheets), I stopped by the local pub for a cocktail. Though it was Amateur Night at the OK Corral, I sat down and ordered a drink and began chatting with friends. We have a bar regular, Dave, that is a Vietnam Veteran. He comes in a few times a week, drinks a coke and then tonic water and then rolls to a blues bar. He is a sweet guy and I love talking to him. He reminds me a lot of my dad.

On his way out tonight, we wished him a Happy Veteran's Day. He stopped and thanked us and we struck up a conversation about his time in the service. Dave was there the same time that my dad was there. (In fact, I swear that they were in the same places). He told us a few stories about c-rations, battles and wounds received. It was phenomenal to sit in the presence of living history and hear views from an eyewitness. The more he talked, the more I was appreciative of his service and in awe of his efforts. Like my dad, he didn't necessarily want to go, but he did and he served our country proudly.

So, on this Veteran's Day, I say thank you to all those who have served our country. Regardless of the war and the reasons for it, I am proud of every man and woman who has donned a uniform in service of the USA. I thank you for the freedoms that you defend and the honor with which you defend them. Personally, I would like to thank my dad and the countless members within our family who have fought in every war this nation has ever fought. Thanks to Dave, for his service and for reminding me of the importance of taking a moment to remember and give thanks to those who served. Thanks to Kelly's (my best friend) husband, Greg, who is currently serving in Iraq--may he and all his fellow comrades be kept safe and may they come home soon. Thanks to my first crush and close friend, Jimmy, who has proudly served in the Navy for as long as I can remember. Thank you to the countless men and women that are in the service today. You are the reason that I am proud to be an American.

I would like to pay a special tribute to my friend Mary's father, George Schutter, a proud Marine until the day he passed away. The Schutter Family parade on the 4th of July was one of my favorite holiday events, because it was a true show of patriotism. Each year the family would gather to celebrate this nation. The parade—which evolved from a few people banging pots and pans to 30-40 people, waving flags, singing songs and pulling floats—was my favorite part. It was a stroll around the neighborhood like you have never seen before, as people came out to watch the celebration. I loved that I could be there for it and walk in the parade as an honorary member of the family. My greatest honor was the year that Mr. Schutter gave me the American Flag to carry in the parade. Knowing how he felt about America, the flag and the Marines made me swell with pride. I walked proudly and carefully along the route and cherished every step. Sadly, and way too soon, Mr. Schutter passed away this summer. His family lost a wonderful husband, father, grandfather and this country lost a beloved patriot and proud veteran. I want to thank him for his service and devotion. He exemplified all that is good about this country and our servicemen and women. Semper Fi, Mr. Schutter! Semper Fi!

Happy Veteran’s Day!

Wake Up In The Morning, Feeling Shy and Lonely...

My best friend and I were talking tonight about all the crazy things in our lives. What I love about her is that she knows all my crazy stories and still calls me on a regular basis. It is a rare thing to have in life.

Kel and I have known each other since we were 14. She was there for all the bad high school hair-dos, crushes and drama. She has been an honorary sister to me (and daughter to my parents) since she played Beck in her bedroom and got kicked out of her house. She has gotten me through dating dry-spells, confusing guy situations and more than a few bad break-ups. As for me, I took her in after my 18th birthday (and after her parents had asked her to leave); I helped her packed her things as she set off to college in Davenport; I took her to Willow on Wagner for her 20th birthday and got her really drunk--fortuitous, since on her 21st birthday, she was pregnant with her daughter Maddie; I was there for her wedding (and sadly, her divorce). We share a love of the Cubs, Bears, U2, beers, corny 80s movies (Jake Ryan) and corny Junior High dramas like "Degrassi Junior High."

It was in the midst of us trying to talk out the most recent crisis to cross our paths when she said the following: "Side note -- do you have the Noggin channel?" That in and of itself was kind of strange. I told her that I did and she mentioned Degrassi Junior High was on it. I knew this. I had (I admit this is sad) seen some of the new episodes -- the ones where Snake is principle and Emma (Spike's daughter) is in Junior High. Oh, but there is so much more she said. They play the old ones. The ones that we used to watch. Really? Yep. She has them set to Tivo. And so with that, I went to Tivo and ordered a Season's Pass for Degrassi Junior High. I had instant gratification, since they have aired 2 episodes in the last 24 hours. You may think this is silly of me, but I learned about life from Degrassi.

Saved By the Bell was the fluff (well, except for the "Just Say No" episode and the one where Jesse "I'm So Excited" Spano is addicted to caffeine pills), Degrassi tackled the big issues. They talked about pregnancy and racism and drugs and friendships and sex and all the things that we faced when we were younger. I grew up with the kids in Degrassi. I wonder where they are now?!?

Toys 'R' Us Kid

I was thinking the other day about how I am 29 years old. 29. When I was a little girl, 23 was old and 29 was downright over-the-hill. Of course, I always thought, that by now I would have so much more than I do. I don’t mean things…cars, houses, TVs…a savings account. I mean, I thought that I would have so much more knowledge of life, happiness and love; I thought that I would have a partner and maybe even a child. Really, I thought that I would feel differently than I do. I still feel timid and confused and shy and unsure. I still hear someone compliment me and want to refute it. I have a hard time seeing myself the way that others see me. I look at 17 year olds and I think that they are so much more together than I am…

This makes me wonder. When do I start to feel like it is all coming together? I believe that the partner will eventually cross my path. (I believe that I will know it when I see it. He will be the guy that cherishes me and challenges me.) I want to know when I start to feel like a grown-up? I started making a list of things that seemed grown-up and responsible to me. I asked friends to add their thoughts. Here is a partial list…I am hoping that people will chime in with more thoughts…

1. Starting a Savings Account.
2. Getting your first manicure / pedicure.
3. Buying your first suit.
4. Getting a passport.
5. Balancing your checkbook.
6. Buying a piece of furniture that you don’t have to assemble.
7. Hiring movers.
8. Buying a bottle of wine (or several) with dinner.
9. Picking up the tab on a meal with friends.
10. Having an apartment (not a studio) and no roommates.
11. Taking a vacation for no reason.
12. Buying a box of condoms on your own.
13. Taking a class just to learn something new.
14. Getting rid of your twin bed.
15. Having a party without a keg.
16. Throwing your first dinner party.
17. Going out for one and having it be only one.
18. Having a date pick you up for dinner and a movie.
19. Having a 401(k) and buying stock separate from your 401(k).
20. Having a rainy day fund.
21. Managing a budget.
22. Buying a nice piece of jewelry for yourself. (i.e. diamond earrings)
23. Standing up for something you believe in.
24. Finding the friend that knows all your skeletons.
25. Taking a leap of faith in love.

How to Seduce a Woman in Five Songs or Less

Talking about songs led to the inevitable conversation about 'seduction' songs and the best songs for it. It was decided that rather than overt sexuality, seduction music should be sensual--a kiss that lightly brushes your lips. Like any good orchestration, it should start out slowly and crescendo...

Sweet Jane (Cowboy Junkies -- Natural Born Killers Intro)
Fade Into You (Mazzy Star)
As Long As You’re Mine* (Wicked)
Possession (Sarah McLachlan)
Release (Pearl Jam)

*It is the urgency that makes this song good, but it needs to be stripped of the orchestra / stage feel and instead was accompanied by simple instruments.

Side Note: I kept thinking that there was a seductive Dave Matthews song (which seemed to be completely oxy-moronic). I knew it wasn’t Crash, because that was a bit blatant. Natalie thought I was crazy. I remembered it this morning: “Lover Lay Down.” Now, if we could just get Bono to sing it….

I went in seeking clarity.

It was a pretty slow night for a Monday at the local tavern. Aside from my friend, Natalie, there was a drunken Englishman and a bunch of strange faces. In order to entertain ourselves, we started talking about songs and what are favorite songs would be. We tasked ourselves with identifying our 5 favorite songs of all time.

Of course, as we were writing, we added stipulations, such as "...these are really the songs that speak to me now, not necessarily my all-time favorite." and "...I love these songs, but there are more that I would add...” And so, we came up with 5 songs that are important to us for whatever reason.

My 5 Songs

With or Without You (U2): Aside from being U2, this song has always been haunting and hopeful to me. It is in my will (a paper that I wrote and gave to my mom, before I had surgery) that it will be played at my funeral.

Romeo and Juliet (Dire Straits): I like the Indigo Girls version of this as well, but there is something matter-of-fact about Dire Straits' version. It tells the story in a "looking back with regret" way.

Joking (Indigo Girls): Most Indigo Girls' songs tell a great story. I love this song for the following lines: "...you said good friends are hard to come by i laughed and bought you a beer 'cause it's too corny to cry..."

Out to Get You (James): I can't explain this song. It is insecurity and a fear of being lonely and the search for you.

Leaving on a Jet Plane (Peter, Paul and Mary): My dad wants to be rolled out of the church to this song. It came out the year my parents met and has always been a part of their life. As a kid, we were forced to go to PP&M concerts every summer at Ravinia. It grows on you.

Pin Me, please

There was this article in the Red Eye today about a guy wanting to go back to 1950s-style dating. He talked about the simplicity of it all. There was no gray area between dating and non-dating. There were no friends with benefits, booty calls, drunk-dials and the term seeing each other referred only to actually having someone in view. There were no rules for girls to follow or sex in the city.

I think it would be nice to go back in time to a place in which you knew you were with someone because you wore his pin.

Random Bits

* People who show up to a kickball field in matching outfits suck. They suck more when they begin to stretch.

* There is nothing harder than waking up on a cold, rainy day and having to get out of bed and go to work.

* No matter how often it happens, a friend prat-falling into a table is always funny. Even if you wind up with a lapful of cocktails.

* Chicago my ass, I am still pissed the Sox won. (Though, I am exicted for my friends who are Sox fans and I am excited that at least one of the teams in the city doesn't stink. I just wish that is wasn't the Sox).

* Traveling with a friend 8-hours anywhere takes a strong friendship. It takes a strong stomach too -- at least if the only thing to eat on the way is cheeseburgers.

* Nothing beats being kissed often by someone who knows how.

Damn, it's on the South Side

Well, it's World Series time and it is coming to Chicago. It's a once in a lifetime experience. (Especially in Chicago). It's good for the economy. It brings pride to the city. It's the damn White Sox. Why did it have to be the White Sox?

People are mad that I am struggling with this. I should cheer for the city. Really? That is the thing that most Sox fans hate about Cubs fans...they think we are not true fans of the game. I think they would respect me for struggling a bit--for not jumping on the bandwagon. It's not that I am cheering against the Sox (well, not entirely), it's just that I am sad. The Red Sox! Now the White Sox! And the lone loser holding up the wall at prom without a date? The Cubs =0( I think if Boston hadn't won in such fine fashion last year and if the Cubs hadn't lost in such heartbreaking fashion in 2003, it would be a different story. It's just a hard pill to swallow.

Will I watch the games? Of course. Will part of me cheer for the White Sox? Sure. I have always liked them--just not with the intensity that I love the Cubs. It's just, you know, why couldn't it have been the Cubs? (Not that I am whining--well, maybe I am a little). I am happy for the city. Just tired of waiting until next year.

To Mark and Deb and all my Sox Fan friends, congrats! May the best team win! Special thanks to Mark for believing that next year really will be the Cubs year! (Logically, if Boston and the White Sox can get there, it must be the Cubs turn!)

Mojo on Aisle 7

When I was 23, one of my best friends passed away suddenly. When Leon died, I wasn't sure I would be able to breathe again, let alone get on with my life. He was the first person that I talked to in the morning, the person I emailed all day long and the last person that I talked to before I went to bed. We talked about everything and nothing. Part of me had a bit of a crush on him, but all of me loved him and the friendship we had. When he died, my heart broke.

As with everything painful, the pain began to subside. Each day, it was a little easier to wake up and go about my life. Except in one area -- dating. For whatever reason, after Leon died, I lost my mojo. I used to joke that he had taken it with him. It seems that soon after, I stopped having confidence in myself and my attractiveness. It's hard to explain, but I lost my confidence.

I have become very cynical about the whole thing. I believe happily ever after. I watch every chick flick and cry at the happy endings. I just wonder how it will ever happen for me. I'm not sure why I'm like this. From what I have been told, I am beautiful. I know that I am smart and kind. Why don't I have more confidence? Whenever I find myself in a situation involving a guy, especially one that I like, it is like I am 6 years old again and on the playground vying for attention. He can tell me that I am beautiful and make overtures to be with me and in the back of my mind, I am waiting for the bottom to drop.

My friends will read this and think that I am crazy. I know that's what I think! Logically, I know that I am a fine catch. It's just there is nothing logical about matters of the heart.

Can Men and Women Just Be Friends? (Part II)

So, I was apparently angst-filled when I wrote the first post on this subject. Or, as usual, I was confused by my own life. Can men and women be friends? Sure they can. I have a lot of guy friends. Have some of those situations become completely awkward? Yep. It is not always good to be the female friend of a guy, especially if he is engaged to a girl who doesn't really like you. (Thankfully, that wedding never happened).

Have I fallen for a guy friend or vice versa? Yep. Sometimes, it works out great. Some of my best relationships with guys have started out as friendships. Sometimes it is a disaster -- especially when feelings are not reciprocated. Sometimes it is confusing. Blurring the line makes it so that you are never quite sure where you stand.

Do I have guy friends without whom I would be lost? Absolutely!! One of my favorite people in the world, who has been my friend since I was the little red haired girl in college, is a guy friend. I saw his name on my blog and realized that the last post was not complete. Since we met 10 years ago (god, that seems like a long time), he has been my friend, confidant, designated driver, advice giver and all around good friend. Life has made our paths shift a bit (he is a proud husband and father, I am still single in the city), but I know that he is always there for me (and vice versa). So, even though it can get complicated and messy, the moral of the story is men and women can be friends...as long as the sex thing doesn't get in the way.

It's just for the first time, I feel ... wicked

I have been once again obsessing over a costume for Halloween. It is hard to be an intelligent girl at Halloween. You want to find a costume that morphs you into something feminine and alluring. You want guys to be entranced by you and your costume. You want to be a little wicked. Yet, when you go shopping there are the costumes that do not flatter at all and then there are hooker versions of every childhood character or toy. This year popular costumes include slutty versions of Strawberry Shortcake, Dorothy, Snow White, Cinderella, Rainbow Brite, Little Red Riding Hood, as well as the ever popular slutty Doctor, Nurse, Police Girl, Super Girl, Wonder Woman and Daisy Duke.

Why is it that sexy means that my butt is hanging out of a too short dress and my breasts are falling out of my too tight top? Maybe it is me. Back in the day (a.k.a. when I was skinnier), I would have worn the Dorothy or the Rainbow Brite costume. But now, I look at them and I wince. I remember going out Halloween last year (I wore my dad's army dress uniform)and looking at all the women out. They were all dressed alike. They were all doing Jaeger Bombs. They were all trying too hard to get noticed.

I like a Halloween costume that is feminine, but assured. I think this is how Elphaba popped into my head. One listen to "Defying Gravity" and you know that she is not only determined, but also a very feminine character. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. Really. Dressing as a witch, with a feminine flair and a subtle beauty and innocence. Seemed perfect. Until I realized the amount of green body paint that would be involved. Some well-meaning friends have pointed out that I could be a mess by the end of the night. Another suggested that I go as Glinda, since there is no body paint involved. Now, I am back to square one. Trying to find the perfect identity for 24 hours. Anyone got any bright ideas?!?

Thank You

On Friday night, I waited on a couple. They drank a glass of wine each, closed out on their card and left. They were really nice, so I was a bit shocked when I went to their table and saw that the guy had not filled out the credit card slip -- including the tip line. I thought it was a bit strange, since they were really nice. I brushed it off and figured it was a fluke. In my gut, I didn't think they were mean or anything.

The next day, I got a call from the afternoon bartender. It seems that the guy had come back into the bar. He said that he and his girlfriend were rushing for a movie and that he had forgot to leave a tip. Money aside, what he did was incredibly nice. Every now and again people restore your faith in them (and all of mankind). So, thank you to the gentleman. To the lady, I say, hang onto him, he is obviously a keeper.

Psychiatric Help 5 Cents

Ever find yourself doling out advice in droves? It has been like that for me the last few weeks. What I can't understand is why I can give advice (and good advice at that) to others, but can't advise myself to save my life?!?

How come we are able to help others and not ourselves?

I Think I Pulled My Hamstring

I played kickball on Sunday for the first time since grade school. My friends formed a team and I thought it would be a hilarious way to pretend that I am healthy-exercise girl. I was nervous about playing, because I am competitive and like to be good at what I do and because I had been teasing my friend for the past two weeks. (Scott had struck out in a plate appearance in each of the first 2 games). I figured the teasing and the fact that I had missed the first 2 games would karmically screw me. I was right -- sort of...

Once again, I was put in Centerfield. A position for the athletically-challenged. A position I hate. Especially in sports leagues where one field butts against another and center field can go on for miles. Let's just say a bouncing ball is not an easy thing to shag and throw back to the infield.

At the plate, I fared a little better. I actually got a hit (kick?) and scored a run. It was a lot of fun and we won our first game. Had bloody mary's and fun conversation for the rest of the afternoon. I went home early, feeling athletic and great.

I woke up on Monday morning feeling like a) a big truck had rolled over me and b) I had been riding a horse. I am pretty sure that I pulled every muscle from my ribcage down. Who knew kickball could be so physical? Maybe that is why you only play it in grade school.

Can Men and Women Just Be Friends?

I was going to wax poetic and weave Harry and Sally into the mix and talk about a friend and the issues he is having, but I don't think that is necessary. Call me Harry on this one, but no, men and women can't just be friends. There are too many things to get in the way.

It is funny to see me write this, since I have guy friends and have never really agreed with this opinion. However, the more I think I about it, the more I think that Harry--in a crude way--is right. The “sex thing” does get in the way. Women will say, 'but I have this friend and there have never been any feelings involved.” Really, have you checked with him lately? And let's be honest, we all have dated someone who was once "just a friend." In college there was Matt, who I hated at first (he was a self-absorbed, egomaniac), became his best friend and then fell for him hard. It was better that way. We were already close and the dating just accentuated a good thing.

And if there is no “sex thing” involved--if there is no attraction to one another at all--see what happens when one of you is in a relationship. The friendship alters. It just happens.

Men and women can be friends (for awhile), but the friendship is not the same. You can get advice from a guy about men in general, but usually they offer you such nuggets as "Men are assholes. You know that. We’re friends." Or, they will wonder why you are complaining about something the same guy has does to you for the millionth time. It goes the same for guys; women friends will offer you way more advice about a situation than you will ever want. They will want you to consider motivations and feelings and not whether she is a hot piece of ass.

The middle ground is realizing that there will be limitations to the friendship and that life events may permanently alter it. Harry and Sally may be happily married now, but it was a rough road to get there.

Why Do I Have to Word Verify?

I'd like to thank the random spammers hitting my blog with irrelevant and nonsensical posts. While I don't want to make those that read and comment (a.k.a. Jen) register and log in, I don't like getting spammed on my blog. I didn't even know people would do that.

So, for the three readers out there, I have added word verification to the site. I am now just like Ticketmaster. (Without $20 in fees) Sorry for inconvenience!!!

Cheer Cheer for Old Notre Dame

I catch a lot of grief for being a Notre Dame fan. I am a fan, because my mom used to watch the games on Saturday afternoons. She still does. I never thought that it was bad to be a Notre Dame fan until I moved to the city and learned that to most people, Notre Dame is the Yankees of college football. It doesn't help that the Fighting Irish haven't given me much reason to be proud or to cheer. (Not that I want to jinx them, but they are are looking pretty good this year).

Last weekend, they soundly beat Washington to improve their record to 3-1. The real story, though, was their first offensive play and the boy who called it. There is a great article on MSN about Montana Mazurkiewicz and Charlie Weis. I will let the story speak for itself.

http://msnbc.msn.com/id/9481684/

Dance as if no one is watching;
love as if you can't be hurt.
Sing tho' no one is listening;
live as if it's heaven on earth. Irish Proverb

I Think Those Cows Are Having Sex

As Jen and I are driving to Wisconsin, we passed a hill filled with cows. Which, for us city girls, is somewhat funny and entertaining. Anyway, as we pass this hill of cows, out of nowhere, Jen shouts, “I think those cows are having sex!” A moment passes and then I look at Jen and say, “Cows don’t have sex. They are all women.”

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Cows have sex with bulls."

Thus this conversation went the only way it could, into a debate about lesbian cows.

Thank God I Bought That Shirt At Walmart (and other stories from camping this weekend)

Where to start with the tales from this weekend? Friday night, I worked at the bar and was sober, given the antibiotics coursing through my system. I was set to head home early, so that I could get a good night's sleep and get up early for camping. Around 2 AM, my friend called. She and her boyfriend were in a car accident. They were okay (thank god), but needed a ride home. I enlisted my friend Mike to drive me and off to Schaumburg we went. When it was all said and done, I was crawling into bed at 6 AM. I would do it again in a heartbeat though. Not to sound like Dionne Warwick, but that is what friends are for.

Anyway, when my phone rang at 8:54 AM, I was less than thrilled. (When it rang at 9:09, I was even crabbier...9:20 was when I really thought that my friends liked torturing me). I did manage to pull myself together, pack some things and head out the door at a mostly reasonable hour. (My only casualties were my legs. They suffered from a pretty bad job with a razor...mental note to self: don't shave on less than 3 hours sleep).

I jumped into a cab with Jen (she was supposed to be on a bus, but the cat was running in the hallway or something). As I am climbing in, she is telling me that the Carpenters are on the radio. I am sorry to say that there was singing in the cab until we got to my car. We get out of the car, looking like the cast of Sex in the City, and load up my car for our road trip. Off we went! We drove a few miles until we stopped for coffee (for me) and Wendy's (for her).

The rest of the drive would be too hard to describe. It was simply hilarious. It was raining. Dead animal parts flew up at my car. We stopped in Janesville, WI, which has a Target, Walmart, Big Kmart and shopping mall all on top of one another. We hit the Walmart. I bought a cute top, exercise pants, some cheesy CDs, a card game, some yarn, knitting needles and some snacks. Don’t ask me why I thought I needed any of that stuff. An hour later, we were back on the road, listening to the 80s Pop CD I had bought. Hits included Jesse’s Girl, Waiting for a Star to Fall, 9 to 5, Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now and You Should Hear How She Talks About You. It was a little silly to say the least.

We made it to the campgrounds without too much trouble. The rest of Saturday was just a lot of fun--great conversation, company and food. (Little painful when I realized that one of the people we were camping with knew my classmate from high school, because she was his teacher, but what can you do?) It was nice to get away from all the craziness of the city. Late that night, it began to rain and we all retreated to our tents. I was watching the fire, to make sure that it would burn out like it should. After watching the fire a bit, I shouted to Tony (in the next tent) that he probably wanted to stomp the board, since it was going to fall out of the fire. He told me that it was going to fall into the fire. (Apparently, I was crazy). A few minutes later, I hear a crash and Tony saying, “Well, that didn’t work out as planned.” I unzipped my tent to watch him stand corrected, as he moved the burning board back into the fire.

It had rained through the night and never really felt the need to let up. We quickly broke camp and headed to a diner for breakfast. While the drive home in the rain (which I am pretty sure followed us home) sucked, it was a fun weekend. Shout out to Tony for putting it all together. Shout out to God for getting me out of the 4.52-mile hike Jen was going to make me go on – I love a rainy night...and day.

Coffee for Our Troops

A few weeks ago, my best friend Kelly's husband shipped out to Iraq for the next year and a half. She and I were talking the other day and she mentioned all the care packages she had been shipping to him. She also mentioned wanting to ship coffee to him. I let her know about a program that is sending coffee to our troops and she was able to sign up Greg for the program.

Boca Java, a coffee service based in Florida, has been doing this for a few years. They just launched a program this summer in which customers can purchase bags of coffee to be sent to our troops and they will match the donation. I thought that I would forward the information on, in case anyone was interested in participating. I have attached all of the information below.

Link to website: http://www.bocajava.com/support_the_troops.jsp?promo=TROOP_SUPPORT

Boca Java has been supporting our troops for almost two years by sending coffee abroad to our troops. They are doing a great job for us and we want to provide them with a little taste of home!

In mid-July we announced a new program, Send Coffee to our Troops, where we will allow you, our customers, to help us in sending coffee to our troops. The response has been FANTASTIC! We thank everyone who has participated.

In the spirit of making this a special project, we have set a goal of donating one million (1,000,000) cups of coffee between our July introduction and December 31, 2005. We know it is a lofty goal, but with all of your help we can do it! To formalize this, we are naming this OPERATION MILLION CUP.

For every bag of coffee you donate, Boca Java will match the donation by sending an equivalent bag of coffee.

In addition, we are providing the coffee for donation at a discounted price of $4 per 8 oz. bag. For just $4 you can send 60 cups of delicious coffee!

They do so much for us, this is a way for you and Boca Java to give something back to them together!

Have questions on our program? Click here to read our FAQ's

Know a troop stationed abroad that would like to receive some coffee? email us the name, mailing address and email address to coffeeforthetroops@bocajava.com.

Also, check out the links below for samples of the feedback we have gotten from the troops.

Bono, Will You Marry Me?

So, I admit that as a little girl there were few things that I wanted in life. I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up. (...and train dolphins and have an orangutang...) I wanted to change my name to Julie and marry Ryne Sandberg. I wanted to be the lead singer of a band. I wanted to change the world.

I grew up in the "Just Say No," "We are the World," Hands Across America, Live Aid, Farm Aid and Band Aid generation. My parents (well, my mom, really) were wannabe hippies who listened to folk music that set out to make a difference. I followed their lead and latched on to Midnight Oil, John Mellancamp, Bruce Springsteen and U2.

U2. They were (and still are) my passion. It seemed like they wrote what I wanted to say and they believed in the world where I wanted to live. And so in my life, I have seen them as many times as I could afford.

Which brings me to Wednesday night at the United Center and the U2 Vertigo Tour. While I would never recommend seeing a concert with an ear infection, I would also never miss a chance to see my heroes on stage. They were, as always, excellent showman. Invoking passion. Invoking their message. Are they a bit preachy? Yes. But I would rather have a band that puts its money and its heart where its mouth is than a band that wallows in a sea of controversy and chaos.

The concert did not disappoint. They played their new music and mingled it with old favorites. Watching them is like watching the evolution of my life. Jen said that she was full of nostalgia watching the show. As was I, but also full of such joy at the potential life to come.

40 (words and music by U2)

I waited patiently for the Lord.
He inclined and heard my cry.
He brought me up out of the pit
Out of the miry clay.

I will sing, sing a new song.
I will sing, sing a new song.
How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
How long, how long, how long
How long to sing this song?

You set my feet upon a rock
And made my footsteps firm.
Many will see, many will see and hear.

I will sing, sing a new song.
I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song.
I will sing, sing a new song
How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?

Paved Paradise & Put Up a Parking Lot

Call me old fashioned, but Macy's is New York and the Thanksgiving Day parade. I remember when I first went to New York. I took pictures of the 34th street sign. I shopped at the Macy's. I just wanted the experience and the bag that had the familiar logo. I bought a coffee mug as a cherished souvenir of my trip to New York and Macy's.

Marshall Field's is Chicago, the Walnut Room and whimsical Christmas windows. It is a beautiful Tiffany ceiling and a clock that has been there for a hundred years. It is my little sister, my mom and dad and I bundled up every year looking at the windows. It is the biggest Christmas tree a kid could ever imagine.

As I get older, it seems that corporations are slowly chipping away my childhood. First Venture disappeared. (Does anyone still remember Venture? We used to go to the one at Deerbrook Mall and get popcorn). Poppin Fresh became Baker's Square. My favorite bookstore as a kid, Chestnut Court, became a Gap. Slowly but surely, places of tradition seem to be disappearing. It is sad really.

Then there is Marshall Field's...I mean Macy's. Wow, that is hard to swallow. Rationally, I am sure that Macy's will be a fine store, probably better then Field's has been in years (lest we forget the Frango Mint incident of 1999). But Macy’s? Say it ain’t so. Roger Ebert wrote that changing Marshall Field’s to Macy’s would be like changing the Chicago Cubs to the Chicago Mets. Unthinkable.

Apparently, though, we are just supposed to accept it. It is for the best.

Yesterday, (Terry) “Lundgren peddled a vision of what a Field's-less future might look like: lavish new fitting rooms, keener product displays, lots of Macy's private-label merchandise, a fashion show or two.So let's see: We trade in a century-old name, one with a heritage that dates to the Chicago Fire and beyond, and what do we get--some elbow room when we try on new pants? Some deal.” (Source: David Grising, Chicago Tribune)

Thanks, Mr. Lundgren, for assuming that the thing I valued most in life was a lavish dressing room and the opportunity to buy your private label merchandise.

I’d also like to thank you for dangling the possibility of a Frango mint return. As if that nugget would make up for taking Marshall Field’s off the map.

Mayor Daley said, “Things change in life. If you’re not willing to accept change, you stay in the past.” (Source: Susan Chandler, Chicago Tribune) Thanks for coaching me through this change. Forgive me, if I find your opinion, um, worthless. Why don’t you go plow another airfield?

Ok. Enough ranting. I meant this to be nostalgic and it is shifting political. Let me just say this, in the name of profit, Macy’s has trounced tradition. That makes me sad. I just wish there was a way to have a Miracle on State Street.

Bill Murray / Weird Sounding Movies or U2?

A friend of mine and I have tried to have detox movie nights. Movie (theatre or home) and a quiet, alcohol-free night. Tomorrow was the scheduled movie night. I was supposed to be subjected to The Royal Tenenbaums and Life Aquatic. Neither movie interests me, but a friend swears by them and I was willing to give them a try. (Of course, if I hated both of them, I was ready to subject said friend--a guy--to the entire 4th Season of Felicity).

Anyway, I emailed Jen to see if she was working tomorrow night. I figured that now that we were neighbors, dinner and a movie might interest her -- especially since they were quirky, thinker's movies. She saw my "Are you working tomorrow night" as a veiled "Want to go to U2?" And sent a quick reply wondering if I had tickets. Well, I didn't and I hadn't even thought of that. But, now it was out there. Something that couldn't be taken back. U2 is in Chicago...hmm...Could we go to U2? Is it a possibility? I haven't missed a tour since the Zoo TV tour at Poplar Creek in 1993. What to do? What to do?

First, I went to the almighty Ticketmaster, to see if they had secretly released tickets, which they always do. They had -- and to both shows. After realizing that Jen had to work tonight, I knew that tomorrow was our only option. Now what? I promised a detox night with a friend and now I want to go to a crazy concert venue. I tried to think of ways to trick my friend into wanting to go to U2 instead. Turns out, I really didn't have to be stealth. Said friend dropped Bill Murray like a bad habit the minute I mentioned U2.

Now the hard part, procuring 3 tickets. Back to the evil Ticketmaster I went. Searching for tickets. Making sure that they're not behind the stage--I don't care how close you are, you are still staring at butts. Getting ready to complete the transaction...website freezes. Crap. Stupid Ticketmaster. Now what. We are all excited about this concert. Ticketmaster....don't fail us now.

I jump to the phone, hoping that I will be able to get through that way. First try...busy signal. I am convinced that everyone has figured out that there are tickets and that now, our hopes will be dashed. Second Try...success. I navigate through the bazillion options that my automated operator, Katie, presents to me...and then I get it...the confirmation number.

We are on our way to U2!!!! Can't wait!!

Recap and Review

It is Monday morning and I am sitting in the airport waiting out a delay…again. I wonder why the one flight that was on time (early) was when I was running late. I had a fun weekend with my sister. We hit Oktoberfest Saturday night. For the 3rd time in a row, I missed the Chicken Dance. This year it was led by the popular children’s television starts Uncle Willy and Windy.

Anyway, I did get to eat a lot and drink some great beers. I had a brat that can only be described by its picture, so check it out. (Insert all nasty innuendo here – we all did) My sister’s friend, BJ, put roasted almonds in our 1st beers – so we could have a sweet snack at the end of our beer. My sister also made friends with a lady, um, actually a man dressed as a lady – there is a visual needed for this one as well. There was a lot of lederhosen, chicken hats and drunken people--my kind of Saturday night.

Sunday was low-key. My sister was a little hung over, I had no voice and we were both tired. We had brunch with her boyfriend and then went to a great farmer’s market to pick up some marinated chicken. After that it was couch time and the NFL. My sister cheers for the 3 B’s – Bears, Browns and Bengals. This is what happens when you live in Ohio for 7 years. All 3 did quite well. In fact the Bears and the Bengals trounced their opponents. I believe that CNN went so far as to say that the Bears “crushed” the Detroit Lions. After marathon football, we rounded out the evening with a nice dinner among friends. The night came to a close with my sister and I hanging out on the couch watching Crossing Jordan and Law and Order.

All in all, it was a great weekend. I was glad to see my sister (bummed that I was sick). The delay was nice though, because just as she dropped me off, I called to tell her about my flight and she turned around. We had a nice breakfast (microwave breakfast sandwiches) and watched CNN and The Price is Right--strange, but true.

All's Well that Ends Well

So, I was riddled with angst in my last post and may be suffering from writer's remorse. In the grand scheme of things, I guess a five hour stint in the airport is nothing. We finally boarded the flight at 5:25 and took off about 10 minutes later. It was a nice short puddle-jumper flight of 50 minutes. I read a book I bought in the airport store, because the 2 I brought with me didn't interest me. I slept for a bit. I ate my pretzels (does anyone else miss the peanuts?) and drank my water. I tried to give the man next to me -- football player size -- as much room as I could, because the plane was not meant for him. The flight was nice.

We landed about 7:30 PM Cincinnati time. We sat in the plane for awhile waiting for the stairs to be rolled up next to the plane, which was entirely funny to watch from the plane. I de-planed, grabbed my valet bag and rolled through an empty airport to meet my sister. Getting there was not half the fun, but the drama was completely worth getting to hang with her for 2 days.

Heard in the Airport

An American Eagle employee wearing headphones and singing – if that is what you can call it—as he walked through the airport. Not sure what “song” invokes the words “mother-f’er,” “b*t%h” and a derogatory word for a homosexual that rhymes with maggot. Do love the fact that this is the song he thought he should sing out load at work. Don’t think that we will see him on this season’s American Idol.

Proud To Be On American?

This weekend is Oktoberfest in Cincinnati. When my little sister, who went to school in Cincinnati and still lives there, was a freshman in college, we went to parents weekend. It was held the same weekend as Oktoberfest (and a Bengals / Packers game, which is an entirely different story). Oktoberfest in Cincinnati is nuts. It is a lot of beer, brats, cream puffs, rubber chickens, chicken dances, chicken hats and buffoonery. I try and make the pilgrimage yearly. I was looking forward to the trip and some sister bonding time. I had been sick all week and my sister didn’t want me to drive by myself, by sheer luck, I find a cheap flight on American.

This morning, I woke up, did 2 quick loads of laundry, packed my suitcase (minus the clothes that were being washed), did the dishes, and took out the trash. I went to the laundry room to get my clothes, so that I could finish packing. One set was dry, the other drier was open and stopped and not one lick of the clothing was actually dried. I was left with 10 minutes before I need to leave, soggy underwear and no other clothes clean. I threw the soggy clothes into my suitcase and darted out the door.

I jumped on the bus to the blue line, which was slow as hell (thanks Cubs / Cardinals). Took the blue line to O’Hare and got to the airport with a little more than a half an hour to my flight. I dashed through the millions of miles of sidewalks between the conveniently located “L” and my terminal – god forbid a moving sidewalk ever work. Checked in at the terminal, hauled through security and ran to my gate, which of course was nowhere near where I had to go through security. Covered in sweat, I approached the gate as the lady was closing the door. I apologized for my delay and asked to check in. The guy (Carlos) at the gate told me after a minute that the flight was closed. I asked how that was possible since the door had just started to be closed as I was at the gate. He said that they close 10 minutes before the flight. Fair enough, but I was there before 10 minutes before the flight and I had already checked in – it wasn’t as if they weren’t expecting me. After talking about this for a few minutes, I pointed out that it was just 10 minutes before the flight now, to which a lovely (actually rude) woman held up her cell phone to show me that it was in fact 12:48 – my flight was at 12:57. Interesting that I could stand there and have a conversation with the people at the gate for several minutes and still only miss my flight by less than a minute. I would like to thank American for being completely accommodating and helpful. Oh, wait, that would be a lie. What I want to know is how I ended up on one of the only American flights running on time. Crazy.

Carlos, a.k.a Mr. Customer Service, put me on stand-by for a 4:34 PM flight. I asked if there was anything earlier on another airline. He said that I would have to talk to a supervisor at the terminal. By the way throughout all of this, the damn plane is still at the gate. Back to the terminal I go and I stand in line to talk to an agent. She tells me that the next flight is 3:45 PM on United Express, but asks me why would I bother, since there is not a big difference in time and since I would have to go standby on the other flight. Heeding her advice (she was actually nice), I kept my flight and went out to find a place to kill the next 3 hours at the airport.

I found a nice little bar, watched the first have of the ND vs. MSU game and killed time. At 3:30 PM, I headed to the gate just in case this one boarded and closed early. En route, I check the screens. Shock of all shockers, my flight’s gate has changed and it is now delayed until 5:10 PM. That is the American Airlines I know and love. Once again, I wander the airport, bored, because “G” is apparently the ghetto section of Terminal 3 and there is not a lot to do. Finally, close to 4, I decide to head over to the gate, figuring that they will start boarding in about a half an hour. Well, it is 4:43 PM, 9 minutes after the flight was supposed to leave and almost 4 hours after my original flight, and I am still sitting here. In true American fashion, we are now on our second delay. I was supposed to land in Cincinnati at 3:10 PM Eastern time. Now, I will be lucky if I am there by 8 PM. At this point the United Express flight will be landing before we board.

Banning the Wicked?

So, once again the lovely Jennifer is mad at me for my lack of posting. She’s threatened to ban the wicked (very pun-y) if I don’t start posting again. I’m sorry that I don’t post on a regular basis. Sometimes, I just don’t have anything witty to say. Now, I know that Jen’s friends – the ones nagging her to post more frequently (ironic, don’t you think) – have told her just to post whatever, but I am a neurotic perfectionist and I hate posting so-so items.

Have no fear though; this day has given me fodder for 20 different posts and then some. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but I have enough material to at least make Jen happy for a day or two.

NetFlix Addict

Hello, my name is Dea, and I am a NetFlix Addict. Is there a 12-step program I can join? Many years ago, I used NetFlix--mostly because I had fines at all the local Blockbusters. I barely used it. I had the same lukewarm movie in my house for a month and I never watched it or returned it. Eventually, I cancelled my subscription and moved on to racking up fines at other Blockbusters.

Recently, I have found my way back to NetFlix and I feel that I am becoming co-dependent. I eagerly wait for the red / white envelopes to appear in my mailbox. I am constantly amazed at how many movies they have in NetFlix land and how quickly they ship / receive / ship me movies. My co-worker told me that I would become addicted if I wasn’t careful. This was after she heard a friend and I dissecting the shipping process – (how do they get the movies in 1 day?) Well, after updating my queue, writing reviews for my friends and reviewing movie after movie…I realized, she may be right. I check my NetFlix page at least a few times a day. I sat on my couch a few weeks ago and watched 4 episodes of Felicity in a row, so that I could mail the disc back and get a new one. It has become a major obsession and it’s not just me.

My friend, Jen, has been cemented to her couch watching every single episode of Homicide. (I know…I think it’s a little scary too). My friends have built queues of 60-70 movies. I mean think about it. Would they really rent these movies if they going to Blockbuster? I know that I wouldn’t rent half the documentaries in my queue if I had to pay for them. Maybe that’s the beauty of it. NetFlix allows you to expand into genres that you normally wouldn’t. It allows you to grow as a human being. It is here for the greater good of humankind. Or at least that will be my justification the next time I find myself chained to couch on a Saturday afternoon.

Just another Blog Entry

So, lovely Jen wants to know if I am posting again. I know. I suck. I am not sure why I have been such a slacker. I have started a bunch of posts, but they were not as interesting as I wanted them to be and so I deleted them.

This is an entry just to have one, but I promise there will be several that follow. So many that Jen's next comment will be "Enough already!"

Can I get some applause?

Last night was Neil Diamond. It was the culminating event of my birthday weekend and I was very excited. Got off to a bit of a rocky start--rushing home, barely changing clothes, running the carpool all over the North Side and then racing to the UC and getting there 40 minutes early. Nice to get there early, but I would have loved 5 minutes at home to brush my teeth and refresh myself a bit. No matter. Jen, my Mom and I ate something and headed to our seats at about 7:55 PM. The announcer told us that there would be no seating during the first song (which was never actually enforced, though it was a nice idea) and that the lights would end abruptly--which they did about 10 - 15 minutes later.

Neil opened with Crunchy Granola Suite—not a favorite of mine, but soon the show was rocking. He played some of my favorites (Play Me, Forever in Blue Jeans, Cherry Cherry, Cracklin’ Rosie, Soolaimon, I Am I Said…). We were clapping, swaying, singing and having fun…at least the 3 of us were. I think that someone accidentally sat us in the ”No Fun” section. Almost all of Section 308 sat through the whole show—even through America and some through Sweet Caroline. Seriously, it’s Neil Diamond. He is a little bit country, a little bit folk, a little bit Rock ‘n’ Roll, a little bit cheesy and a lot of fun. You are supposed to clap and dance and sing. Why go if you are not going to have fun?

Shout out to the 2 women in front of us—Section 308, Row 11—who did not once move or clap—not even at the end of a song to show appreciation. They uncrossed their arms only a few times to look through binoculars, but I don’t know why they bothered. It didn’t change their disposition at all.

Real shout out to the couple (not sure if it was straight girl and PGA or an actual couple) who were a few rows ahead and to the right of us. They danced and sang to every song…as it should be.

All in all though, Neil was a blast. Great show—even when we thought he was making out with his backup singer after “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” (she turned out to be one of the members of the band’s wife). Neil was all I thought that he would be and then some.

Random Things from the last few days…

• Thanks to my coworkers for the crazy video they made and the birthday celebration they put together on Friday afternoon. Had I known that it would be indicative of the celebrations to come, I may have tried to get a nap in—maybe eaten a Zone Bar.

• Spent 3-hours in a car with a friend I had lost touch with over the last few years. Aside from the traffic (and a mini-detour), it was a nice road trip—as nice as a trip can be when you are going to be with a friend who’s just lost her father. He sent me a Tom Stoppard quote he thought that I might like. Since he racked his brain a bit and probably exhausted Google, I thought that it at least deserved to be posted here. And so it is…”If Beethoven had been killed in a plane crash at the age of 22, the history of music would be totally different. As would the history of aviation." -Tom Stoppard

• No matter what the context, a young man in military dress playing taps on a bugle is bittersweet. It is beautiful and touching and heartbreaking all in one moment.

• People who buy old churches, make them their home and then turn the “living room” into an Irish Pub may be going to hell =0) Or, they may be friends of mine who threw a darn fine party over the weekend—complete with a blues band that rocked the church out of its foundation.

• Sunday afternoon proved to lead to an evening of debauchery. Complete with a guest appearance by “bad friends speech” guy; two friends of mine being put into cabs and put into bed before 10 PM; 5 Guinness Lunchboxes (not sure what others had); 2 other people celebrating their August 1st birthday at midnight with me and tons of laughter and fun. It ended with me sleeping through my dad’s 3:30 AM “this is when you were born phone call” and grudgingly answering his 6 AM “think I am being funny by calling my daughter again” phone call. All in all, I had a blast on Sunday.

• Monday morning, birthday breakfast of an Entenmann’s Crumb Donut was a lovely way to start the day. I saved the cards that had come in the mail for me so that I would have something to open…I am still a little kid that way. My mom came into the city and we went to see the Body Worlds exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. Strange exhibit, but excellent. I absolutely recommend it. Had an ice cream sundae before lunch, which is perfectly justifiable on your birthday. My mom conned the waiter into embarrassing me. I loved the gesture, didn’t like holding a sundae over my head. It turned out to be a perfect day.

• Last night, my friend Natalie bought me balloons, a card with my favorite Maya Angelou quote on it (The best part of life is not just surviving, but thriving -- with passion and compassion, and humor and style, and generosity and kindness.) and a beautiful spiral book of Maya’s quotes. Jen met me with a gift card for tea (and coffee—she checked) and a book…people came into the bar and bought me more drinks that I could ever consume in one evening—in fact, I think I have a credit at the bar. I looked around the room and thought that life doesn’t get better than this. I have friends who know me well enough to know my favorite quote and well enough to pick out the perfect present for me. I was really touched. My friends and family really made this weekend wonderful. I just wanted to say thank you to all of them.

• My Mom and Dad are probably the most generous, loving people I know. I am grateful to have them as my parents and wanted to thank them—they not only brought me into this world, but they have been there supporting me ever since.

• T-minus 5 hours and counting until...Neil Diamond!

Storm Troopers on a Monday?

I went to run a few errands yesterday during my lunch hour. After picking up lunch, buying some books and going to the bank, I decided to head back upstairs my office. It was then that I saw him! A Storm Trooper heading my way. Yes, that’s right. In the middle of lunch rush, in the middle of the Merchandise Mart, there was a Storm Trooper. For a brief moment, I teetered between being a 6-year old and being terrified of the guy and being a grown-up and wondering if I was hallucinating.

Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to Suffering…

Okay, yes, I am a Star Wars geek. I wanted to be a Jedi Knight when I was a kid. I have seen all the movies and I liked them all (Episodes IV, V and VI were the best), even though I really wish that George Lucas had rethought the whole Jar Jar Binks thing. If you ask my friend Scott, he will tell you that I am a bit obsessed and that I have a shrine to all that is Star Wars. A bit of an exaggeration…however, I will admit, the Storm Trooper peeked my curiosity. I wanted to know where he was headed and where he got the costume.

Nostalgia and other things

In 8 days, I will turn 29. Ouch. When I was 10 and still pretending that I was married to Ryne Sandberg (and that my name was Julie), I thought that 23 was old. In my little kid mind, 23 was the age that I would get married. 24 was when I would have my first kid. I would live in suburbia and raise my family and have the perfect life.

When I turned 23, I was going through a battery of medical tests. It was obvious that I couldn't meet my goals. There were other things going on. Or so that was my excuse.

When I turned 25, I had just moved to the city and I was discovering my singleton-self and enjoying life on my own. Or so that was my excuse.

When I turned 27, I was sad. My mom had me when she was 27 and I was wondering when I was going to catch up and get back on pace. I thought that it would all come together.

Now, I am brinking on 29 and I am still clueless. I look at my life and part of me is thrilled by what I have done and part of me is in a constant state of "wonder ifs."

I wonder if my college boyfriend and I had married. I wonder if I had gone to grad school after I graduated. I wonder if I had seen him for what he was instead of pretending he was nothing more than a transition. I wonder if I didn't let fear rule me. I wonder if I put $20 in my savings account each week. I wonder if I stayed home a bit longer. I wonder if I went to Consumer Economics class and learned how to budget and balance my checkbook. I wonder if it would be different if I had the courage to close the gap and take the risk.

I wonder where I would be. There are very few things in life that I regret. I choose to believe that everything in life is a lesson learned for the future. However, I regret that I lack courage to act on my feelings. I wish that I could just act instead of worrying about the outcome and the ramifications. I wish that I believed in myself a bit more. That I could say, I like you and want to be with you, without thinking that the other person would laugh at me. I wish that I could be as strong as I pretend that I am.

In 8 days, I turn 29. I wonder if I will have the strength to do something about it.

Another Day...and I did Laundry

So, I am a single girl in the city. I always thought that my life would be a pleasant mix of Bridget Jones (I am a bit klutzy and awkward) and Sex in the City (I enjoy a good cocktail and crazy nights on the town). However, after an exciting night of a burger that I “grilled” on my George Foreman, watching reruns with the help of my Tivo and doing laundry, I am beginning to wonder.

Don’t get me wrong. I have great friends and I usually have a ton of fun, but I think I am getting into a rut. It has been a while since I have dated anyone and I am not complaining – I don’t want to be that girl – but I think that I am approaching a crossroad and I am not sure what to do.

My friend, Matt, told me the other day that I am great girl. (P.S. The great girl speech is almost as bad as the friends speech). He told me that I needed to go out and meet people. He told me that the bar is the wrong place (really, because I thought slurring guys in striped shirts was the way to go). He did not tell me where to go though. I mean, really, where does one go to meet people? The bar? The library? The grocery store? Online? At the office? Where? I don’t want to sound like I am desperate and searching, but I am beginning to get curious. As we get older, how do we meet people? I mean, potential dating type people, since I seem to have no problems meeting and making new friends. There are three-minute dates, social clubs for religions, online dating services…all of those seem unnatural to me. But, what are the other options? I am sure that people are meeting and dating, given the number of weddings that I have attended in the last few years. I just don’t get the meeting part.

I don’t know. This is obviously not something that I am going to solve in one night…given that I have not solved it in 29 years.

On a random side note, congratulations to my friend, Tara, on her new job. Thankfully, she got it, even though she listed me as a reference. Also, I have posted the link to my friend Jen’s blog—Discombobulation Station. It is a great blog, as she is a great and witty writer. I hope that the three people that may be reading this go to her page check it out.

Swallowed the Jagged Little Pill

10 years ago, Jagged Little Pill was the CD that every girl owned. We embraced the "You Can't Do That On Television" alum as our voice. She wrote the words that we didn't have the courage to say and sang with the anger that we all felt at times. I was a sophomore in college and had just broken up with my first love. Alanis was my venting CD. I confess to playing the song with the extra lyrics about dancing in the shower a few too many times.

Flash forward 10 years... Since Alanis first found things ironic, a lot has happened in my life. I graduated college and began a career in the dreaded Corporate America. I moved to the big city with roommates and then into my own place. I owned my first car. I lost one of my best friends, Leon, a year after I graduated. My first love married. (That was harder than I would ever like to admit). Friends have come into my life and moved away.

I sit and think of all that has changed around me and I wonder why I still feel the same. I still feel like an insecure little kid; I still look at people and wish that I could get myself put together better; I still wonder what I am going to be when I grow up.

10 years older and I am revisiting the Jagged Little Pill of my younger years. Alanis has done the same thing. The lyrics are the same, but there is a serenity to the songs. They are beautiful and haunting. 10 years has changed us both and yet sometimes I think I am exactly the same. Only older and viewing life through slightly wiser eyes.

Drinking and Dialing

Last Sunday, a friend and I had one of those impromptu afternoons that leads to nothing but trouble. We started with Bloody Marys at our bar and then hit a street fest. Too much heat and too many beers from a cooler keg put us into fine form. Until we decided that people should join us and we started using my cell phone with a vengeance. What is it about alcohol that makes a person think the phone is something that he/she should be using?

It was bad enough when I was in college and I would stumble home drunk and use my dorm phone to call everyone I knew. (You could always tell a drinking night by looking at my phone bill…the calls would be 3:01 AM, 3:03 AM, 3:05 AM…) The advent of the cell phone made it worse. You no longer have to wait until you get home to make those fatal phone calls. The cell phone allows you to embarrass yourself while the night is still young.

I unfortunately have taken to drunk-typing as well. At first, it was emails. Embarrassing emails. Crazy long notes filled with thought-provoking pontifications—or so I thought. Emails that you find in your sent items a few days later and wish that you had never hit the “Send” button.

Then the text-messaging cell phones were invented and all hell broke loose. I remember when I first discovered the value of the text message. It was St. Patrick’s Day 2002 and we were barhopping after the parade. Since we were on the move, we used text messages to coordinate locations with people as they joined us throughout the day. It was a brilliantly funny, libation-filled day. It was also the beginning of the end for me. No longer can I trump the “drunk” excuse for dialing a person at 4 AM. Now I have to excuse away messages that I have no control over deleting.

I’ve come to realize that sometimes, I am funny after a few cocktails and that sometimes people do want to hear from me…though, sometimes, they really don’t want to talk to me either—at least not at 4:00 AM. I guess it is finding that happy medium.

PS: As it is I am writing this after a few (okay, several) libations.

My Sis

My sister's birthday was Thursday and I just wanted to wish her (belatedly, since I am writing this post early Saturday morning) a Happy Birthday. I was bummed that I was not able to spend her birthday with her -- she lives out of state.

My sis is one of the best people that I know. She is a beautiful, intelligent, warm-hearted person. She works hard at her job--and is great at it. She is a giving person and is there for anyone in need. For me, she is a voice of reason, support and friendship.

Anyway, I just wanted her to know that I was thinking of her and missing her. Happy Birthday Debs!!

My Dad's Accident

My dad was in a car accident today. We were driving separately to a family party—my cousin Glenn’s 40th birthday party. He was calling me every five minutes or so to give me traffic updates and directions. It was comical, because I was jamming to the new Alanis Morrisette acoustic Jagged Little Pill and I was constantly lowering it to answer the phone. After a bunch of calls, I finally answered the phone with the phrase: “I think you’re phone stalking me, Dad.” In the next second, I wished I had never said those words.

He said he had been in an accident and his car was wrecked. My heart sunk. In a meek voice that didn’t sound like my own, I asked him if he was okay. He said he was and then told me where he was and said I would see him and the ambulance and fire truck. I started driving to him. Wishing that my car would move faster. Wishing that there were not 4 more exits before my exit. I began to panic. My dad’s definition of okay often involves smashed fingers and separated shoulders. I had worst-case scenario visions swirling in my head. I could think of nothing but getting to him. The tears started flowing and I tried not to speed. The regret sank in and I began to think that if we were in the car together, as we were supposed to be, this wouldn’t have happened.

I just wanted to get there and hug him. I called my sister, because I was in such a state that I couldn’t remember the intersection. He hadn’t called her yet and my mom was with her. I told her that I needed to talk, but that she couldn’t say anything. I wanted my dad to be able to tell my mom. I told her that I needed her to be rational and to help me focus, so that I could get there. She calmed me in a way only a sister can. She also told my mom. In the background, I heard my mom call my dad as my sister talked to me. Then I saw the exit. A few miles down the road, I saw his car. Thankfully, the ambulance and the fire trucks were gone, because I am not sure I would have ever been able to see that.

I parked my car. Got out. Ran to my dad. I hugged him and made sure he was okay. Aside for some scrapes on his chin and a nice air bag abrasion the length of his arm, he seemed fine. My dad, the protector, kept telling me he was okay and that I shouldn’t worry. On my way there, I had called the party, talked to my aunt—my dad’s sister—and sent the party into a bit of a panic. Glenn and his brother left the party to come and check on my dad and to report to my aunt that he was all right. The police were there, sweeping up the glass. I asked my dad what had happened. A car had turned in front of him. He was able to turn his car enough to spare the other vehicle the brunt of the accident. It could have been so much worse.

After the paperwork was complete, my dad went to check on the other driver again. He wanted to make sure that he didn't worry. I love my dad for that—for his selflessness and his courage. I love his heart.

We went on to the party. My aunt and I fussed over my dad, which drove him a little crazy. As a family, we all seemed to appreciate each other a little more today. The whole thing was scary as hell, but it ended up okay. I am extremely grateful for that.

Tivo

I have been a fan of my Tivo ever since I bought it. I love “tivoing” random shows that I normally would’ve missed. I love Tivo picking out shows it thinks I would like – though admittedly, sometimes it is way off the mark and I wonder what kind of girl Tivo thinks that I am. I love being able to pause the TV and more importantly, fast forward through commercials. Overall, I have been a big fan of Tivo. You might even go so far as saying a bit addicted to it.

Today, I randomly went to the Tivo site. I wanted to check the time of tonight’s While You Were Out episode--a friend and her husband are the couple on the show. One of our mutual friends was going to set her VCR and tape the episode, since I tragically had forgotten to set the Tivo. I went through the online Tivo schedule and found the time / channel. It was then that I discovered Tivo Central Online. Did you know that you can program your Tivo from the Internet? Brilliant. I logged into the site, picked the show and the recording quality and received an email confirmation. In a sad comment on my social life these days, that might be the highlight of my week!

To Veterans with Love

I wanted to take a moment to honor those that made the Fourth of July possible and those that protect our freedoms today. My hope is that we never forget those that served our country especially the veterans of World War I & II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Persian Gulf War and the Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I hope we remember those that gave their lives so that we could be free. I hope that we never take for granted the democracy that our forefathers fought so hard to secure.

I extend my thanks to everyone in the military—past and present--for serving our country with strength and pride. A special thanks to those that fought in wars or “conflicts” that the people of their time did not understand or accept. How hard it must have been to leave everything that you knew and loved to fight in a faraway place because your country asked you. How much harder it must have been to return “home” to looks of scorn and indignation simply because you went.

It’s strange how the years blur the memories and people forget. A field trip to a memorial seems to make everything better. I wonder as they walk the tribute, if they pause to think about those living silently in their memories. The ones that carry the burden of loss and suffering like they used to carry their gear – on their backs and in silent agony. Do they realize these soldiers’ contributions and sacrifices? Do they understand?

All that we are and all that the future holds is because there were and are young men and women who believe in and are willing to die for our country, our freedom and our flag. That is nothing to take lightly.

On a personal note, I want to thank my Dad for serving his country when called to do so--it is your integrity and sense of duty that have always impressed me. You saw #35 come quickly in the winter of 1970 and without thought, fulfilled your duty to your country. I am honored and proud to have you as a dad.

We took a trip to DC as a family this summer and to experience the Wall with him is something that I will never forget. To see it through the eyes of someone who saw more than anyone should in one lifetime is to have your heart swell with pride and break at the same time. He is my hero. To him and all of the heroes and heroines of this great nation, I salute you.

Happy Fourth of July!

"A nation reveals itself not only by the men it produces, but also by the men it honors and the men it remembers." President John F. Kennedy (10/26/1963)

29 and Neil Diamond

I love Neil Diamond. There. I said it. Jazz Singer was the tape most played on family road trips. My sister, my cousin and I had an air guitar band that played Neil Diamond—of course, we also played Twisted Sister, Billy Joel, the Beastie Boys and Paula Abdul. Neil Diamond though…there was something about him. He was always the best. So here we are. It is the summer of my 29th birthday and I find myself feeling nostalgic and longing for the glory days—sorry for the obvious Springsteen reference. And so I am going to spend my birthday with Neil (well, okay, the day after my birthday).

I think the thing that I am most excited about is the flashback to my past. It is heading back to a time when things made sense. Life was about ice cream and slip n’ slides on a hot summer’s day and catching fireflies when the sun went down. It was a love of Star Wars and Space Camp. It was spending Friday nights popping popcorn with my Mom and watching Dallas. It was Cabbage Patch Kids and Pac Man and roller-skating and riding bikes. It was a time when you knew that your Dad was the most important man you would ever meet. It was a time when you believed that life would never get better; "I Love You" was something you said to the people in your life without even thinking; faith and trust was something that you had in everyone.

I know that Neil can’t bring that all back, but I look forward to rewinding time – if only for a few hours – and remembering all that is good and wonderful about life. And I am going to sing Cherry Cherry, Sweet Caroline, September Morn’, Hello Again and America at the top of my lungs with the people that remind me the most about all that is good – my mom and my friend Jen.

I want to stick it to the Cardinals

This has been one of those up and down Cubs seasons -- as per usual -- and the best thing has been Derek Lee. As a fan of baseball, I love him taunting me with his high 380's batting average. I wonder if it will go higher. Can he touch Ted Williams? I want him to get the Triple Crown. I think that would be fan-freaking-tabulous. I also want him to be an All-Star. I know. I know. It is a popularity contest. It is stupid. It is overrated. I have heard it all. I have probably said some of it too. I still want him to take the ballot. Pujols is good, but Lee is better this year. On a side note, he would be the first infielder to be voted to the All-Star Game from the Cubs since Ryne Sandberg. While Ryne was my "dress-up husband" as a kid, I stopped being "Julie Sandberg" long ago. (The story behind the name is fun for another day). I think it would be damn great to Lee get there. I know it would make me actually watch the game.

Now to the unnamed cynics (or truth-tellers) who have already told me I am crazy, I know I am. I know that he will lose the "popular" vote. The whole thing is silly. I mean, Nomar “ouch my groin” Garciaparra was leading the vote for a long time and he hasn’t played the better part of the season. But, I have been a Cubs fan my whole life -- we don't believe in reality. We believe that one year (usually next year) we will prove everyone wrong.

To quote the cute kid in Angels in the Outfield -- "It could happen!"


http://mlb.mlb.com/NASApp/mlb/news/article.jsp?ymd=20050626&content_id=1104506&vkey=news_mlb&fext=.jsp&c_id=mlb

Close Talker

The other day there was a guy on the L talking on his cell phone. Unfortunately, this is not really a rare event. However, most conscientious daily L riders try to hide the fact that they are using their phone. It is like they know that they are being the annoying L rider that they love to hate. Then there are the novices--those that are finding public transportation for the first time. He was one of them. He was on the L talking as loud as can be about how unbelievably crowded it was in the L. (It was the kind of crowded where you hope everyone is Sure!) He talked about how strange it was to be on this packed L while on his phone.

His friend must have asked him if he was getting dirty looks from people – he dumbly replied no. Apparently he didn’t see everyone staring at him in disbelief and rolling our eyes. He just kept right on talking. He thought it was funny that everyone could hear his conversation – yes, he actually said that. It was almost a surreal phenomenon to know that others were listening. He talked about his weekend plans. He apologized for missing a phone call. He talked about how he needed voice mail. How it drove everyone crazy that he didn’t have it. (He must be a popular guy). His sister is mad, because he doesn’t have voice mail. He wasn’t sure why he never set it up. I mean, “…it is as simple as going to the Cingular store.” On and on he went.

Thankfully, the announcement came up that we were at Belmont and I jumped off the L. Didn’t care that the early train switch would slow me down a bit. Just wanted to get away from the incessant chatter.

Was that the "friends" speech?

So, I admit it, I have read the He’s Just Not That Into You book. (It was funny, but nothing new. I am not an expert when it comes to guys. I have tons of guy friends. Guy friends, I get or at least, I don’t feel the need to overanalyze them. Anything else is a bit of a mystery.

There was a guy – he shall remain nameless, because he is a nice guy and this is not meant to be hurtful in any way. I thought he was fun to hang around--he fits into a group of my friends, so I had seen him a few times. There was something there, but no definition applied, which is perfectly okay for the summer. It was a random Sunday afternoon / evening where drinks flow and people dance just for the fun of it. On my way home (he walked me), he held my hand on occasion (I let him dictate that) and it was fine. Until he asked me if I had any feelings I had to discuss. What? Feelings? I have known you for a few weeks…what feelings? Not to be mean or anything, but it is a bit early to be having a feelings conversation….all of this I related to him. He seemed taken aback that as a female, I didn’t have feelings to discuss.

When we got to the door, I got this strange self-deprecating speech on intelligence (his) when it came to women and how he liked me and liked that we were friends. Emphasis on the friends word. I can’t really detail the speech here -- because I don’t think that is fair – and because I’m not sure I understood it. I had a confused look upon my face and finally asked him if this was the “friends” speech – I am still not sure of his answer, but am interpreting it to be that. So many things were weird about the whole encounter. I think that I told him that I had once been dumped in email by a guy I didn’t know I was dating (probably not a good example, but I was really tired at the time) and that was clearer than this entire conversation. Pretty harsh, but it was not intended to be. I let him off the hook by saying it was okay (whatever it is) and hugging him goodnight.

I went upstairs texting my friend, Jen, and vowing to write off men for the summer – which of course is not the truth, but merely a statement made for dramatic effect in my short text message. It was probably the shell shock of an entirely bizarre conversation that made me type it. I told my work friend (the one who encouraged the blog, so if it stinks, blame her) about this incident and asked her how as we get older, guys still mess up the “friends” speech.

Seriously. It is a 3-parter….”I think you are a really (INSERT COMPLIMENT HERE – nice, great, sweet, adorable, cute, friendly, amazing, hot…) girl / woman, BUT (INSERT EXCUSE HERE – I am not ready for a relationship, the timing is not right, I am bad at relationships, I’m moving to Yemen…) and I think we would be better off as friends.” Simple. To the point. Men have been giving this speech since the dawn of time; you would think they would have a genetic predisposition to it by now. Well, I guess I will see what the next encounter brings. Maybe it will make sense then. (I should mention now that I am a Cubs Fan, which means that I am eternally optimistic throughout everything).

Newbie

I actually never planned on blogging. I heard about people's blogs and the various degrees of addiction to them. I religiously read friends' web logs. I just never thought that it would be something for me. I have a friend (from my office) who is regaled by my life stories. (I’m not sure what that says about her). She is the one who gets to hear all about my crazy life as a “singleton” and the ridiculous things that I do or have happen to me. She is the one who told me it was time to write a book or at least put them on paper. So here we are.