This joke is all punch and no line

You’re only as popular as the number of people who come to your funeral

2011-01-20T20:31:00.000-08:00

Popularity is something most teenagers strive for. It’s a phenomenon that can’t be explained, but yet most people encourage. They want to fit in, they want to be admired. They want to be wanted. When you ask a senior in high school who the most popular person in school is, most likely he/she will say the quarterback of the football team or the cheerleader that can do the highest basket toss. Never will you hear the captain of the academic team or the secretary of the student council. At that moment in time, being popular seems like the end all be all. Then, if you so choose, you go off to college and realize that popularity is still alive, but comes in different shapes and sizes. No longer is it a given if you are the quarterback of the football team or the cheerleader that can do the highest basket toss. And in some cases, you might be popular if you are the captain of the academic team or running for student council. Social groups shift from sports to fraternities and sororities – a type of paid for organized gathering of late teens and early 20 somethings that are just trying to find themselves and don’t know anyone on campus. That’s what most frat boys or sorority girls will tell you. There is always the diamond in the rough - the guy who really wants to make a difference and the girl who is deeply concerned about sisterhood. At the end of the day, anyone who was in a fraternity or sorority won’t deny the truth when you ask if they were just trying to fit in. Once college is over, the big question becomes what next. Graduate school where I can learn more or perhaps avoid the inevitable? Mail room delivery guy making minimum wage? Business analyst otherwise known as a glorified administrative assistant who gets coffee and makes copies? It doesn’t really matter if you where a Sig Chi or a Chi Omega. You are at the bottom of the totem pole just like the drum major that sits in the cube next to you. You work long hours, you make friends that work long hours with you, and you throw back a few beers after work with those friends. It suddenly doesn’t matter who was popular in high school or college. You become determined to make a difference in the world because you are certain that you can. You head to the local watering hole on a Tuesday for $1 bottles because Lord knows you can’t afford anything else given that you spent your last paycheck on the outfit that you are wearing. The outfit that you bought that you know is going to land you the man of your dreams. What you forgot to recognize is that most mid 20 something men aren’t ready to settle down so you enjoy the ride. And one day it happens. The guy you’ve been looking for makes eye contact with you at the bar on a Wednesday for $3 imports and the rest is history. He thinks you are popular and you think he is just as popular. He has friends, you have friends, life is perfect. First comes love, then comes marriage. The planning, the preparation, the chaos. Who to invite, who to not invite. Chicken or beef? DJ or live band? You spend your family’s life savings on the gala event of the year inviting people that sit in the cube next to you and the sorority sister that you roomed with your senior year. You get the RSVPs and cannot believe that 450 will be attending your wedding. You are so lucky that so many people like you and want to see you share nuptials and profess your love for the other. Did you ever think that they were there for the overpriced filet and open bar? Of course you don’t want to believe that because that might imply that your friends are there for other reasons. And we all know the only reason they are there is to share in your special day. 450 people at your wedding – you have to be popular? Life goes on, you move to the suburbs, you lose contact with every single person that you’ve ever known that was at your wedding and you have a small tribe of children. You attend Girl Scout meetings and baseball games. You drive a minivan and volunteer at the hospital. You went from cheerleader to Chi O to president of the PTA. All of the moms adore you – you’re popular. So, you may be saying to yourself – that’s not me. I may have gone to the bar for $3 imports, but I wasn’t looking for the man of my dreams, I was just looking for a good time. And you my friend are a liar. Ok, ok – to be fair, you could have been looking for a good time with your lady friends, but underneath that tough layer of skin, you just wanted a cuddle. Maybe your life didn’t end up with a husband, a minivan, and a white picket fence. But, I’m positive that you have many other things going for you. You see, at night when you lay your head on your pillow, there is one thing that you should contemplate, not who you were in high school, or who you were in college, or who came to your wedding, but who will come to your funeral. If you are lucky and God doesn’t call on you or pull your number until much later in life, you have plenty of time to make a difference, get married, have children, get rich, volunteer, adopt a refugee, join the Peace Corps, help a blind person cross the street, open your own business, do whatever it takes to fulfill you. When it is all said and done, the people that will show up at your funeral aren’t those who you threw a pass to you in high school or rushed with you at Iowa or did the Electric Slide with you at your wedding reception. The people that will come to your funeral will be the ones that are there willing and able. Realistically, you might not be able to attend the funeral of a beloved because you can’t convince the van driver at the retirement village to take you, but you’ll be there in spirit nonetheless. Speaking from experience I went to the funeral of a woman that was not necessarily hated, but pretty much avoided by everyone in the neighborhood in which I grew up. When it came day down it, I drove 4 hours with my mother in tow to a wake/funeral for a woman who ultimately made a difference in my life. And you know that church was full of people who came there for her. She wasn’t rich, she wasn’t an entrepreneur, she wasn’t popular, she was a person. And that person had more people at her funeral than she did at her wedding. It’s not about what you do in high school, college, or your 20s. It’s about what you do with your life. And who comes to your funeral.

When sudden death brings sudden breath

2009-05-13T19:59:00.000-07:00

Nothing beats an overtime hockey game. The thrill, the suspense, the outcome if your team wins. Especially in the playoffs when the shootout is not an option. It's sudden death.

Hockey has always been a part of my life. Ever since I used to ride in the back of a station wagon to Peoria to see the mighty Rivermen. It was a bonding moment for my father and I. And the game I got my first puck, solidified my love for hockey. Not to mention all the violence.

I've been blessed with the luxury of playoff tickets in an extraordinary Hawks season. Game 4 of the Hawks Canucks series started off slow. And with only 3 minutes left in the game, the Canucks had a commanding 1-0 lead. Lucky for me and the over 20,000 other Hawks fans in attendance, Marty Havlat scored a goal in the final minutes to put the game into overtime. Sudden death overtime. And just like that, Andrew Ladd scores a goal and the series is tied at 2-2.

The pressure of sudden death can be suffocating unless one comes out victorous. With a victory, it's like you can breathe easier. This sudden death brought sudden breath for the Hawks who ultimately went on to win the series 4 games to 2 and is now waiting to see who their next opponent will be.

Although not as common, the sudden death concept runs outside the sporting arena.

Take a bad relationship for example. You can find yourself so deeply involved in a relationship that not only do you lose your friends, but you lose yourself. Hopefully, one day you come to your senses and you break it off, get a divorce, or seek counseling. And at the same time, a huge burden is lifted. And you find that with the death of this relationship, you find it easier to breathe.

On a lighter note, let's look at shoes. Everyone has that pair of shoes they just wish would go away. If only the heel would break or your dog would chew them up, it would be a blessing. Because you know you won't get rid of them until something happens. Until they die. And once they die, you can breathe a little easier. Because you don't have the guilt of getting rid of a pair of completely fine and wearable shoes.

Last and certainly not least, there's the pressure associated with jobs, careers, and staying afloat. With a recession comes job loss and with job loss comes a number of devastating events. But, if you've lost your job, if you can, for a moment, think about everything that you hated about that job. And how you deserved something bigger and better. As hard as it is to focus on the positive when you're worried about paying your mortgage, you've now been given the opportunity to find your dream job. With the death of an old job, you can breath in a new one.

There might not be more pressure than that associated with a sudden death overtime, but whatever sudden death is brought your way, remember to take a breath and enjoy the ride. Go Hawks!

Not . . .giving . . .up

2009-01-28T20:33:00.000-08:00

With the release of the movie Marley and Me, I felt compelled to read the book, carrying the same title, that my coworker gave me about 3 months ago. I think I was one of the few that hadn’t read it yet and probably the only person in the world that didn’t know the dog died at the end of the book.

The book basically tracks the life of a dog from beginning to end and incorporates how his family adjusts. At the end, the dog, in a catlike fashion, comes back from the dead on several occasions. Marley is simply not ready to leave this world. Until his final days, he gave it his all, doing the impossible, climbing steps, and schlepping through snow to find the perfect area to pee.

It’s probably safe to say that if each of us digs deep enough we’ll find a little Marley.

As I made the commute to work this morning on a packed “L”, an older gentleman, probably in his 60s, got on. I looked up, made eye contact, and could see that he didn’t want to sit down. So, I didn’t offer my seat. But, the girl next to me offered her seat to him. He immediately declined her offer. He wasn’t ready to accept the fact that he needed to sit on a train that takes turns at 55 mph. He could stand this one out.

Some mornings I take a class at the gym called Ultimate Toning. This class is a real butt kicker, but it’s great. This morning we had to hold a one minute plank on 5 occasions. To say that it was a challenge would be an understatement. The instructor kept saying “you can take a knee if you need to”. I wasn’t ready to take a knee. I needed to prove to myself that I could do it.

If you’ve ever breathed an ounce of life, you know the Dave Matthews Band. They’ve been around since ‘nam and have been touring since one year after ‘nam. I’m not sure when the last time was that they came out with an album, but I do know that they go on tour every year. And, every year they sell out concert after concert. They carry a passion for their music and they just aren’t ready to hang up the towel yet. They have a fan base, so why should they? Even though they’ve made enough money over the past few years on tour dates that they could lively happily ever after.

Perhaps you find yourself in a position where it would be much easier to just give up. You’ve been trying to have kids with your spouse for some time to no avail. You’ve been in long term relationship after long term relationship only to end up with a broken heart and without a marriage proposal. You spend countless hours on the job only to get passed up for promotion after promotion. You find yourself in a horrible marriage with no way out. You see bill after bill come in on a monthly basis while the direct deposits from your place of employment don’t seem to be on the rise.

When the everyday occurrences of life start to get you down, think about Marley. I think he might have been on to something when he raised hell everyday and took his time finding the perfect place to pee. Most of all, he never gave up when life started to weigh him down.

The Dirty Thirties

2009-01-28T19:48:00.000-08:00

When you are little, 30 seems old. You can’t imagine being that old. It must be so weird to be that old. Your parents are 30 for cryin’ out loud.

When I was 10, my mother turned 30. I vividly remember decorating the entire house in black. I’m talking black balloons on popsicle sticks lining the entire sidewalk which led from the house to the garage. “Thirty” nonsense everywhere. Looking back on it, black was probably not a good color choice considering my mother was recently divorced from her “high school sweetheart” aka my father, who cheated on her with some skank home wrecker. But, she took it all in stride. Just like she did everything in life. So what at 30 she was a single parent. She had a lot to be grateful for. 10 came and went for me and 30 came and went for her. Before I knew it I was 20 and she was 40. A lot happened in those ten years. I got a brother, she had a son. I got my driver’s license, she got gray hair. I went away to college, she learned what it was like to be a single parent of a 3 year old. At 20, I couldn’t imagine what it was like to have a bf let alone have a child.

Inevitably, 20 leads to 21. 21 means legally drinking. When you aren’t 21, it seems like you are never going to turn 21. Then, you turn 21 and you don’t understand the hype behind being 21 because you’ve been drinking illegally for years on a fake I.D.

The years between 21 and 30 can lead to many different outcomes. If you were a fan of Encyclopedia Brown books, you remember how you got to pick the ending by flipping to a particular page based on how you wanted the story to continue.

Life in your 20s takes on a similar presence.

Flip to page 312, you move to Ohio. Flip to page 343, you move to Florida. Flip to page 156, you get married. Flip to page 189, you call off your engagement. Flip to page 225, you have children. Flip to page 261, you stay on your birth control. Some decisions in your 20s can be much easier and less monumental. Stay in or go out. Take his call or let it go to voicemail. Buy those hot boots or wear the same ones you have been for years. You find out a lot about yourself in your 20s and before you know it, 30 is fast approaching.

As a recent inductee into the Dirty Thirties, I’m not sure what’s in store for me and I’m starting to realize that is the beauty of it. When I was 20, I was certain that I would be married with children and making 6 figures by 30. I can say that none of that is true and it’s ok. Maybe all of that will happen in my 30s but if it doesn’t that’s ok too. I’m just along for the ride. After all, age is just a number and everything happens for a reason. So far, nothing is really different at 30.

I still get carded (score!). It’s the little things.

It pays to be average

2008-07-14T20:38:00.000-07:00

Overachiever: one who achieves success over and above the standard or expected level especially at an early age

Stunner: one that stuns or is strikingly impressive especially in beauty or excellence

Average: being about midway between extremes

I’ve spent the majority of my life being an overachiever. I’d like to think that I was gifted the day I came out of the womb. I’m pretty sure I was walking at 3 months, feeding myself table food at 6 months, and potty trained at 9 months. Velcro shoes, who needed them. I was tying my shoes at age 1. Bedtime stories, I didn’t like them. I would read myself to sleep at age 2. By the time I was headed to kindergarten, I was an accomplished pianist.

If you don’t want to believe me, I can’t say I blame you. However, I can tell you that I did almost skip the 4^th grade and often found myself getting taken from class so that I could build things like gnome traps with other “gifted and talented” children. I guess our creativity needed challenged with silly arts and crafts.

Throughout junior high and high school, I managed a good balance between athletics and academics. I was always on the honor or high honor roll and played volleyball. I graduated #16 out of 246 students from Streator Township High School. Granted, it is Streator Township High School, but I’m still pretty proud of that accomplishment.

I left Streator at the age of 17 to go to Illinois State University where I wouldn’t settle for just a major in 4 years, but had to finish with 2 majors and a minor with a study abroad to Mexico thrown in there. A couple of years later, I realized that a Bachelors wasn’t enough and went back to school at DePaul University to get my MBA.

If you haven’t stopped reading by now, you are probably wondering when I’m going to stop talking about myself. Trust me, there’s a point to all of this.

Just as much as I’ve been an overachiever in life, I’ve never been much of a stunner. I was at the age of 3 before I started to grow hair on my head. I was often mistaken as my two boy cousins’ long lost third brother. By the time I reached second grade I had long blondish brown hair with a mouth full of buck teeth. It wasn’t until 6^th grade that I was able to get braces. I was supposed to have those on for only 2 years, but decided in the 18^th month of treatment to flip my bike over a skateboard ramp and rip off the entire first layer of the right side of my face on the sidewalk. No skin to stitch back together. That was 7^th grade and about the time my sight started to fail me. Glasses were in the near future. Come high school, my face had healed, my mouth had a retainer, and my eyes had glasses. Over the years, I had a tomboyish physique. I never really liked boys, but then again, they never really liked me. We would play sports together in the backyard and occasionally I would beat one of them up when they pushed me into the garage door during an intense game of Fight 21 Tip. Needless to say, I never got asked to any dances my freshman year of high school. I eventually stopped beating up boys and started swooning over them.

In Streator, we had this thing called Sadie Hawkin's. Most would call it Turnabout, but we called it Sadie Hawkin's. Who is Sadie Hawkin? I have no clue. But, I'm sure there is some story behind this stupid dance. Anyway, the "interesting" thing about this dance is that the girl asks the guy to go with her. Yeah, right. Some guy is going to go with me. Well, believe it or not, I found a guy with sucker writtten all over his forehead. He will remain nameless. You're welcome Chris last name rhymes with Aturn. I'm pretty sure he's living in a suburb of Streator now with his baby's mama so it's all good. Maybe he is married. Irrelevant. The point is that it took a while for some guy to take an interest to me.

And that was ok. The thought of sex, drugs, and rock and roll scared me at a young age. My mom would be so proud. Eventually, I got rid of the glasses, braces, and anything in between and became the beautiful swan that I am today. Maybe not quite a swan but a fat goose will do. Better than a stuffed one.

I made it past my teens to my roaring twenties to experience something that I never had before. Something called birth control and puberty made my boobs swell to the size of watermelons and suddenly I felt like a woman. My hips became birthing size and men started to notice me. Keep in mind, I was no Cindy Crawford, Scarlett Johanson, or Angelina Jolie (pick whatever timeframe is suitable). I was your average twenty something. The girl that went to keggers in hopes of finding the man of her dreams.

Over the years, I found myself as well as many other things. The whole time being average. And I must admit average is where it's at. I don't have two turn tables and a microphone, but I couldn't ask for a better place. I'm happy with who I am and gosh darnit people like me.

Living in a unisex world

2008-07-14T20:29:00.000-07:00

As a hip young successful professional female of the year 2008, I am one who believes in independence and equal rights. However, I am also a big fan of chivalry and pampering. I think it is safe to say that the majority of the female gender would agree with that statement.

At the same time, it is probably safe to say that some men still believe that all women should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. But, not to lump all men in that category, there are certainly others who want to be with a woman that can be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen but be a successful independent woman as well.

We live in a world divided by gender. Men are viewed and have views different than women. It’s the whole Mars/Venus, left brain/right brain thing. But, that’s how it’s supposed to be. If we were all alike, life would be boring. I mean, seriously, would you want to date someone just like you or be friends with someone just like you.

Over the years, I’m not sure if we’ve gotten lazy as a society or just more open minded.

We’ve begun to accept things that were once viewed as feminine to be metrosexual and things that were once viewed as masculine to be liberating.

Allow me to explain myself . . . .

Take the color pink. As a little girl, everything had to be pink. Your bedroom comforter, your backpack for 4^th grade, and your dress for school pictures. Now, if a guy strolls into a bar wearing a pink polo, he’s confident and secure with his masculinity.

Take sports and everything involved with them. I’ve been a tomboy all my life simply because I’m certain that my dad wanted a son and I’m the only child, but that’s besides the point. I played soccer when the guy to girl ratio was 8 to 2 and surprisingly the other girl on the field had more testicular fortitude than I. Nowadays, grown women play soccer for a living and win gold medals in the process.

Take bathrooms. In a sober state of mind, no civilized girl with any sort of dignity and class would step foot in a unisex bathroom let alone a unisex port o potty. But, we manage to do it without question when duty calls or enough booze has been served.

Take piercings. At one point in time, ears were the only things pierced. Furthermore, girls ears were the only thing pierced. At the ripe old age of 17, I went to Wisconsin Dells with my best high school gfs and came back with my belly button pierced. Why would anyone ever get their belly button pierced (let alone any other body part that might be normally covered by clothing)? Yet, men do it, women do it, and everyone is ok with it.

And last, but certainly not least, we have the one and only infamous trainwreck that we like to call Britney Spears. Not a girl, not yet a woman, she quickly became a pop phenom. Loved and cherished by all. All being boys and girls of all ages and sizes. I must admit, I wanted Brit Brit’s abs and those sexy moves that she had in that video with the snake. My first Britney CD came from a gay male friend. He hearted Britney and he wanted the world to know and see her talent.

Something a little more taboo, but the 600 pound elephant in the room, would be the subject of facial hair aka beards aka moustaches. Some men have them, some women don’t. Some women have them, some men don’t. Some companies have policies that don’t allow for men to have facial hair, but they don’t touch on the subject of women with facial hair. Company policy covers everything from open toed shoes to naps at desks, but I can guarantee you will not find one that addresses the issue of women with facial hair. It’s like the thing you can’t control. It’s like poison ivy after a weekend in the woods. But just like calamine lotion gets rid of poison ivy, a trusty razor gets rid of testy facial hair.

In the 80s Madonna sang about living in a material world. The boys with the cold hard cash are the objects of her affection. Not much has changed, but perhaps the year 2008 has moved from living in a material world to living in a unisex world. Maybe Madonna doesn’t sing about it, but I’m not afraid to ask . . . Are you a unisex girl (or boy)?

You're the meaning in my life

2008-06-11T20:33:00.000-07:00

To most, the sixth grade is all about braces, zits, first loves, and trying to find your place in a new school. In an attempt to find the most attainable yet underachieving social status the sixth grade had to offer, I decided to tryout for chorus at good ol NJHS. Now, if you know me, you know that I can't carry a tune, but I do like to sing and somehow know the lyrics to just about every song from country to heavy metal. I owe my knowledge of some of the most obscure lyrics to none other than a man named Mr. William Trelease. Mr. Trelease had a love for music that none of us in the sixth grade could or would ever understand. In music class, he would make us watch silly musicals like West Side Story, which I still quote to this day. When you're a Jet you're a Jet all the way from your first cigarette to your last dying day. Besides enlightening children through music, Mr. Trelease was also in charge of the intense tryout process for the sixth grade chorus. Although, I'm not sure how intense this process truly was because I'm pretty certain that everyone made it. Included in that everyone were my two bffs who I'm sure will be reading this blog and laughing all the while. You know that everytime you hear a Chicago song, you think of the best times we had in our short lived attempt to be America's next idols.

For whatever reason, Mr. Trelease had a love for Chicago - the band. If there was a song by Chicago, our sixth grade chorus was singing it at a school function. Which probably explains my admiration for a band that holds the same name of the city I call home. For whatever reason, Chicago songs inspired Mr. Trelease to teach the future of America that it was quite alright to express yourself through song. Even if it was a little weird to sing about love won and lost in the sixth grade.

It took me years to truly understand the purpose that Mr. Trelease served. It's obvious that he had some sort of influence on my life as I'm sitting at a computer twenty years after the fact typing about him when I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't even remember who I was. Sounds like a bad one night stand. But, it only seems appropriate that he wouldn't remember me or recognize me because we all know that I've turned into the beautiful swan that I am from the ugly duckling that I was. Or it could be simply because I've aged twenty years. Potato, potatoe.

About this time last year, I attended my little "big" brother's eighth grade graduation from good ol NJHS and who was there but none other than Mr. Trelease. However, this chorus direction would be his last as Mr. Trelease decided to hang up his piano and move on to the next chapter of his life. Teaching children was no longer his inspiration. He had some other purpose to serve.

I can't say that Mr. Trelease technically inspired me, but he did leave a mark. A mark in the form of Chicago lyrics. Chicago lyrics that I have no shame in quoting or belting out at the top of my lungs in a public place, perhaps after a few adult beverages. But, you know that everytime I hear Chicago or in most cases sing Chicago, I think of that man.

Mr. Trelease was inspired by music and teaching children. What inspires you? Is it your children, your job, your spouse, your family? Or is it something a bit more controversial like sex, drugs, rock, roll? Or is it your mistress, your secret, your addiction, your greed? Is it success, lying, cheating, philanthropy? What is it? Take a second and think about it. You might be surprised to find what is it that makes you sing "You're the meaning in my life, you're the inspiration"? And don't act like you don't know the words.

Big Girls Don't Cry

2008-01-31T22:12:00.001-08:00

A guilty pleasure is defined as something one considers pleasurable despite it being looked down upon by a majority, whatever that majority might be. Most guilty pleasures have something to do with music and/or television. Perhaps as a strong heterosexual male you have a burning desire to wax your eyebrows while listening to some Celine Dion. Or maybe as a sophisticated girlie girl you find something admirable about drinking boxed wine while watching the WWE.

At the mature age of 29, my most evident guilty pleasure is a show on the CW titled One Tree Hill. I’ve been addicted to this show since it first aired in 2003. Yes, it does take the #1 slot in my Tivo Season Pass Manager and rightfully so. A busy girl like me wants to be able to maintain her crazy social life of clubs and VIP parties while not missing one episode of this high quality show. I just don’t understand why after watching an episode (over and over again), Tivo asks if I would like to Delete Now. Is it crazy?

If you’ve never seen this brilliantly written show, let me give you a brief recap. It tracks the lives of main characters Lucas, Nathan, Brooke, Peyton, and Haley. When the show started, they were freshman in high school. Fast forward to Season 5 (currently being shown on the CW; check local listings for channel and time), they are mature young adults trying to find their way in the real world.

As I declined yet another club opening appearance to have a date with my Tivo, I realized that One Tree Hill is something more than just a show to me. It seems to be the only thing that on a constant basis, week after week, can make me cry. For a girl who once admitted that she was dead on the inside, routine sob fests are unheard of.

Sitting on my couch, with a box of Kleenex in one hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other, I whimpered as Lucas reminisced about his one true love, Peyton. And even though I told myself to stop crying, that it was a stupid teen drama, I ended up going through the entire supply of facial tissue, wishing that I would have splurged the extra twenty-five cents and invested in the ones with lotion.

I know as females it is socially acceptable for us to cry at just about anything. Romantic comedies, old people, babies, and even commercials with cute little puppies. But, in same cases, isn’t crying viewed as a sign of weakness?

There are things in life that are obviously worthy of tears. Things like marriage, divorce, life and death. You might also cry over broken things: a broken heart, a broken relationship, a broken heirloom, or a broken nose. Perhaps you had a bad day at the office, a bad commute, or a bad sandwich. Whatever it is, whatever happened, it was enough for you to shed tears.

With poignant music blaring from my iTunes, I reflected on various times in my life where I might have wept. The earliest one I can recall would be when I found out my parents were divorcing. At the time, it seemed heinous and uncalled for, but now I realize that my parents made the best decision for me and my family. Much of my teen years are a blur. I’m sure I cried over a boy or two and insignificant things like puberty and popularity. There were also deaths of grandparents and other loved ones as well as the birth of my little (now much bigger than I) brother. I remember being phased by few things in college. I slowly built a wall that a small army couldn’t take down.

Until . . . Friday, October 19, 2001. The day that some dude thought it would be a good idea to propose to a girl that a week before had her bags packed and ready to move out and move on. As he sat on one knee in the middle of Grant Park asking me to spend the rest of my life with him, all I could utter, with tears streaming down both cheeks, was “I don’t know”. Who says that to a marriage proposal? I guess a girl that was smart enough to know that he wasn’t Mr. Right.

Since then, I’ve bawled uncontrollably at my best friend’s wedding (not the movie, the real thing). I’ve sniffled at the funerals of many loved ones. I’ve sobbed when a friend has moved away. I’ve suppurated about new jobs, new opportunities, and new beginnings. And I have to admit, I don’t have an ounce of shame or guilt about any of it.
Whether they are tears of joy, pain, or sorrow, I guess it’s safe to say that like breathing and burping, it’s a natural body function. Whether you are a big girl or boy, don’t listen to the Four Season or Fergie, its ok to cry.

To believe or not to believe

2007-11-15T17:57:00.000-08:00

In life, there are things that we want to believe and there are things that we don’t want to believe. Obvious statement I suppose.

We want to believe that there is a Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, and Tooth Fairy. We want to believe that good prevails over evil. We want to believe that there are things like freedom, world peace, and karma.

Perhaps what you don’t want to believe hits closer to home. For example, you don’t want to believe that your wife is a lesbian even though she looks like Rosie O’Donnell. You don’t want to believe that he’s just not that into you even though he hasn’t called in 5 days. You don’t want to believe that you are at a dead end job even though your boss continues to hire people instead of promoting you. You don’t want to believe that you are getting old, going bald, and packing on the pounds even though your knees hurt when you walk, you no longer need a hairbrush, and you can’t squeeze into your jeans anymore. You don’t want to believe that you got pregnant from that awful one night stand whose name you don’t remember even though you are two weeks late and your at home pregnancy test said you are.

As el patrons, we want to believe that there is going to be a seat during rush hour. We want to believe that the person who has his iPod on maximum volume for all to hear really is indeed tone deaf. We want to believe that the person who continues to ram her backpack in our backside is really that ignorant. We want to believe that there are going to be no delays and that the evening commute is going to be smooth sailing. We want to believe that the person who is standing, not holding on to anything, yet flaying around, has never ridden a train before. We want to believe that the young gentleman will give his seat to an elderly woman. We want to believe that the state is going to continue to give the CTA money and that rates aren’t going to change even though it’s downright inexpensive to ride the train the way it is if you think about the price of gas and parking.

As Chicagoans, especially at this time of year, we don’t want to believe that winter is just around the corner. We have hit the middle of November. Highs only reach about 45 and Northern Indiana had their first lake effect snow of the season. Don’t get me wrong, I do find it to be humorous when I see someone not wearing a jacket or even wearing shorts. However, cold and flu season is upon us and viruses are abundant. You might want to think about grabbing your scarf or putting on some sweats the next time you head out the door.

As a believer in many things that are probably not worthy of believing, make sure that you are choosing the right things to believe and not believe. There is a big difference between fantasy and reality. Let me be the first to say, it’s time to put away the flip flops and bring out the weatherproof boots.

The Ex Factor

2007-11-15T17:49:00.000-08:00

The year was 2001 and a sweet, innocent, mature young woman from the small secluded town of Streator, IL was about to embark on an adventure of a lifetime. She was moving from the big city of Bloomington, IL to the much bigger suburb of Mt. Prospect, IL. She lived in sin with her tubby bald headed boyfriend and everything was just peachy keen. She started a job at a fancy Fortune 500 company and her future looked bright. One day her not so bright boyfriend thought it would be a good idea to propose to her and promise a lifetime of happily ever afters. She agreed, after saying I don’t know first, and the wedding planning began. A date was picked, friends and family were notified, and feet began to drop in temperature. Shortly thereafter, about 7 months later, she finally got the courage to call it quits and moved out and on with her life as a single, hip, outgoing young woman from the small secluded town of Streator, IL about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime.

Single life wasn’t easy, but she was finding it enjoyable, eventually getting her own apartment and back on her feet which had now reached room temperature again. Her career was taking off and she was traveling to exotic places like Puerto Rico to manage accounts. Upon return of one of these business trips, she had a message on her answering machine from a young gentleman asking for a callback. She didn’t recognize the name or voice, but curiosity got the best of her and she called him back. After much conversation, it became abundantly clear that he was trying to recruit her to be on a reality TV show. None of it really made sense and she couldn’t put the pieces together, but proceeded with the question and answer session. After a couple of interviews, he called her back and said that he wanted her to fly to LA for a final casting call. There were a lot of things that needed to be kept secret and she just wasn’t comfortable with it, so she passed on the opportunity.

About four months later, as she was driving to work, listening to her morning gossip show, she learned that this seasons Big Brother was going to include a new dynamic. If you’ve never heard of Big Brother, it is a television reality show that locks a bunch of people in a house and videotapes their every move. There is the typical backstabbing and physical challenges. The last one standing wins $500,000. The big twist to Season 4 of Big Brother was the Ex Factor. As she almost wrecked her car for the fifth time in as many months, it all became vividly clear. At one point in time, her now ex fiancé was trying to get on a reality show, namely Big Brother. His name had resurfaced for the new season’s auditions and what better drama to add than an ex fiancé as an ex factor. Of course, he was all excited about it because he was from CA and looking for his 15 seconds of fame. All she could think about is how humiliating it would have been had she actually ended up on that show in front of millions battling it out with her ex fiance.

At this moment in time, I would like to ask my devoted readers to brace themselves for some shocking news. I’m talking off the charts, holy crap, I can’t believe it shocking news. The ‘she’ that is repeatedly referred to in this story is indeed me. I was almost suckered into airing my dirty laundry on national television.

Several months after the revelation that my ex was trying to exploit me, I did get an email from him. Of course, it was something along the lines of you blew my chance at $500,000. Like his dumb arse would have won.

Exes are exes for a reason, but they always seem to have some way of coming back or re-entering your life. In most cases, it isn’t probably through a reality TV show audition, but maybe you bump into them at the grocery store, a street festival, or even a mutual friend’s wedding. The greeting is most likely awkward and brief. If your relationship ended amicably, perhaps they feel the need to send you birthday greetings, keep you in the loop on happenings with your one time mutual friends that they got in the divorce, or call you when “your song” comes on the radio.

At the end of the day, no matter how you look at it, they are still your exes and for that simple reason alone, you don’t owe them a damn thing. If it isn’t their guilt talking, there is probably something in it for them. Delete their email, avoid their phone calls, and remove them from your Top Friends. And even though you don’t want to hear it, there are more fish in the sea.

DB

2007-10-02T16:10:00.000-07:00

If DB are your initials, let me go ahead and apologize. In no way, shape, or form am I trying to insult you or imply anything.

However, if you are one of the following, I am completely, 100%, totally trying to offend, outrage, and downright dis you (in no particular order):

The guy at the INDOOR bar, that kept is sunglasses on throughout the Bears game

The guy that paid a bachelorette $100 for a necklace made of candy penises

The guy who insisted on doing shots with a group of girls then leaving them with the tab

The guy who refers to himself not only in the third person but in the third person by his last name

The guy who flexes and admires himself in a full length mirror

The guy who claims that a girl can't play any sport because after all she is a girl

The guy who refuses to talk about his occupation because he thinks it is too high profile

The guy who hosts E News

The guy who gives a $5 tip to the bartender who is working for free and charity

The guy who bought a ticket to the Spice Girls concert that sold out in 38 seconds

The guy who drives a Yellow Lamborghini, has hair plugs, bought his 24 year old gf, and has a tiny tiny penis

They guy who thought he wouldn't get caught while not covering his tracks and dating 3 girls at one time

The guy who asks a girl out on a date and then expects her to pay

And that is just naming a few

No matter how you look at it that guy is a DB!

Bold Moves

2007-09-18T19:32:00.000-07:00

Not blogging for a while and keeping my fan base in suspense is indeed a Bold Move. My most sincere apologies, but I promise I'm back on the blogging wagon and ready to spill my guts about everyday shenanigans that perhaps some aren't comfortable to talk about.

As the Chicago air begins to turn from hot and humid to crisp and cool, my fellow Chicagoans have begun to pull out their sweaters and pants. Slowly, we've begun to box up our tube tops and flip flops. Of course, today was a bit out of the norm, but last week was a sure sign that fall is just around the corner. So, as I got ready for work, I decided to pull out my librarian sweater. A 28 year old young executive wearing a librarian sweater. Bold Move?

As I stood on the platform, waiting for the el on this blustery morning, I noticed a young chap sporting a collared sweater of a maroonish red color. Of course, this display of fashion bravery caught my attention and much to my dismay, as I made my way down to his bottoms, he was wearing none other than pinstriped pants. That is a sign of a fearless man. And, to top it off, the sweater perfectly matched the color of the pinstripe within his pant. Needless to say, I was impressed. A man who looked to be in his late 20s wearing maroon colored pinstriped pants. Bold Move?

A few months ago, I witnessed a young man get completely rejected by a girl that was obviously out of his league. I was at a Cubs game, in the bleachers, with my little brother. Yes, I know, he's not that little. The pictures are proof and he is a freshman in high school. But, what he was about to experience was one of many learning opportunities that I'm sure he'll get throughout his adolescence. Sitting next to us were two girls, I would venture to guess they were in their early 20s, probably hadn't eaten a full meal in weeks let alone a hot dog from the concession stand. A couple of rows behind us was a guy, probably late 20s, drunk, and ready for action. These girls had him believing that he had a chance and of course all they were interested in where his ability to buy them beer. They decided they had to go the bathroom and of course he came down to save their seats. They wanted his hat and of course he gave it to them. And finally, he went in for the kill, he asked for the digits. And these girls being these girls, gave up a number. Whether or not it was fake, I'll never know, but as I sat there feeling sorry for this guy, I thought, good for him. An average Joe asking a girl who is way out of his league for her digits. Bold Move?

Finding your soul mate seems to be a hot item on almost every one's agenda these days. And how you go about finding that special someone is truly up to you. The world wide web has brought us online dating sites like match.com and eharmony.com. Others might choose more conventional methods like being introduced by a friend or buying a drink at a bar. Something in between might be joining a club or gym. The concept of engaging in adult conversation with a complete stranger comes easier to some than others. At the end of the day, you don't know if it's going to work out and you'll never know, even if you take time to analyze the situation from every direction possible. So, you jump on the horse, take a chance, and see what happens. You are officially looking for love. A popular socialite putting her profile on match.com and winking at someone who loves to read Popular Science. Bold Move?

Ford has recently adopted the tag line Bold Moves in an attempt to stimulate your inner bad boy so that you will go out and buy a Fusion. Not necessarily my idea of a Bold Move. Fashion is about Bold Moves. Dating is about Bold Moves. Life in general is about Bold Moves. Bring on the Bold Moves.

Summer anatomy

2007-07-20T10:05:00.000-07:00

I love Chicago for many reasons, but one of the best things about Chicago is the people watching. No matter where you’re at, there is always someone to ogle and more importantly, critique.

With the season of summer comes the season of everyone wearing fewer clothes. Normally, I wouldn’t complain about this phenomenon except that there are a lot of people that should be wearing more clothes.

First, let us focus on the man boobs and beer bellies. Gentlemen, the ladies know that you have an ego and they also know that you think fondly of yourself. However, not all of you were blessed with David Beckham’s pectorals and/or Ryan Reynolds abs. As a result, please refrain from taking off your T-shirts in public places and for god’s sake don’t even think about going to the beach. I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say that your pasty white skin will burn crispy. And that’s just unfortunate for everyone.

Now, let’s move to the more important muffin tops and bread loaves. Women, the gentlemen know that you like to show skin and you think that it’s sexy. However, not all of you were blessed with Jessica Biel abs and/or Cameron Diaz thighs. As a result, please trade in your mini skirt for some Bermuda shorts and some Bermuda shorts that fit. None of this stuff that hangs over the top of your bottoms. Let me further explain in case you aren’t familiar with the terminology. Muffin tops refer to the fat that hangs over the top of women’s bottoms. Wikipedia describes it as when a flabby midsection spills over the waistline of your pants in a manner that resembles the top of a muffin spilling over its casing. Now, if you are a woman with any sort of intelligence you know that you can easily get rid of that problem by buying shorts/pants/skirts that fit. It is not rocket science or an incurable disease. And please take note that when your bottoms are way to small, like to the extreme, those muffin tops become something that I like to refer to as loaves of bread. Muffin tops are usually visible on the side of the woman. Loaves of bread . . . those are easily spotted from the front and back. Some people call those rolls, I like to refer to them as loaves of bread.

Summer is half over (BOO!). The good news is that if not ever Chicagoan gets a chance to read this and acts proactively, we only have another month and a half or so to deal with summer anatomy. Bring on the turtlenecks and oversized sweaters.

Personal Space Invasion

2007-07-20T10:04:00.000-07:00

I know that I write a lot about the “L”, but unfortunately I spend a lot of time on the “L”. I have to admit, it does provide some good material. And it’s a cheap and usually efficient means of transportation.

The people on the “L” are a diverse group. Depending on what color line you take, the group can vary. But, one thing is for certain; all lines have smelly people who act as if they’ve never ridden the “L” before. I’m not saying that if you smell you’ve never ridden the train before and vice versa, but usually on a daily basis those two characters are represented in one way, shape, or form on the “L”.

As I made my daily commute into work, I once again had to stand, briefcase between my legs and lunch bag in hand. As more and more people pack on my train car, a nice gentleman thought that it would be a good idea to not brush his teeth, eat a can of sardines for breakfast, and breathe in my face the entire ride. Now, you might say, dork, move out of the path of his rank exhale. Unfortunately, the train was so packed that there was no avoiding it. As if that wasn’t enough, the girl that stood behind me thought that it would be a good idea to bounce off my buns of steel the whole ride. It was like she was drunk and swaying at 7 am. I was jealous!

The next day, same scenario, packed train. Except today, I got the man who decided today would be the day he would take up pole dancing. So, as he tried to “keep his balance” while the train twisted and turned through Lakeview, Lincoln Park, and Old Town, I got some free rubs from his hot, wool, itchy suit jacket. That seems like a practical thing to wear on a day where highs reached into 90 degrees with 100% humidity. He also thought that wearing that jacket with a striped long sleeve button shirt with some acid washed blue jeans was a good idea too. Fashion fine!

Fast forward to today, I’m stuck on a smelly plane on the runway in Detroit because of some so called thunderstorms in Chicago. The guy next to me bought his eau de cat pee at the airport convenient store for $5.00 because he wanted to smell nice for his lady friend when he arrives in Chicago. The guy on the other side decided to humor himself with Arrested Development DVDs (great show) but laughed aloud at every scene. All the while, there are 4 armrests for 3 people and you can guess how many they decided to offer me . . . zero. Add to that, the reclined seat in front of me that now has my laptop monitor showed up my nose. Economy Plus is SO worth it!

I think we all value our personal space - whether it’s on a train, plane, or with life in general. Not all invasion of personal space is a bad thing, like spooning with your beau, kissing with your gf, or hugging with your long lost friend. But, when it appears like you are being smothered and you have nowhere to go, take a deep breath. Most likely, the smelly, pole dancing, butt bumping, space invading individual will get off at the next stop, the delayed plane with the smelly, incoherent, rude, space invading individuals will take off in 30 minutes, and you can regroup with the good kind of personal space invasion.

Size of your American Tourister

2007-07-11T11:10:00.001-07:00

As a child, I would spend every Easter holiday in Florida at my great grandmother's house. Besides the trips to Walt Disney World, I have many wonderful memories from the Sunshine State. However, one memory that sticks out most didn't take place in Orlando, but back home as we got ready for our big family vacation. Every year, my mother would go to the basement and pull out the suitcases. As she opened the hardside light blue American Tourister, the aroma of mothballs would fill the room. This annual getaway was the only time that suitcase was used.

Of course, there were 3 of us and 2 suitcases so my mom and I would end up sharing the big one. Going to Florida doesn't require much more packing than a swimsuit and some shorts, but we always managed to fill that suitcase to the rim. We would have to sit on it to close it and then quickly slide the metal bars over to lock it. Definitely left no room for souvenirs. But, it was ok, because we always drove, leaving room in the trunk or back seat for other miscellaneous items.

At 9, a suitcase was a means to get lots of clothes from home to a vacation destination.

At 28, a suitcase is a means for carrying what happened to you in past relationships as you try to successfully move on to new ones.

Remember when dating in high school seemed so complex. You couldn't understand why your boyfriend wasn't ready to give you his class ring or your girlfriend wasn't ready to give "it" up. Most likely, your date to senior prom had one girlfriend before you and she really didn't count. But, you were sure that he was still in love with her. You just might have to write her a nasty note in Geometry, letting her know that she better stay away from your man.
After graduation, you come to your senses, apology to the girl, and dump the guy. You are going away to college and he will soon be a distant memory.

In college, there was no such thing as dating. You paid $3 for a cup at a keg party, got silly drunk, and picked the cutest boy to make out with in the corner. You exchanged numbers and he would call your dorm room in a couple of days to let you know where the next kegger is. Of course, you'll go, but nothing comes of it. You soon realize that "dating" is overrated and enjoy your life as an independent single college student. Perhaps around your junior year, when guys seem to have more money to spend on you, you go on dates to fancy places like Bennigan's and Olive Garden. By the end of your senior year, you are going to even fancier places like Outback Steakhouse. As you and your beau are enjoying an Awesome Blossom, you realize that he's "the one." You graduate, take a job in Chicago, and he goes back to Ohio. You do the long distance thing and are sure that one day you will be married.

Within a year, you discover that there is so much more to life than 6 hour drives and delayed flights. You decide that this relationship isn't working and you break up. You start going to wristband parties where dudes in their early 20s hang out. You keep up to date on all the latest fashion. You meet guys at bars and they call after 5 days (not to appear to be too interested). You go on dates to fancy Italian restaurants with names you can't pronounce. Furthermore, you go on dates to places that don't serve alcohol. You get your first boyfriend post college and are sure that one day you will be married.

Soon enough, you realize that this guy is a complete loser and going nowhere in life. You have goals, dreams, and aspirations that he'll never ever have. You are going in opposite directions and that means you are going to do your own thing. There's nothing wrong with him, he's a great guy, but he's not the guy for you. So, you enter your late 20s single and fabulous. By now, you've experienced everything. You've dated the bartender, the drummer, the entrepreneur, the unemployed, the homeless, the professional, among others. And you know what you want.

But, you've failed to notice that thing that seems to follow you everywhere. That thing that is better known as baggage. And just when you think you've found the perfect guy, you realize that he's carrying something similar to what's following you. He's got his own baggage. Baggage comes in all shapes and sizes. Perhaps you're damaged from the guy in high school that broke your heart or the girl in college that left you at the party. Or maybe it's more recent like the guy who called you fat or the girl who said you have inadequate anatomy.

Before you jump into the next relationship, take a moment and think about what size of American Tourister hardside light blue suitcase you need to carry around all the history that you've got. If you acknowledge it, deal with it, and find closure, maybe one day, you'll be able to downgrade to a carry-on.

Obsession

2007-07-08T19:35:00.000-07:00

You are an obsession, you're my obsession. An awesomely bad 80s tune by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Animotion. The song is quite absurd, referring frequently to the necessary change one is willing to endure in order to get the other. I'm pretty sure that you now have the song stuck in your head.

We live in a gluttonous society that is obsessed with a multitude of items - food, booze, success, celebrities, kids, love. As much as you most likely don't want to admit it and perhaps haven't recognized, you are obsessed with something.

You could be the individual that is obsessed with something that you don't have. For example, you might be the person who stands at the checkout in the grocery store, reading the gossip magazines, trying to figure out if Nicole Richie is indeed pregnant with Hillary Duff's ex-boyfriend's baby, whatever his name is. Or, maybe you are the person who would do anything to look like Nicole Richie (pre pregnancy obviously), so you stop eating and start the latest Hollywood fad diet. Or, maybe you are the hopeless romantic, that wishes you had a boyfriend like your best friend's, so you join match.com in an effort to find love.

On the other hand, you could be the individual that is obsessed with something that you do have. For example, you might be the person that goes to the gym everyday and if you miss one day, you are extremely disappointed in yourself. Or, maybe you are the person who loves to be on the scene and part of the in crowd, so you go out every night and drink vodka until you puke. Or, maybe you are the person that loves to eat fried food, so you go to McDonald's everyday for a Big Mac with fries.

Perhaps the term obsession is given a bad rep. Having an obsession isn't always a bad thing. Just make sure you are obsessing over the things that are healthy and important.

Turn down the makeup

2007-06-28T08:09:00.000-07:00

As I stood on the "L", watching more and more people cram in, I became face to face with a horrific sight - the girl with two inches of makeup. Granted, I'm not a makeup wearing girl, so it's easy for me to judge, but now I understand what has become every man's worse nightmare.

Default to the bar scene. Guy spots Hot Chic from afar. Guy does a couple of shots with buddies before heading over to Hot Chic to engage in what is sure to be intellectual and enlightening conversation. Hot Chic is intrigued by Guy and decides to invite Guy back to her place for a nightcap. Guy, of course, eagerly accepts and when the bar makes last call, the newly acquainted couple slam one more shot, properly adjust their beer goggles, and head out to Hot Chic's place.

Guy has officially succumbed to Hot Chic and is now at Hot Chic's mercy. Guy's wondering how long it will take - how many more drinks and how much talking - before he has Hot Chic in bed with her clothes off. Hot Chic, not wanting to wake up in the morning with rings around her eyes and a zit on her chin, decides to perform her nightly routine - brush her teeth, take out her contacts, and most importantly wash her face. What happens next, I will leave up to you. Does Guy get Hot Chic? Does Hot Chic pass out? For this story, it's irrelevant. Fast forward to 6 am when Guy wakes up next to Hot Chic who is not so hot anymore. Enter Coyote Ugly. Guy slowly pulls arm out from underneath Chic, careful not to wake her, heads out the back door, and hails the nearest cab.

Two hours later, Chic wakes up wondering if anyone got the license plate of the bus that hit her. As she gets her bearings together, she rolls over and realizes that Guy is gone. Where is Guy? Chic is certain that Guy is in the kitchen making her breakfast. Chic waits, but doesn't hear a thing. If Guy's not making her breakfast, he must have gone out to pick up Starbucks for them. Thirty minutes later, Chic's hangover kicks in and Guy is nowhere to be found. Let the Guy bashing begin. Chic calls her closest gfs for a greasy bunch at the local diner and tells, what is of course, her side of the story. "So, I met Guy last night in the bar and he was sooooo nice. Guy bought me drinks all night and we were having a great time. Guy came back to my place with me and we talked until the wee hours of the morning. We blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, and I wake up this morning and Guy is gone. Seriously . . . WTF!" Quickly, Chic's gfs being great gfs agree and join in on the Guy bashing because Guy is obviously a jerk.

Makeup is an item that is meant to enhance the god given features of a woman. When you get into the business of using makeup to drastically alter your appearance, so much that someone can not recognize you without it, perhaps Guy isn't really a jerk because he snuck out before you woke up. You might need to be the one to turn down the makeup sweetie.

All good things must come to an end

2007-06-07T17:50:00.001-07:00

Over the past few weeks, a lot of life changing events have occurred. I'm not talking about Paris Hilton going to jail, Alec Baldwin calling his daughter a fat pig, or Lindsay Lohan going to rehab (again!).

On May 22, 2007, my BFF welcomed the birth of a beautiful baby boy named Evan. Now, as a surrogate aunt, I might be a little biased, but he is the handsomest baby ever. And I think it is rather appropriate that he wear a onesie that states "If you think I'm cute, you should see my aunt." The birth of Evan is a joyous event that I am blessed to have been a part of. Granted, I wasn't in the birthing room and after seeing Knocked Up, I'm not sure that I would have wanted to be in there anyway. But, to be there the night before and be one of the first at the hospital the next day was amazing. To see a life so tiny, so precious, so pure, words can not describe. Earlier that morning as Maddy, big sister, and I were at the playground waiting for Evan's arrival, we talked about what having a brother was going to be like. Mind you, she is 4. She said that he would have a lot to learn here. But, she thought that she could teach him a thing or two like how to swing and blow bubbles. I knew he was in good hands.

She was ready for it to be over, and after a long 9 months, my BFF's pregnancy had come to an end and she was able to bring home her newest bundle of joy.

On May 31, 2007, my little bro took part in an 8th grade graduation ceremony. Now, as a big sister, I might be biased, but he is the smartest 14 year old around. And one of the tallest. At about 6 feet tall, you can imagine that he hovers over many of his classmates, if not all of them. He's a big boy with a big heart that will soon be headed to high school. If you can do the math, you can figure out that I've got about 15 years on him, so I've practically raised him myself. And I couldn't be a prouder big sister than I was that night when they announced his name, two middle names and all, as a graduate from Northlawn Junior High School, the same school I graduated from in 1992. I know that graduation was just one of at least three that I will have the honor to attend over the next several years. For now, he'll enjoy his summer, playing with his friends, detasselling, and visiting his big sister in Chicago.

He was ready for it to be over and before he knew it, 8th grade was over, junior high had come to an end.

On June 6, 2007, I completed my MBA. After thinking I was done with classes on several different occasions, it's official. I pick up my cap and gown next week and the following weekend I'll partake in the DePaul graduation ceremony at Allstate Arena. In May 2000, I graduated undergrad from Illinois State University and thought that graduate school wasn't for me. I was a bookworm my whole life, thanks to many trips to the library at a young age and an incredible desire to learn. As a little girl, you envision a normal pattern of life. Or what you think to be normal at 7. You get good grades, go to college, get married, and have babies. You never considered graduate school and I'm pretty sure that the MBA didn't exist when I was 7. But, I realized a couple of years ago that I still have that desire to learn more. I started studying for the GMAT, applied to various schools, took out student loans (again!) and enrolled at DePaul.

I was ready for it to be over, and after two grueling years (so worth it!), the weeknight/weekend classes have come to an end.

On June 8, 2007, I will be getting a divorce . . . from my work husband. Before you ask, my lawyer has negotiated a rather favorable deal and I get to keep everything from the electronic pencil sharpener to the Dwight bobblehead doll. My work husband is a guy who I've gotten to know over the past several years and a guy who I consider to be one of my BFFs. He knows a lot about me that many may not (he will take that to the grave) and has taught me so much about not only life, but myself. I can't explain how it happened, but we instantly had a bond, that most likely grew over beach volleyball, jagerbombs, and lunch at the mall food court. In May of last year, he proposed to his gf who lives in MN and I knew it was over. I was happy for him because it was a new beginning for he and his gf (now fiance). But, that most likely meant he was moving to MN. Over the past year, we've drifted apart, knowing fully what's to come, but all the while talking everyday, making fun of unfortunate coworkers, and burning each other CDs of really rad mixes. He's seen me break up with boys and have my heart broken by boys. And every step of the way, he's been there for me. But, tomorrow, is his last day at The Warranty Group and next Wednesday he will drive to MN to start a new life with a new job and his fiance.

He was ready for it to be over, and after an intense 6 month job search with many ups and downs, his life in IL has come to an end.

All good things must come to an end. As one door closes another opens. With every good thing in life comes opportunity. Cory has the chance to drink again, but more importantly she gets to hold an infant child again. Riley has the chance to go to homecoming dances and play football, but more importantly he gets the chance to learn more. I have the chance to spend more time with my friends, but more importantly I get to further my career with my MBA. And Dave, he has the chance to live in the "Land of 10,000 Lakes", but more importantly he gets to start a new life with his one true love.

Life is too short to dance with ugly men

2007-06-07T17:29:00.000-07:00

Yes . . . I said it. Now before you call me shallow and superficial, you know that I'm saying what you're thinking. You just didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings or perhaps you don't have the guts to say it.

Having that said, beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder. And the eye of the beholder can sometimes be influenced by your good friend, alcohol. Not only can booze make Mr. Average look like Mr. Perfect, but your favorite cocktail can make you believe that you have some sort of fancy dance moves. Guys - especially if you are of an Anglo Saxon decent - I can tell whether you are drunk or sober you ain't got nothing. But, the effort is greatly appreciated.

So, let's set the stage, you're at a club with your girls, sipping on a Stoli Raspberry and 7, boobing your head to the beat, but not quite full on dancing (yet). At the same time, you're surveying the land, looking for the piece of meat whose attention you are going to grab with a wink and smile. At first sight, he will be yours. As you spot him and make your move, Dorky McDorkerson intercepts your message. O no! You're not drunk and even if you were, you are totally out of this guy's league. But, he approaches you anyway, in a dancing fashion, nonetheless, and asks your name. If he's a talker, looking for a gf, he'll probably ask the stereotypical first date questions. As he yells, "WHAT DO YOU DO?" over the bass of this weeks #1 hit remix, you realize that he takes the term Monet to another level. He's now spitting on you because he's totally invaded your personal space and he definitely has a lisp. As you entertain his 20 question short answer survey, you notice your gfs out of the corner of your eye laughing at your suffering. Evil bitches! And as you nod and smile at the guy as to not hurt his feelings, you give the evil eye to your gfs because you can't believe they've let this happen. And then . . . wait for it . . . he asks "WOULD YOU LIKE TO DANCE?". Now, as with any question, you have two options as answers. Yes or no. You sruvived the interrogation process with 5 shots of tequila but how could you possibly get on the dance floor with this person? Your short lived reputation at this club would be ruined.

The "nice" girl says yes because she thinks she's got this one under control. She'll dance with him, say thank you, and when he asks for her number, she'll give it to him and simply not answer when he calls. No one gets hurt, right?

The "mean" girl says no because she's a ruthless maneater. She has no respect for men and will be single for the rest of her life. She should take what she can get because no man will ever date a slut like that.

Now, take a step back, look at it from another perspective. Isn't the "nice" girl just being a tease? Couldn't the "mean" girl just be telling the truth?

Your time is precious and you can barely find time in the day to breath. If you aren't feeling him, honesty sets you free. So next time you get approached by someone you aren't interested in, it's ok to say no.

Because life is too short to dance with ugly men.

68 and still rockin'

2007-05-01T20:31:00.000-07:00

After all these years, he's still got it. And by the looks of it, he got a little plastic surgery as well.

I'm talking about none other than the one and only love of my life, Kenny Rogers.

In what could be one of the biggest announcements thus far in my life, the man, the myth, the legend will be performing at the 2007 Taste of Chicago.

Of course, I understand that not everyone has an appreciation for Mr. Rogers quite like I. After all, you most likely only know one of his songs, The Gambler. Well, I'm here to tell you that there is so much more where that came from.

My obsession with Kenny began at a young age when my mom would play his records on the brown stereo that took up a good portion of our living room. We had Hard Candy Christmas (duet with Dolly Parton), Islands in the Stream (duet with Linda Ronstadt), and my all time favorites like Through the Years and She Believes in Me.

It wasn't until Spring Break 1997 that I realized I was completely head over heels in love with Kenny. I was on vacation in FL with my mom and brother. We went to the Plant City Strawberry Festival and Kenny was the headliner for the day. It was $6 to get in and the concert was free. There we sat, like two kids in a candy store (my brother was 3 - obviously had not developed a passion for Kenny yet), eating our strawberry shortcake and listening to what could have been the best concert ever.

Ever since then, I've made it a point to attend at least one concert a year and continue to support his music as he continues to release new albums.

I have to admit, I'm not a big fan of what he's done cosmetically over the past year or so, but my love for him is unconditional. His music is inspirational and thought provoking. If you've never taken the time to listen to it, please do so. After all, do you know of any other musician who is 68 years old, still touring, and rockin' just as hard as he was in his early days? I didn't think so . . .

2016

2007-04-29T18:21:00.000-07:00

Where will you be in 2016?

CEO of a Fortune 500 company, running a dude ranch in Wyoming, adopting your 5th child from a third world country, discovering a cure for cancer?

2016 is a mere 9 years from now. You know as well as I, a lot can happen in 9 years.

If you go back 9 years to the end of April 1998, you would find me at Illinois State University about to finish my sophomore year. I was living in Wright Hall with a girl named Kate (I wonder what happened to her?) and slinging hash at the fanciest of all restaurants - Bennigan's. Within a week or so, I would go on to total my dad's minivan in the WalMart parking lot (damn light post jumped out in front of me) and get busted with a fake id (that I didn't use - long story). I had just started dating a guy that was about to graduate and move to CA (of course I followed him - we know how that worked out). Everything was perfect!

At that moment in time, if you asked me what I would be doing in 2007, I would have probably given you some happily ever after story with white picket fences and a six figure career. But, the reality of it is a chain link fence with a five figure job. Everything is perfect (really)!

In 2016, the world will partake in another round of Summer Olympics. And my city, Chicago, is in the running to host this magical event. Now, the announcement as to who will be the master of ceremonies won't be made until 2009, but until that day, my fingers will be crossed for the place I currently call home. It is up against some tough competition, but I have faith in Chi-Town and its peeps.

I wonder if I'll be here to experience it. Will I ever leave Chicago? By then, I will be the ripe young age of 37 (not looking a day over 23). Perhaps by then I'll "settle down" with the husband, kids, mortgage thing. And you just might be able to book a room at Chateau Reaska in the best city in the world while taking in some of the sights and sounds in between Summer Olympic events.

A girl can dream!

Have you ever seen a baby pigeon?

2007-04-29T18:04:00.000-07:00

I don't understand why God ever created pigeons. They are simply flying vermin. Disgusting, obnoxious, fat animals.

A few weeks ago, waiting on the platform for the "L", a pigeon slyly creeped up behind me. If you've ever gotten on or off the "L" at Quincy, you know it's a cesspool for pigeons. They gather there to reek havoc and shit on everything. So, this pigeon, now on my heels, proceeded to screech in a high pitch which I'm certain was some sort of mating call. I hissed at it and about that time the "L" thankfully arrived.

The next morning, as usual, I got off the "L" at Quincy. I walked down the first group of steps only to be blindsided by a pigeon. This freakin bird flew at my head. It actually hit me. GROSS! To this day, I'm convinced it was the same pigeon that I hissed at the night before. Sweet sweet revenge for the bird. By belittling him in front of his potential mate, his game was ruined. All my fault. Needless to say, he definitely got even. I was publicly humiliated and spent endless hours disinfecting once I got to the office.

As if that wasn't enough, he returned the next day. As I was crossing the street, he slid under my step and I almost crushed him. But, I was too quick and able to stop in my tracks. No guilt for killing a pigeon. Had I stepped on that thing, I'm certain that the curse would be worse than the one I've already received from the gypsies (touched a crystal ball as a young girl).

Of course, you might doubt my conspiracy theory on it actually being the same pigeon on all three occasions. But, I'm gonna go with it. Because that's what my gut is telling me.

Now, the answer to the ever important question . . . Do baby pigeons exist? I was certain that they didn't because 1) I've never seen one and 2) the one that harassed me was obviously an adult. However, after doing some research in cyberspace, I found that they do exist, but don't make their first public appearance until they are the rotund, hideous flying rodent we get to experience.

So, you've never seen a baby pigeon and you never will. Too bad we can't say the same for the entire species.

It's Time

2007-04-16T19:18:00.000-07:00

to make the donuts, to go on a diet, to do laundry, to buy socks, to clean the apartment, to take out the garbage, to go grocery shopping, to get money at the ATM, to meet your friends at the bar, to wake up, to read the newspaper, to shower, to go to work, to take lunch, to have a conference call, to send an email, to pick up the dry cleaning, to catch the bus, to go home.

From the moment you get up to the moment you go to bed, life is about time. Most likely, 8 hours of your day is filled with gainful employment. Let's say it takes you 1/2 hour to get to work and 1/2 hour to get home, an hour to get ready in the morning (including breakfast), and an hour to decompress from your job once you make it home (including dinner). That leaves you with 13 hours in your day. Of course, we all have to sleep. Some fancy study will tell you that you need 8 hours of sleep a day, but you know as well as I that never happens. So, let's say you get 6 hours of sleep a night. You now have 7 hours to do whatever it is that you want. And most likely, those 7 hours take place from 5ish to midnightish. What you do during that time is what you choose to do during that time. Maybe it's drinking, dancing, playing sports, running, going shopping, hanging out with your friends, playing with your children, reading a book, you name it. The world is at your fingertips.

Within the everyday monotony of life, much bigger things happen. What about the life altering moments "It's time" for?

For instance, your pregnant wife saying "It's time" is a good indication that you need to grab that overnight bag and head to the emergency room because you are about to have a baby. Or maybe before that, your wife said "It's time" and you knew that meant it's time to go make a baby. Lucky you!

If you aren't quite at the baby making stage in life, you might wake up one day, realize that you aren't getting any cuter and that indeed you are getting older and say to yourself "It's time" to get a bf/gf and settle down (key word here is settle). That night, you go to the club, pick out the prettiest girl there, and make your move.

If you could care less about settling down, perhaps your job is the issue. Tomorrow could be the day that "It's time" to quit that job, start looking for a new one, move to a different city, or change careers. Maybe grad school is calling your name. Either way, you know that you can not sit amongst the cube farm anymore.

So, you get a bf/gf, get a new job, settle down (eventually get married), have a baby, and realize that "It's time" to move to suburbia, where you can actually afford to raise a family and enjoy life.

For whatever reason, society has put a time line on when all of these monumental events should take place. And for the most part, everyone agrees. If you would have talked to me 5 years ago, I probably would have been right there with them. Of course, 5 years ago, I was 23, engaged, and about to make the biggest mistake of my entire life (with a time line that allowed me to have all of the children that I wanted before the ripe old age of 30). Since then, I've realized that there is so much more to life than a time line. Over the past 5 years, I've had my fair share of love and loss, ups and downs, laughs and tears. And I wouldn't change a thing. Because tomorrow I know that the only thing "It's time" for is to live life. Everything else just falls into place.

You Say He's Just a Friend

2007-04-01T17:15:00.000-07:00

Ooh baby you, you got what I need, but you say he's just a friend, but you say he's just a friend

Don't hate. I know the song will be stuck in your head for the rest of the day, but just think about how good Biz Markie looked in that Amadeus wig and it makes it all better. Besides, VH1 named it the 81st best one hit wonder of all time. How could you go wrong with that song? Even Mario remade it with the help of Biz in 2002. It's quite the catchy tune.

I don't really know what the meaning of the song is or for that fact of the matter, if it has a meaning, but the phrase "he's just a friend" seems to be popping up all over these days. In a society such as ours, the thought is that one can not have a friend of the opposite sex without one of them having ulterior motives.

What might start out as friends, could end up in Friends with Benefits. For most, FWB is the ideal situation. You don't have to enter into a committed relationship and you get sex in return. No late night talks, no meeting the parents, no couples showers. Just simple barbaric fornication.

Not all friends of the opposite sex come with the same benefits and in some cases that's a good thing. If you are a girl, perhaps the thought of seeing your male friend makes you burst out in laughter. If you are a boy, perhaps you don't want to know what your female friend did last weekend with that random dude she took home from the bar. Each opposite sex friendship has its own definition and only the two individuals that are involved truly know what's going on. You might just be looking for someone to talk to, grab a beer with, or take as a date to a wedding you can't show up dateless at because your ex is going to be there.

Having a friend of the opposite sex that you can rely on for whatever it is that you need from him/her is an awesome thing. Until, one of two things happens - emotions emerge or one of the involved parties gets a bf/gf. If you are a FWB, you never want to realize mid coitus that you just might like this person as more than a friend. WFE (Worst feeling ever!) What once was the ideal situation has now turned completely awkward. What do you say? Should you tell her? What if he doesn't feel the same way? OMIGOD! Let's say that you are truly just friends in neither of you are interested in the other romantically. A wo/man's got needs, so most likely he/she will go elsewhere to get that desire fulfilled. And in some scenarios, that other person ends up in a committed relationship that requires him/her to spend time with someone other than you, leaving you wondering how you are going to spend your Friday night. WTF!

So, can you just have a friend of the opposite sex? Or is there always something more? Are you filling a void until something better comes along? Is there a secret agenda and he's just trying to get in your pants?

Same or opposite sex friendships come in all shapes and sizes. As long as the two individuals involved are on the same page, no one gets hurt.

Or you can go with Biz's advice - Don't ever talk to a girl who says she just has a friend.

TMNT

2007-04-01T15:56:00.000-07:00

March 23, 2007 marked a historic day in movie history. The return of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Now, before you laugh, you better recognize. TMNT brought in $25.45 million in its opening weekend. I, however, was not one of them that contributed to this number. I waited until the following Tuesday to avoid the rush. If you've ever gone to Kerasotes Chicago City North 14 movie theatre on a Tuesday, you probably know that I didn't gain much by waiting. They offer $5 shows and 25 cent popcorn every Tuesday. Throw in the fact that it was Spring Break for most children and you've got yourself a recipe for a very cheap babysitter. There were lots of minivans dropping off acne prone teenagers with their soon to be making out in the back row girlfriends.

Despite the horrific scene described above, the evening was quite fun. And the movie did not disappoint. I'm not going to spoil it for you if you've yet to see it, but I will say that they left the ending open for a sequel. Cowabunga!

If you are a product of the 80s, you know the TMNT. If you don't remember or have blocked them out because you were never able to defeat their Nintendo game, let me refresh your memory. There are 4 TMNT - Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and Michelangelo. They each have their own personalities, not to mention their own weapons of choice. The 4, in conjunction with the guidance of their master, Splinter, fight crime throughout the city of New York, living in a sewer and surviving on pizza.

As I sat in the movie theatre Tuesday night, children screaming, with 3 of my coolest friends, it became apparent that each one of us represented one of the Turtles. And if you think about it, you can probably make some connection with one of the Turtles yourself. Trust me!

Leonardo - He's the leader. He's daring, determined, and devoted. Bonus - he's got an amazing sense of humor. Favorite color - Blue. Weapon of choice - Ninjaken
Raphael - He's the anti-hero. He's anxious, aggressive, and acerbic. Favorite color - Red. Weapon of choice - Sai
Michelangelo - He's the joker. He's easy-going, enterprising, and enthusiastic. Favorite color - Orange. Weapon of choice - Nunchaku
Donatello - He's the nerd. He's intelligent, innovative, and intellectual. Favorite color - Purple. Weapon of choice - Bo.

Together, they are a fearsome foursome. Apart, they are weak individuals. They abandon, belittle, and criticize each other. But, when they realize how destructive their behaviors are, they ultimately bond together to save NYC - yet again.

In your life, if you are ever lucky enough to find 3 others to form a quartet as awesome as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, do whatever it takes to keep it together. Recognize that each friend is unique and an intricate part to the survival of the group. You might have your differences, but there's a reason why you got together in the first place. Your thing might not be martial arts and crime fighting, but without your version of the TMNT, who would you eat, drink, and be merry with?

As Raphael would say, "We live together, train together, and fight together and that's what makes us...brothers."

Belief in Mankind

2007-03-26T19:36:00.000-07:00

Living in a city like Chicago can make a person tough as nails to the point of cold heartedness. Don't get me wrong, Chicago is a great city with many attractions but it's easy to forget what makes Chicago the best city in the world - the people. In the past, I've posted some pretty harsh blogs about people and their inadequacies. Now, I'm not going to get all emotional and start writing about feelings, but I will go ahead and acknowledge, just this one time, some of the good things I've noticed in the City Of The Big Shoulders.

If you’ve ever had the luxury of seeing my bed or better yet, experiencing a night of shenanigans in it, the first thing you would notice is that it’s a waterbed. Well, not exactly a waterbed now, but it definitely was one at some point in time. The bed frame still exists equipped with gold trim and a mirror on what could be the biggest headboard this side of the Mississippi. It is seriously something straight out of a Ron Jeremy porn. You might ask, "If this bed is so hideous, why would one keep it? Especially when bed frames cost like $39." Let me tell you, I’ve tried to get rid of it on many occasions. However, like a bad habit, it keeps showing up, move after move, apartment after apartment. So, last weekend, I finally had a heart to heart with myself and my 1988 bed frame and came to the conclusion that it was time for it to go. It was a dramatic moment, but neither party shed a tear. The bed frame left without a fight, embracing what would ultimately be its demise in a cold dark alley.

In an attempt to replace what once was a masterpiece, I took a trip to Ikea in Schaumburg. If you’ve never been to Ikea, don’t go. At least don’t go on a Saturday afternoon. I mean, it’s a great store with good bargains, but it resembles what I imagine hell to look like. Lots of people, haphazardly pushing carts, talking on their cell phones, while trying to find the lamp section on the map that was provided to them at the front door of this 3 story warehouse of sorts. Knowing what I know about this hell they call Ikea, I got up early on a Saturday morning, sacrificing 1 out of the 2 mornings that I actually get to sleep in, to get there right when the doors open. As they say, beat the rush. Once there, I took my time, finding myself picking up things like cutting boards and toilet bowl brushes. $141 later, I had no bed frame and a lot of hodge podge in a fancy Ikea branded bag that cost me 59 cents. So, I took the bag out to my car, did some measuring, and realized that the queen size bed frame I had my eye on probably wouldn’t fit inside my 2001 Honda Civic. But, there was no way in hell I was going to go home empty handed. I went back into the store, which was slowly turning into that hell I talked about before, and played the damsel in distress card. I’m not one to do that, but for the love of God, I’m one woman trying to load a queen size bed frame, not to mention a mid beam, slates, a nightstand, a TV stand, and an underbed storage unit. I approached one of the fine men that work at this lovely store and he proceeded to push the cart around the store on my behalf and load every single item for me. Every single one! $250 later, I realize that I’ve done it. I’ve finally gotten new bedroom furniture. The bigger challenge now lies ahead . . . How in the hell am I going to get all of this shit in my little car? As I back my car up to the loading dock, two other fine Ikea gentlemen approach my car and start loading all of these heavy items for me. Somehow, they managed to get every single piece of furniture inside my car. Every single one! And let me just add, all of these people did these extremely nice things with a smile on their face. It was amazing!

As I made my way back to the city, I called the manual labor I had lined up to help me unload all of these goods. He, like the fine men at Ikea, came over without question, carried the porn bed frame to the alley without snickering too many times, and then proceeded to stick around and help me put the new bed frame together. Not once did he complain. It could have been the free beer that I was providing, but I’m gonna keep telling myself he did it out of the goodness of his heart. Thanks manual labor! You know who you are.

Everyday we go through the same routine. We get out of bed, shower (hopefully), grab a Starbucks, and make our way to our 9 to 5. Most likely, you don’t notice the little things that are going on in the world because you are in a world of your own. Just remember, in a place that can be so cold, saying please and thank you, flashing a smile, and helping someone in need (stranger or friend) are all much appreciated and the direct reason for my newly restored belief in mankind.

It Always Works Out In The End

2007-03-20T21:01:00.000-07:00

On February 28, 2007, I headed to the beautiful city of Norwalk, CT to visit a client. If you've never been to Norwalk, you don't know what you are missing. I won't tell you and ruin the surprise. Just make sure to put it on your list of things to do before you die if you haven't been there. A little hint . . . the best way to get there . . . fly into LaGuardia and rent a car. The client dinner on the night of the 28th is great (except for the food poisoning I got from the salmon) and the meetings on the 1st were totally productive. So productive that we got done early. My boss and I headed to the airport to try to catch an earlier flight, only to find that there were high winds accompanied by bad weather in Chicago, delaying every flight. So, we decided to confirm a seat on the 3 pm flight, originally booked for the 5 pm flight. Needless to say, the 3 pm flight ended up taking off at 630 pm and the 5 pm flight took off about the time we got back to Chicago. With the change in travel plans, I missed my friends basketball game (which was good considering they lost), but I made it back to Chicago by 830 pm instead of midnight. As we were waiting for the plane, watching the departure time creep up to what would ultimately be 630 pm, my boss and I were discussing the fact that neither of us had spent the night at an airport. Considering all the travel that he and I have done, that is absurd. But, it appeared that tonight might be the night. We might have jinxed ourselves. And just as it looked like we were going to be fighting over the last cot in Terminal C, they started boarding our plane. At that moment in time, I will never forget, my boss turned to me and said "It always works out in the end."

Fast forward to March 15, 2007. I was deathly ill, home from work (which never happens), and trying to pack for a trip to Boston. Things weren't looking good for me. And just when it appeared like it couldn't get any worse, the meteorologists were predicting a Nor Easter to hit the Boston area on Friday (March 16) about the time that I was to arrive. I decide that it is in my best interest to get on an earlier flight to Boston or else I'm not going to get there. I get up at 4 am, confirm a seat on the 8 am flight, and head out the door to the airport by 6 am. I rely on the bus/"L" combo to get me to the airport by 7 am, which of course it does. However, I underestimate the number of people that are trying to fly out of O'Hare on United on a Friday morning that need to check bags. I forget that it's spring break and everyone is trying to get somewhere. I look at my watch and realize that there is no way that I'm going to get through the line and checked in, with my bag, by the time I need to. I ask the United employee (who was very nice) and he directs me to the Skycap outside. I slip the guy a $5, get my bag checked in, get my boarding pass, and make it through security by 730 am, 5 minutes before my plane is to board. Needless to say, the plane takes off without a problem or delay and I make it to Boston before the big storm hits. BTW . . . I had an awesome weekend. Just like my boss said "It always works out in the end."

Too often we spend our lives wondering "Why me?" Why did so and so break up with me? Was it because I put on 5 lbs.? Was it because my sister was rude to her? Was it because I'm a snorer? Did he think I wasn't interested? And once you figure out why so and so broke up with you, you wonder "Why does it take so long to get over so and so?" Was he the one? Does she have something to offer that I will never find in another girl? Is there a reason why I can't stop thinking about so and so? Should I just get with the next warm body? Or maybe you are trying to figure out "Why doesn't so and so like me in the first place?" Does he think I'm pathetic, I'm just trying to get him to notice me? Should I have bought her the matching earrings, not just the bracelet? Does she only like guys over 6 feet tall? Do I not make enough money for her? Does he only like blondes? Or take your career, you might ask "How did I end up here?" Was my GPA not high enough? Did I go to the wrong school? Should I get my MBA? Was I in the wrong major? Should I look for another job? If you are looking for another job and no one seems to want to hire you, you might wonder "Why doesn't anyone want me to work for them?" Am I underqualified? Am I overqualified? Am I applying for the wrong jobs? Am I wasting my time? Am I not emphasizing my strongest assets on my resume? Was I chewing gum in that last interview? Did the HR lady have something against my pin striped suit?

At the end of the day, relationships, just like jobs, come and go. The ones that are meant to be are meant to be. They simply happen. Your friends that are truly your friends will always be there for you, wanting to support you and see you happy. So, next time you get dumped, you don't get the job, or your best friend hurts you so bad you burst out in tears, remember that you deserve better. The grass is indeed greener on the other side and It Always Works Out In The End.

"L" Etiquette

2007-03-15T19:17:00.000-07:00

I know . . . I know . . . it's been about a month since my last post and I'm sure that everyone is dying to hear what I have to write about. First, let me apologize for my absence. I was involved in a serious relationship with a stats book and a take home exam that didn't leave me with much time to do anything else (i.e. blog). Secondly, I have accumulated plenty of material over the past few weeks so you shall see several blogs from me in the next week or so.

Now that we've gotten all of the small stuff out of the way, let's move along.

On February 19, 2007, my office made the move from the lovely northern suburb of Glenview to the Financial District in the heart of the loop. Needless to say, since I live in the city and my commute was up to 1 1/2 hours each way on a daily basis, I was ecstatic about the office relocation. I get to sleep in, go to happy hours in the city, and take the "L" to/from work.

If you've never taken the "L" in Chicago, you don't know what you're missing out on. It's an experience, every time you take it. Whether it's the red line to a Sox game or the blue line to O'Hare, the "L" never lets you down in the entertainment category.

Since I've been taking the "L" everyday now, I've had plenty of opportunities to observe some unique behaviors of the "L" and its patrons.

1) Certain people do not hold on to the railing while they are standing on the "L". Even though they ride the "L" everyday to/from work, there is still a strong possibility that they will fall. No one can withstand the temper of the "L". Do yourself a favor next time, HOLD ON. If you don't, most likely you're gonna fall, and most likely you're gonna fall into that cute girl that you hope notices you because you've got a new Pink shirt on. You know as well as I, that would be terribly embarrassing for you. You won't be getting the girl that way.

2) Chivalry isn't dead. Gentlemen, please let the ladies get on the "L" first and offer your seat to a lady even if she isn't pregnant or over 65 years old. I know that women have fought for years to be treated as equals and by not giving up your seat to a woman, you are supporting that cause. But, you try to ride the "L" in 3 inch heels while standing and not falling and get back to me. You would too appreciate it if I gave up my seat for you and your 1/4 inch flats.

3) MP3 players are everywhere. Everyone who is anyone has one. And everyone tries to outdo the other with the latest version. That makes you really cool Miss Red iPod Nano. I only have the white one. But, I can tell you that your music sucks. You know how???? Because I can hear it. I know there is a volume button that allows you to turn that crap down. Please give it a shot because I (along with my hangover) am really not diggin that trendy and hip house music at 730 AM. I heard way too much of it last night at the club and it's just going to bring back memories of that last JagerBomb that is the reason I feel like complete sh*t this morning.

4) While we are on the topic of noisy items, I'm pretty sure that your cell phone has a vibrate function. If you can't figure it out, you shouldn't have a cell phone. But you do, so in that case, just turn the damn thing off. If someone really wants to talk to you, they'll leave a message. If you do decide to answer your phone, use your indoor voice. I don't care to know that you've finally figured out that Joe (your most recent one night stand) is actually your baby's daddy. Save the drama for your mama and the privacy of your own home.

5) Text messaging is a great alternative to talking on the cell phone. However, I don't need to know that you've downloaded the most recent, what you think is totally cool, message alert. Again, put it on vibrate. If you know how to send text messages, you certainly know how to turn your phone volume to vibrate.

6) No one smiles on the "L". I wonder if people know that it is ok to smile. Period. I know, you just had to walk 8 blocks to the "L" in the snow, it's cold, and you're late. But, that's life and not my fault. You shouldn't have hit snooze 5 times before getting up. So please don't take it out on me. We live in the Midwest. We are supposed to be fat and happy. Take a moment and share some love with the person sitting next to you. You just might make his/her day.

7) Last but not least, it is every wo/man for him/herself. Next time I get shoulderchecked by someone getting off the "L" when I'm getting on, there will be hell to pay. If you get the luxury of standing/sitting next to me, don't read over my shoulder. I got this RedEye for me to read, not you. You could have just as easily gotten one for yourself from the guy handing them out for free at the Wellington stop entrance, just like me. Or just ask, and I'll get an extra copy for you next time. And if you are standing by me, I know my briefcase is big and some might consider my booty to be of the ghetto proportion, but neither of them are that big so please stop bumping into me. If you want to grab my butt, just ask, I'll let you touch it for a small fee.

At the end of the day, the "L" is a form of public transportation. Everyone pays to ride it and everyone is using it as a way to get from here to there. Do unto others as you would have done unto you. If you do, I guarantee that the "L" will be a more enjoyable experience for everyone.

False Advertisement

2007-02-25T19:11:00.000-08:00

We all have our vices, bad habits, evildoings. I'm the first to admit that mine is Sugar Free Red Bull. On a daily basis, my body longs for this sweet nectar of the Gods. Before you start judging, think about your addiction to a grande skim latte espresso cappuccino. Now, I don't know if that is an actual drink, but you get the point. Pot, kettle, black.

You can imagine my dismay, when I headed to the local convenient store to get my daily fix, only to find that today I would have to settle for No Carb Monster. In the grand scheme of things, an energy drink is an energy drink, but Sugar Free Red Bull is in a category by itself. As I stood in the aisle, contemplating whether I should go without or turn my back on my beloved drink for a day, I thought to myself, what is the purpose of a convenient store if it conveniently doesn't have the product you are looking for.

Living in a city the size of Chicago provides for many options. Especially when it comes to finding a place to have a beer or twelve. However, finding a watering hole that isn't asking for your first born in exchange for a cold bottle of Miller Lite is another story. So, my friends and I were pleasantly surprised when we were able to find a bar that was offering $5 32 ounce drafts on a Saturday afternoon. Needless to say, we headed there and drank our fair share. Only to find that these drafts came with a price outside of the $5. Yes, these delicious treats came in plastic mugs that we weren't allowed to keep, but they didn't see a problem in charging us a $2.50 activation fee. I know, I know . . . it's a one time charge and $2.50 doesn't get you much these days. But, it's the principle. My $5 beer just went up to $5.25 (if you do the math - that is 10 beers).

Another perk of living in a city like Chicago is the amount of entertainment at your fingertips. Rarely does a band go on tour and not stop in Chicago. And many bars and other venues throughout the city host bands/singers that are looking for their big break. Sometimes, you can stumble across some good music, however, this weekend was not one of them. My gfs convinced me to go to a bar - no need to name names - to listen to a "hot" guy play the guitar and sing cover songs out of tune because he wasn't smart enough to come up with his own material. You can gather from my tone that I wasn't impressed. I was more like extremely disappointed. Not only was this guy "not hot", his voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Ok, maybe it wasn't that bad, but it certainly wasn't good.

At this bar not to be mentioned, there was an abundance of single 20 somethings looking to have a good time and perhaps extend that good time into a slumber party. Buyer beware. That girl that you are talking to that is obviously into you for your good looks, charm, and wit comes with strings attached. She might be sending signals that she's ok with a one night stand, but if you don't call within 3 days of this orgasmic affair, you can be certain that you will have a pig's heart with a stake through it on your front porch. Not a happy welcome when you get home from a long day at the office. On the other hand ladies - it's been a long winter and any tan that might have been formed around the ring he normally wears on the ring finger on his left hand has disappeared. So, even though you think you're in the clear and this guy who seems perfect in every way has got to be completely available and capable of a mature relationship, think again. His wife is at home watching their 3 kids while he's having a guys night out. Little does his wife know that poker night at Mike's has now moved to this bar not to mentioned.

We're all adults and we make adult decisions. Before you make that next one, consider the influence of false advertisement. You can't always judge a book by its cover.

Real World Breckenridge

2007-02-19T22:36:00.000-08:00

This is the true story, of 15 quasi strangers, picked to spend the weekend in a ski in/ski out townhouse, and have their lives turned upside down, find out what happens, when people stop being polite, and start being real. The Real World Breckenridge.

The weekend had been months in the making. Actually, 5 months in the making. Emails were passed back and forth and the cast was chosen. They came from all over the United States. Namely, California, Colorado, Illinois, and New York. And in some way, shape, or form, they were connected. Some went to college together, others worked together, and the remaining were friends of a friend.

For the Chicagoans and the New Yorkers, the weekend started off rocky with a multiple hour delay. But, they made it to Denver at 1 am with a 1 1/2 hour drive to Breckenridge ahead of them. Little did they know that the roads weren't in the best condition and the drive to Breckenridge was going to be more like 2 1/2 hours. On Friday, a blizzard rolled in dumping 10 to 20 inches of snow with winds up to 100 mph. As a result, Interstate 70 was closed, making it difficult for some of the Coloradoans to make the trip. Relentless and fearless, they made it to the townhouse, a 3 hour drive for them. What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. The motto of the weekend.

Some decided to brave the elements on Friday and ski. Others decided to check out the bars of Breckenridge. Either way you look at it, the ladies got to enjoy the eye candy at Christy's Sports when getting "fitted" for their equipment. Ryan - you have made our day, you fine piece of ooey gooey goodness. Friday concluded with a pizza party and rockin' game of Apples to Apples.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Mother Nature was done doing her business and everyone was ready to hit the slopes. Some for the first time. Ok . . . maybe it was only me that was hitting the slopes for the first time, but who's counting anyway. Everyone, including the virgin, had a great day and was looking forward to finishing it with a stint in the jacuzzi. An 8 person jacuzzi in a house of 15. Responsibly, we split up into two groups. As Group 2 reminisced about the big day, they were distracted by two flashes of whiteness streaking across the run. Yes, that was two flashes of whiteness streaking across the run. These two men decided to go where perhaps no men had gone before. They thought it would be a great idea to run across the path of many a skier, touch the tree and run back. Mind you, they are only in their swim trunks. Not to be outdone by these shenanigans, two of the other classy gentlemen decided to not only run across the slope and touch the tree, but do a belly flop in the mound of snow and then high five a skier on the way back to the jacuzzi, yes . . . in their swim trunks only. Don't think for a minute that the ladies were going to sit by and watch this tomfoolery. They decided to jump out of the jacuzzi in nothing but their bikinis and create . . . some of the sexiest snow angels around.

Saturday night ended in complete mayhem. The booze was flowing and the group headed to Cecilia's for some dancing and more drinks. Each castmate ended up back at the townhouse that night, most via town shuttle, but others via townies. Some had to call it an early night (damn altitude!), while others stayed out until the wee hours of the morning, calling out for apples once they returned to the townhouse. Needless to say, there were some very upset and angry castmates.

Sunday morning brought a hangover for many, but most braved the slopes again, bound and determined to get the most out of their three day ski lift. Once everyone was back to the townhouse, an enlightening game of Catch Phrase took place, teaching the newbies the definition of Mexican roulette as well as certain male/female anatomy.

All in all, the weekend saw just about everything. Prejudice, politics, romance, sexuality, and unrequited love. Team Breck - It was a totally epic weekend with many great memories. Can't wait to do it again!

Two Uglies Don't Make A Pretty

2007-02-13T11:54:00.000-08:00

The adage "two wrongs don't make a right" is a phrase most commonly used by parents of disobedient children. The logic is simple. If your brother pulls your hair, pinching him doesn't make the situation any better. Most likely, he's bigger than you and pinching him will only result in you receiving a black eye.

If you are an adult, the expression takes on a different meaning. If you found out that your neighbor stole your favorite pair of blue jeans from the laundry room, would stealing his laundry detergent bring you satisfaction? If you found out that your girlfriend was cheating on you, would cheating on her make you feel better? If your friend called you a horrible name, would calling him an equally awful name make the situation pleasurable? In the heat of the moment, you might answer yes to all three scenarios. But, in the long run, you know that the answer is no.

In a world full of ultra skinny supermodels and fad diets, we have become a country focused on outer beauty, often neglecting the importance of the inner self. We look at people and judge them before even getting to know them. We assume they are not worth talking to because they are overweight, physically deformed, or visually disgusting. We belittle others to make up for our inadequacies, remaining close minded while critiquing their actions. We are driven by hatred, revenge, and jealousy. We forget that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. We overlook that everyone loves and wants to be loved.

Most disheartening . . . we disregard the concept we learned at an early age . . . two wrongs don't make a right.

Because even if you think you are pretty and perhaps perfect, passing judgement and calling someone ugly makes you the ugliest.

The Conquest

2007-02-11T20:28:00.000-08:00

In 1999, the Emmy award winning Cruel Intentions hit theatres everywhere. If for some reason, (maybe both of your legs were broken and you couldn't make it out of your apartment, you didn't own a DVD player when it quickly became available on Blockbuster shelves, or you have something against Ryan Phillipe) you haven't seen this movie, let me give you a brief recap.

Kathryn makes a bet that her step-brother, Sebastian, won't be able to bed Annette (a virgin who wants to wait until marriage) before the start of the school year. If he loses, Kathryn gets his Roadster, if he wins, he gets Kathryn. As sick and twisted as it sounds, the movie has a point. And quite a few jaw dropping moments (including some girl on girl action).

Warning: Spoiler ahead!

As you can probably imagine, Annette falls for Sebastian. Shocker! As he is about to get her in bed and win the bet and some sweet loving with his step sister, he chokes. Why? Because in the midst of it all, he's fallen for the girl. Go figure! In an attempt to swallow his pride and not hurt the girl that he loves, he tells her that she was just a conquest and that he doesn't love her.

Just a conquest.

The term conquest has a somewhat negative undertone. But, it simply means the art or process of conquering. I suppose one could conquer Mt. Everest or the art of jujitsu. Maybe it could be on a more personal level, like getting out of an abusive relationship or being the first in your family to get a college degree. Or on a lighter note, one could conquer 6 jagerbombs or a large pizza from Chicago's.

But, what if your conquest was, like in Sebastian's case, a person? Does that make you evil? What if you were once an ugly duckling and the only thing you ever wanted out of life was the attention of the hot jock? Would it be so wrong to make him your conquest when you turned into the beatiful swan? Or what if you were the computer geek with the tape on your glasses that never got noticed by the prom queen? Would it be so wrong if you used your new found power and glory as an IT guru to prove to her that she made a mistake?

And what if you get your conquest? Is that the end of the story? Or is there the possibility of a happily ever after?

For Sebastian, Annette was truly more than a conquest. And maybe that person that you felt was a just a conquest is more than that too. Sebastian finally told Annette how he felt, but tragically a car accident killed him and they were never able to be together. Perhaps you should see if your conquest is something more, before he/she is taken away from you.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

2007-02-11T20:27:00.000-08:00

A song made famous by the Stones. One of the best bands ever. Those 7 little words hold so much meaning. If you could have anything, what would you want? Love, success, happiness? What if you actually got what you wanted?

Every year we celebrate Christmas (if you are of the Christian decent) and every year Santa comes (if you still believe). Part of the Santa process is sitting on his lap and telling him what you want for Christmas. Over the years, you've probably asked for your two front teeth, a Cabbage Patch Doll, Transformers, and perhaps some Punky Brewster high tops.

Life is still about wants. Some are as easy as air to breath, food to eat, and water to drink. Others appear to be easy, but might not be so easy. These wants include heat when its cold, a hot shower when your pipes are frozen, an In N Out burger when you live in Illinois, and a Bears win in the Super Bowl when your quarterback doesn't show up. Everyday, you have wants. Some are obvious and others just seem natural. Let's see how many of these you've experienced in the past week.

Longer nails even though you can't seem to stop biting yours, a parking spot in front of your apartment even though the neighbor thought it would be a good idea to save that spot with a lawn chair, silence from your coworkers when you are having a bad day, your MBA when the university insists you are one class short, clean floors in your apartment when the maintenance men can't seem to use the rugs or take their shoes off, no traffic when you are late for work, a job for your friend who is just trying to be with the one he loves, sex when there are no prospects, a call from the guy you met last weekend, a restraining order for the guy you met the weekend before, a wakeup call for the friend who is about to make the biggest mistake of her life, a baby when you can't seem to conceive, a date for your lame ass stats professor, a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a clue for your friend who doesn't want to admit that her boyfriend is cheating on her, lypo when your skinny jeans won't fit, a World Series for the Cubs franchise, organization in a rather chaotic work environment, a divorce for the married man you're secretly in love with, and last but not least a pint of fat free ice cream that tastes like the real thing.

"You can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want. But, you find sometimes, you get what you need."

Super Bowl

2007-02-11T20:25:00.000-08:00

I'm not going to go on and on about what a season it was, but it was a pretty phenomenal one. It started off on a good note with an ass whoopin' to Green Bay. I was in the burbs (not sure if Montgomery is considered a burb) after attending the Sandwich Fair the night before. Claude, Matt, and I headed back to watch the game in the city and at the last minute decided to go to Finley Dunne's. Mind you, we smelled of pigs and cows and had not showered. I had on a newsboy and flip cup tshirt (no pants). Must have been good luck because the Bears got the win against the almighty Pack. Next came wins against Detroit, Minnesota, Seattle, Buffalo (I was there), Arizona (Monday night thriller), and the 49ers before a loss to Miami. Add in back to back wins in NY (Giants and Jets) before a loss to the Patriots. They finished strong with wins against the Vikings, Rams, Bucs, and Lions before losing the final regular season game to the Packers (Brett Favre who?). Riding high on two playoff victories, I just knew the Super Bowl belonged to the Bears. Especially after the tailgate of a lifetime at the NFC Championship game. But, 2007 was not the year of the Bears. Instead, it was the year of the Colts.
Needless to say, I'm not happy about the outcome of the Super Bowl. I don't blame anyone for the loss. I definitely don't blame Rex. He's my hero and I will continue to be the driver of the Rex bandwagon. However, I must admit that the interceptions and fumbles didn't help the cause of the Bears and the better team won on Sunday.

With the lame commercials and the lamer game, Sunday should have gone down as one of the worst days in history. However, watching the game with Matt and Claude (how the season started, but showered this time), hearing that the first keg was gone after the first quarter, and popping open 8 bottles of champagne to drown our sorrows half way through the 4th quarter made the day one of the best ever.

Mark my words, next year you will see the Bears in the Super Bowl again and this time that will come out victorious. Bear Down Chicago Bears!

Pride

2007-02-11T20:24:00.000-08:00

Pride is a personal commitment. It is an attitude which separates excellence from mediocrity. Pride in excess can be viewed as arrogance. Not enough pride can result in humility.

There are various kinds of pride. Pride in your heritage. Pride in your gender. Pride in your sexual orientation. Pride in your family. Pride in your friends. Pride in your accomplishments.

As a single girl in the city, there is nothing more unattractive than a guy who is oozing excessive pride. Well . . . unless you are a guy with no confidence whatsoever. Guys - In case
you didn't know it. There you have it. Don't do too much, don't do not enough, find a balance.

January 2007 is about to come to a close and I couldn't be prouder. I've managed to find some place of zen where I am completely happy. I received an award for exceeding my sales budget, gained the respect of many at my company's annual meeting, nominated for Who's Who Among Young Professional Business Women, invited by the CEO, President, and Chairman of my former company for breakfast in recognition of my extraordinary involvement enlightening the future of America with Junior Achievement, and applied for graduation from the Kellstadt Graduate School of Business aka Depaul. And that all happened in the first month of 2007.
More importantly, I'm extremely proud of my younger brother. Tonight concluded his junior high basketball career. And although it was cut short with a loss in the regional semifinals, it was a great season. I watched he and his teammates, some of his closest friends, change from pessimists to optimists. This year started with the conference tournament in LaSalle. They were the 5th seed and ended up with the 3rd place trophy. With momentum riding high, they went on to win their first round regional game this past Saturday. Words can not describe the smiles on their faces. They were so proud. And already talking about their next opponent and strategizing about how they were going to win. Over the course of the season, I've seen them become better players, better leaders, and most of all better friends. As I sat in the stands and watched them play their final game tonight with blue paint on my face, I couldn't have had more Panther Pride.

Having the right amount of pride is what keeps you grounded and happy. You should be proud of your heritage, your gender, your sexual orientation, your family, your friends, and your accomplishments.

"Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us."

The Art of Selection

2007-02-11T20:23:00.000-08:00

Remember 5th grade P.E.? It never failed that there were sports that involved team captains. The teacher would usually pick one boy and one girl and they would hold your fate in their hands. You definitely didn't want to be the last one picked. There was a standard procedure when picking a 5th grade kickball team. The athletic, popular kids went first while the chubby, quiet kid sat on the wayside. He was used to it. He was always last picked.
As you got older, you realized that life is all about choices. Who to invite to your slumber party. What to wear to Homecoming. When to tell the quarterback of the football team that you have a huge crush on him. Where to go to college. Who to get your first apartment with. What major to declare. When to tell your parents that you got caught with a fake ID. Where to go for your 21st birthday.
I chose to go to Illinois State University and work at Bennigan's. I chose to date a fellow Redbird and Blues Buster who I later chose to move to the suburbs for who I later chose to accept an engagement ring from who I later chose to breakup with. The year was 2001.
Since then, I've made a lot of choices. I chose to move to the city, chose to go to grad school, chose to date some interesting characters, and chose to make/keep some amazing friends.
Everyday is full of choices. You might not have to choose who to be on your kickball team, but you're the team captain. Choose to spend time with the ones you love and the ones that deserve you. Don't settle for anyone or anything. You only get one January 27, 2007. That's why you'll find me driving 1 1/2 hours to Morris, IL to watch my brother play in his 8th grade basketball regional and driving back to the city to go clubbing with my girls tonight. Make the most out of everyday!

Let's Make a Deal

2007-01-25T06:57:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: This blog is in direct response to some recent happenings in my life including but not limited to the boner my professor experienced tonight when talking about Let's Make A Deal.

Let's Make a Deal . . .the infamous game show hosted by Monty Hall that looked for the crazy broad in the crowd dressed like a carrot who had a tube of cherry red lipstick in her purse. Monty would then proceed to offer her 3 doors and we all knew that 2 of the 3 doors had crap prizes and the 3rd one was something special. Like a new car or a fabulous vacation. And it never failed that behind 1 of the other 2 doors was a farm animal, usually a goat.
As my professor talked passionately about Let's Make a Deal tonight, he got me thinking. First, I would totally be on that game show if it was still on TV and I know someone else who would be right there with me (Amy - you know who you are!). Secondly, isn't life one big game of Let's Make a Deal.

If you think about it, behind Door Number 1 could be a job making minimum wage, behind Door Number 2 a job making decent money that you quasi enjoy, and behind Door Number 3 could be the job of your dreams making boocoo bucks.

Of course, you can relate this analogy to pretty much anything in life, but I'm gonna focus on relationships because they seem to be thrown in my face lately. Now, I know, one of my NY resolutions is to be happy for my friends that have found someone special and I am. I'm not talking about that. What I'm talking about are my PG rated intimate relationships. And my sudden ability to attract the unavailable and unhappy. Over the past few weeks, I've been pursued by two engaged men and one that isn't quite over his ex. So, you can imagine, these awkward yet entertaining situations brought a few questions to mind. What could I possibly be doing that would grab the attention from men of this kind? What kind of man is willing to cheat on his fiance? What kind of life would I have as the other girl? And why would I ever want to get involved with any of them?

I sought advice from a few male friends and I think one summed it up best. A guy that would cheat on his fiance is a scumbag and afraid of settling down with one person for the rest of his life. So, he's going to do everything that he can before he gets married. Now, I know, not every man is like this one. But, as a person who was previously engaged and burned pretty bad by my ex, I have my doubts about the whole thing.

So, tomorrow when I get up, I'm going to put on my best carrot costume and make a deal with Monty. For now, I'm gonna stick with Door Number 1 which means being single. What's behind the other two doors . . . I don't know. But, I have a feeling that what these three men had to offer was nothing but an old stinky farm animal, most likely a goat.

Bear Down

2007-01-22T10:23:00.000-08:00

My Chicago Bears are going to the Super Bowl and I couldn't be a happier girl.

Yesterday could have been the best day ever. I know . . . I say that a lot and there have probably been better days, but yesterday was one of the best. I went to tailgate before the game with my dad and some friends. It was awesome! Mimosas with fresh squeezed oj (thanks to my good friend Matt - he literally squeezed the oj at the tailgate), bacon, eggs, and the best cheddar biscuits for breakfast and then barbecued chicken on the grill for lunch. When you tailgate for 5 hours you've got to eat twice to soak up all the booze you've drank.

After tailgating, I headed north to a bar to watch the game. And what a game it was! It was AWESOME! I was screaming, jumping, singing, laughing, drinking, having the best time ever. To all of those who didn't believe the Bears could do it, it's been done and so are you. I'm pretty sure that I let all of those people know that yesterday in my drunken stupor. Needless to say, it was a long day filled with a lot of booze and great memories. I can't wait to do it again in two weeks.

As Will Smith would say . . . . We're going to Miami.

White Wine

2007-01-18T06:30:00.000-08:00

Well . . . it's been a couple of days since my last blog, so I thought I better get back on the wagon.
Speaking of getting back on the wagon . . . .

Why do I have such a love/hate relationship with white wine?

I have to thank my one time boss for opening my eyes to this sweet nectar of the gods. As a girl from Streator, I thought that wine only had a pinkish tint and came in a box.
The year is 2001 and I'm at dinner, entertaining clients for the first time. My boss proceeds to ask me if I want some wine. Of course, I gladly accept and he asks what I think of Pinot Grigio. I nod, smile, and say "That sounds great." The reality of it . . . I had no freakin' clue what Pinot Grigio was nor what it tasted like.

Fast forward about 5 1/2 years to January 12, 2007. One of my good friends is coming to visit from OH and we decide to lay low, order take in, and drink some white wine. Sounds like a rather lowkey night, right? Needless to say, I wake up about 5:30 am face first in a pile of pillows, feeling like I got hit by a bus, wearing the same clothes from the night before, and trying to figure out what exactly happened.

As if I didn't learn my lesson there . . . .

January 16, 2007 . . . yes only 4 days after my previous run in with white wine and I'm back at it again. I'm in FL at my company's annual meeting. Keep in mind . . . there are 227 people in attendance at this meeting ranging from CEO/Chairman/President to Account Executive. O yeah, I forgot to mention that about 200 of these people are male. I know . . . score! But, I had been to this thing last year and it blew. Honestly, it was in Miami at some outdated hotel and the guys were complete jerks! But this year was different. I had a new found confidence in myself and my job. I was told that I would be getting an award for being 110% over my sales budget (big deal considering that only 50 awards were handed out) and the only cute guy I met the year before was back this year and actually began to take a liking to me. (Side note: He lives in TX and is engaged.) So, I'm feeling good, kicking back some cocktails (aka white wine) with my coworkers, flirting with the hot single dudes, and just having a great time. I accept my award in front of everyone, on a stage, without tripping, and with several of the hot single dudes making cat calls. Just like any normal girl, I totally take advantage of the situation and by take advantage I mean overindulge in victory drinks of the white wine kind.

January 17, 2007 . . . .I wake up to the alarm clock blaring in my ear. I realize that I've managed to put on my pajamas and actually get into bed (kept my bra on for some reason). But, I have that same awful feeling . . . the Wha Happened? feeling. So, I text my friend and coworker Dave who is able to piece everything together for me. And . . . there were pictures. Yes, someone brought a camera. OMIGOD!

White wine . . . I do love you . . . but, I'm afraid this isn't working out for me right now. Don't give up on me, but don't feel the need to wait around for me either. I understand that you have other lives you can temporarily damage, but it's nothing that a l/2 lb. cheesburger and fries can't fix.

Hell

2007-01-12T12:57:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure what hell will be like, but 1) I'm pretty sure I'm going there and 2) I'm pretty sure that there will be an endless supply of statistics classes.

So . . . I'm getting my MBA from DePaul (Go Blue Demons!) and I'm in my final class. Yes, my final class. Granted, I shouldn't be in this class, but I managed to fail my stats test not once, but twice. Therefore, every Wednesday, I'm listening to some guy go on and on about derivatives, linear functions, and god only knows what else. As you can imagine, I'm miserable. Absolutely miserable. Talk about senioritis! But, I'm determined to get an A. You know . . go out in style!

My motivation . . . the boner that my professor gets when he talks about stats. I'm telling you . . . the guy loves stats! And every once in a while he's actually funny. So, thank you Professor Comosellama (I've named him that because I truly don't know his real name) for enlightening my what should be awful statistical experience.

DL

2007-01-12T12:55:00.000-08:00

DL . . . two letters . . .

To some DL stands for down low as in keep it on the down low(cheatin'/lyin' fools) . . . for others they are the first two initials of one of the funniest comedians this era has seen aka DL Hughley (sad pathetic people) . . . for others and the purpose of this blog DL stands for disabled list. Now, before you start judging, hear me out.

If you like baseball or are merely familiar with it, DL isn't a place you necessarily want to spend a lot of time if you are a professional player.

According to Wikipedia, in Major League Baseball, the disabled list (DL) is a means for teams to remove their injured players from the roster in order to summon healthy players to temporarily replace them. There are two types of DL: the 15 day and the 60 day (previously there was also a 21 day DL). Players may be put on either list and may not rejoin the team until the associated number of days has elapsed. However, a player's time on the DL may exceed the specified number of days.

If the system works so well for the sport of baseball, why not apply it to your life? Trust me . . . there are people in your life right now that you could put on the DL. You know that one friend of yours is having issues and you don't know how to deal with it. Wouldn't it be great if you could merely put her on the DL and check back with her in 15 days.

Not only does this concept work with friends but it works with dating . . . and rather well. Think about it. You're out on a Friday night and you meet a guy at the bar who seems awesome. Of course, the bar stool looks hot because you are on your 8th jagerbomb, but that's besides the point. So, you give him your number and go home alone (yes . . . you are a good girl . . . remember your NY resolution). He pulls the three day rule and calls you on Monday looking for a date later in the week. You, of course, playing the game, won't give him a weekend night for the first date and your week is kinda busy with work, yoga, and your gf's drama, but you tell him that you can squeeze him in Wednesday. So, you go on the first date. It's magical. In baseball terminology, it's like getting called up from the minors. Everything is great, but then, after a few drinks, he starts unloading his baggage. I mean serious baggage. So much that you become weary. But for whatever reason, your cold heart is turning warm and you kinda feel for the guy. So, you press on. Second date here we come. Everything is great. However, more baggage is unloaded. Now, mind you, I'm 28, I know that everyone has baggage. I've got baggage. Which leads me to my point. If you're dating someone who's got baggage that is 1) recent and 2) has not been obviously dealt with, don't release him, just put him on the DL. Check back with him in 15 days and see how he's doing. In the meantime, go out with your girls, meet other guys, and see how the roster is looking for spring training. In 15 days, if he's not ready to rejoin the team, you can either 1) release him 2) trade him (not recommended) or 3) extend his time on the DL. At the end of the day, you are the manager and you get to make the final call.

New Year, New You

2007-01-12T12:38:00.000-08:00

2007 is here. Another new year. Woohoo! New beginnings, new traditions, and new memories. So why does everyone scramble on January 1st to make resolutions that they know they won't keep? There are the typical ones - eat healthy, exercise, save money. And there are others - stop pretending that it doesn't bother you that everyone is getting married and having babies while you still try to find "the one", start demanding some respect from the people in the office that think you are just another dumb blonde with large fake boobs, and most importantly stop having sleepovers with that one guy because you feel sorry for him even though you don't know what his last name is and you're pretty certain you've been calling him Ryan and his name is Brian. Having that said, if you make it past February with one resolution still in tact, some might consider you the second coming of Christ.

So you are probably wondering which, if any, maybe all, of the above are my resolutions? Let's keep it real y'all, if you are human, you probably think you could shed a pound or two (especially post holiday feasts) and maybe have a date with the gym more frequently than you do the drive thru at McDonald's. And no matter what you do, you always seem to spend money on something that you are certain to have buyer's remorse about in 30 days. Ahhhh, but those are obvious. And honestly, who f'in cares!

We each measure success differently. You might think that you are successful because you own a $500,000 condo that overlooks Lake Michigan. Even though you only spend weekends there because your job requires you to travel to Los Angeles 5 days out of the week. Or you might think that you are successful because you were finally able to buy that Corvette that you've always wanted. Even though you are 45 years old and those young girls aren't admiring you, they're laughing at you. Or success for you might be as simple as the network of friends you have and the family that you were lucky to inherit. Even though your BFF hasn't called in months and your father isn't talking to you because he has "issues."

2007 is going to be a great year. Don't bother with resolutions and measures of success. Be happy for those who have found that special someone and have decided to trade in booze for breastfeeding. Tell Steve to stop staring at your chest because that thing attached to your neck is not just a hat rack. And for the love of God, just ask Ryan/Brian what the hell is name is. Surround yourself with family and friends that are worth it. And let go of the ones that aren't. You might find in the end that everything else just falls into place and you are the happiest, most successful person that is fat, unhealthy, and broke.