Don't be sorry, be sassy!

The other day I was with a female relative and we were on the sidewalk getting ready to cross Randolph Street.  Out of nowhere a bicyclist came whizzing by, hopped the curb and nearly knocked us both over.  That's when my female relative (okay, she totally reads this blog and will know I'm talking about her) said "I'm sorry!" to the bicyclist.  I said, "Why are you saying your sorry?  He nearly ran you over!"

Yes women, I've blogged about this before...we are guilty of saying we're sorry WAY too much, and now researchers are calling us out on it.  Scientists at the University of Waterloo in Ontario asked women and men to keep a journal about how many times they apologize, and not surprisingly, they found that women say I'm sorry way more than men.  They discovered men are less likely to be offended than women and are less likely to think they've done anything wrong.  Don't misinterpret that...most men will apologize when they genuinely believe they've done something wrong, they just know that not everything is their fault.

Debbie Mandel, a writer for The Examiner, takes it a step further and says this goes along with women having a hard time saying no and accepting compliments without reducing it to being undeserved.  I agree!  We need to be stronger.  I personally have made it a goal to apologize less, and ladies, you should do the same.  If someone runs into you, spills a drink on you, cuts in front of you, DON'T apologize to them!  In my opinion, it diminishes your credibility and makes you seem weak.

I'm sorry (ha!) if this seems harsh, I'm just trying to be honest.

P.S.  I'm heading to Atlanta for a wedding tomorrow, so I'll be offline for a few days.  I'll check back in on Sunday.  Sorry (ha!) for any inconvenience that causes you.

We found one!!

We found one, we found one, we found one!  I'm talking about a new apartment!  It has everything a city dweller looks for-- it allows dogs, it has a dishwasher (holla!) and an in-unit washer and dryer (holla, holla!).  And I haven't even told you the best part.....

It has its very own parking spot.  And it's covered.  And we didn't have to fork over $50,000 for it.  Triple holla!

I'll be honest, I was getting a little worried during our search.  I told you about our drug dealing bad neighborhood experience.  Then, a lot of the other places we looked at we're on the 3rd or 4th floors of really old homes, so the stairs were a winding, narrow nightmare.  I could just envision me eating it in a pair of 4-inch heels, and falling down every single flight.  I finally found a good place yesterday, and was almost ready to sign when the realtor said, "Now, I want to make you are aware, there isn't a refrigerator."

What?

Yep, apparently the Bachelor who owns it took out the fridge to put in more counter space, so he replaced it with 2 mini fridges.  Now that might work for a man who only needs a 6-pack of beer and a spray can of Reddi Wip (if you know what I'm sayin'), but I'm not really sure that works for a married couple who eats cereal for dinner, and therefore, needs a gallon of milk at all times.

Finally today, I looked at a darling condo in Old Town, and it is so nice.  Another couple was interested in it too, so I called Mike and told him to run, not walk, so we could sign the lease.  A credit check and huge deposit later, and it was all ours!

So barring we don't divorce in the process of packing up all our stuff and then schlepping it down 31 flights, we will have a nice new apartment that's...get this...almost 1,000 square feet.  (Quadruple holla!)

Behind every great man.....

They say behind every great man, there is a great woman.  I'd like to add to that, "Behind every great man was a boy who needed a great woman to mold him, dress him and make him grow up."

I'd like to think I've helped make Mike a better person.  We met when he was 24, and let's face it, he needed some time to grow up.  He also needed years of practice in front of the camera before we got married.  See at 24, he was a hot mess in pictures.  He confused smiling with just opening his mouth and showing his teeth.  It was bad.  In fact at his brother's wedding, the family had to order pictures based on how Mike looked, not the bride and groom.  So let's take a walk down memory lane.  (P.S. I asked Mike's permission before I did this blog...so don't worry, I'm not creating marital problems already.)

 

Below you'll see some pictures from the wedding, and what 6 1/2 years of molding from a woman did for him.  You'll probably think wow, you've come along way baby.  

To Mike: I'm proud of you honey...on the biggest day of our lives, you brought your A-game.  Well done.

We need a home!

Mike and I spent the day looking for apartments because our lease is up at the end of October.  Looking for housing in a huge city is truly daunting, tiring and hard work.  It also requires a lot of trips on the L Train, which means a lot of Purell.

As a girl who grew up in Wyoming, my mind will always tell me apartments should run anywhere between $400-$500.  Ha!  That might buy you a cardboard box on Michigan Ave.  In Chicago, it's more like $1400-$1500, and that usually doesn't include parking.  You can tack on another $200-$300 for that.  (Or for the bargain price of $50,000 you can own a parking spot.  Can you imagine?  If I paid that much I would wash my spot daily and just rub it.) 

In my search, I decided to go cheap.  We don't need much, right?  I found an apartment for $1098 on Craigslist, and it was 2 bedrooms!  As Mike and I were walking down the street to it, we walked right smack dab into the middle of a drug deal.  Then voila, once the gun smoke cleared, we found the apartment right next to a vacant lot with a huge barb wire fence around it.  You know what that means.  Barb wire=prisoners.  Yikes!  A very nice Guido greeted us at the door and showed us the apartment.  I'm pretty sure they just found a body in this place.  The overwhelming smells of Lysol/Ammonia pretty much confirms that.  Michael the Guido showed us the apartment (and when they say 2nd bedroom, they really just mean a closet), then took us downstairs to the creepiest basement I've ever seen.  That's where we'd do laundry and according to Michael it's so easy.  "$1.50 for the washing machine, $1.50 for the dryer, and bada bing, bada boom, you're all done, just like that!"  He didn't mention the price of the Colt 45 I'd have to buy to actually go down there by myself.

Clearly, that place didn't work out, or the 5 others we saw, so I'm continuing the search on Craigslist.  I've spent hours on there, trying to sort through the crappy, ghetto apartments and the "vintage" ones which really just means dirty.  There are so many apartments for rent, landlords are getting creative with their one-liners.  For example, they have one-line to explain the place, like "2-bedroom You Must See. Washer/Dryer in Unit."  Here are some of the more interesting ones I've seen..and no, I'm not making this up....

"2-Bedroom and No I Will Not Make Out With You!"

"1-Bedroom and It's Not a Teenage Dream Katy, It's Real!"

"2-Bedroom and Oh My God Karen, You Can't Just Ask People Why They're White."

By the way--creative one-liners usually equals crappy apartment.  Just sayin'.

Have you tried Domino's lately?

Okay, have you tried a Domino's pizza lately? (You're probably laughing right now after my metabolism sucks after 30 blog yesterday.  You're thinking, "Jeannie, it's not your metabolism that's the problem, it's your love for anything brown or that tastes like sugar milk!")

Anyway, I was totally intrigued when I started seeing Domino's CEO getting on national TV, and basically admitting that their crust used to taste like a cardboard box, and that was unacceptable.  The company revamped their crusts, launched a big media campaign, and asked for consumers to give it another shot.

I'm all about forgiveness, so I decided to give it a go.  (Side note: I've always thought Domino's was delicious, so apparently I have a thing for cardboard boxes.  That will come in handy when Mike and I are homeless in a month because we haven't found a new apartment.)  I ordered the pizza online, and within about 40 minutes we had 2 delicious, piping hot pizzas.  The new crust is like garlic crack cocaine and so delicious!  I've ordered it a few times since then, and I can get a large, 2-topping pizza for only $5.99!  Ordering a traditional Chicago style pizza from a local pizzeria costs like $43!

So, in wrapping up I'd like to say no, I'm not getting money from Domino's for this apparent advertisement.  I just saying that I'm impressed by their bold marketing campaign that is paying off.  (Now, I need to go work off the two mushroom and onion slices sitting in my belly.)

The Year of Change

Welcome to 32, the year your metabolism stops.  What is it about your 30's that you start noticing so many changes to your body?  Your once flat stomach is now a pooch, the laugh lines under your eyes don't go away when you quit laughing, and your butt begins to get droopy and dimply. (Aren't those 2 of the 7 dwarfs?)

The thing that makes it even harder is that I used to have a rock solid metabolism.  I used to be able to eat a huge dinner and banana split dessert, and by the time I woke up in the morning, my six-pack was back.  As soon as I would eat, you could hear my stomach growling from a mile away as if my body was breaking down the double cheeseburger I had just consumed.  I could eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

Now after 32 years, I have terrible eating habits and I still think I can eat a banana split after every meal.  Only now the food baby I go to bed with is still there in the morning, making me look like I'm ready to deliver.

So I grudgingly accept that I now have to work out and watch what I eat, knowing I should feel blessed for the 32 years I didn't have to worry about it.  (This could lead me to drinking, if only there weren't so many calories in alcohol.)  Dang it!

Again?

I can't believe I'm doing this again.  I'm talking about moving, something I've done 7 times since graduating from college, and I'm only 9 years out of school.  Every time I move, I cuss and promise I won't do it again.  Yet somehow, it doesn't seem possible to raise a family in a tiny one-bedroom Chicago apartment, so here we are again.

Looking at apartments in the city is shocking.  The cost for what people are willing to pay to live in a shoe box is crazy insane.  As I mentioned in a previous blog, the rent for our tiny 660-square foot apartment is jumping to $1922 a month.  $1922!  When I tell our families that, they laughingly remind me that the mortgage for their 4-bedroom house in Wyoming or Ohio is about 1/3 of that.  I sigh and have fantasies about what it would be like to have a 2nd bedroom and bathroom and money still leftover at the end of the month.  But while I'm having these suburban fantasies, Mike reminds me that we're not ready for a family, and therefore, don't need a 4-bedroom home.

Right now we're looking at apartments north of the city in Lincoln Park and Lakeview.  We're hoping we'll only have to pay around $1200 a month.  Holla!  From what I'm finding, that means we'll have more space, but we'll likely have to forgo central air or a washing machine.  There are community laundry rooms which are always fun!  Many of the pictures of them look like creepy scenes from horror movies.  I'm pretty sure I'll need to pack my taser along with my detergent in my laundry basket. (And yes, I own a taser.)

Wish us luck, we're looking at two apartments tonight.  Did I mention our lease ends in a month? 

Dancing With the "Stars"--My Observations

Anyone watch Dancing With The Stars last night?  I know, I know, I criticized the new cast, yet I'm still watching.  How is that possible?  Because I'm a sucker!  (And so are 21 million other people who watched, making it last night's ratings winner.)

Every season I curse this show, because it takes up so much of my time.  It's on 2 nights a week and 3 hours total.  But I've got it down to a science...I record the shows and watch them later so I can fast forward through 1) commercials 2) Brooke Burke's awkward interviews and 3) stars I'm not really into (Sorry Brandy and David Hasselhoff.)

The show has only just started, but here are my observations thus far:
* Reality TV "Star" Audrina Patridge will do well because she's too dumb to get nervous
* Margaret Cho will be kicked off tonight because her attempts at being funny don't cover up the fact that she's a really bad dancer who shouldn't wear Lycra
* Mike "The Situation" will go from being a cocky reality TV "Star" to getting kicked off early because he can't possibly have fans.  At least any fans who are smart enough to figure out on-line voting
* Jennifer Grey will do well because she's Baby from Dirty Dancing and she's already shedding tears.  Crying = votes
* Once he gets kicked off, David Hasselhoff will turn to drugs and alcohol once again after realizing women really aren't into him and his 70's disco-style dancing which stopped being cool in, well, 1979.
* Brooke Burke will continue her awkward interviews, thus proving that good looks and big boobs trump wit

Kids or dogs-what's easier?

It was a busy weekend indeed!  As I mentioned in my last post, we went to the Dave Matthews Concert on Friday night .  We got home about 2 a.m. Saturday morning, and then Mike and I had to get up around 6:45 a.m. to head to the airport.  We flew to Ohio for our nephew's baptism which was a lot of fun.  We then got up at 4 a.m. this morning to fly back home.

I was totally exhausted when we got to the apartment this morning, and was looking forward to catching a few zzzz's.  Only that wasn't possible because our apartment looked like a crime scene.  Only instead of blood stains, there were brown poo stains everywhere.  There were about 30 separate stains on the carpet, more on the couch, and our bed looked like a brown torpedo hit it.  There were spots all over our comforter, sheets and every part of our pillows.

Gross, I know.  If you're eating right now, I apologize.

There are two possible reasons for these gross stomach issues, 1) our dog sitter gave the doggies two treats instead of their usual one, so maybe their stomachs couldn't handle it or more likely 2) The Reese's Peanut Butter Cup wrapper I found on the floor licked clean made our dog very sick.

I was telling my sister-in-law about what happened and she started laughing, saying when she was in the process of potty training her then 1 1/2 year old son, she found that he had pooped in the closet.  We started joking about what's easier, kids or dogs?  Let's break it down...

Can kids sense fear?

Kids- Often have explosive brown poopy too, only it's usually contained in their diaper
Dogs- Doggies are always willing to nap with you no matter what time of day it is, even if they've already been sleeping 10+ hours
Kids- Eventually grow up, and pay you back by taking you out to eat or better yet, building a guest house out back just for you
Dogs- Eat the same thing everyday, so there's no deciding what's for dinner and you don't have to hear them complain, "Not kibbles again!"
Kids- Say sweet things like, "I just love you ma!"
Dogs- Don't talk back or say things like, "Grandma, you have a big butt!" (I actually heard a 6-year old say that this weekend)
Kids- You don't have to worry about getting into fights with the neighborhood Daschund or Lab
Dogs- Don't need allowance, gas money or college tuition

I say all of this jokingly, of course.  I'm sure in the next 10 years or so, we'll be ready for our own 2-legged kids.  Of course, I'll be 42 at that point, so let's just hope my eggs aren't scrambled (if you know what I mean.)

The concert that never was....

Wow, it's a gorgeous day in Chicago!  The sun is shining and there's a hint of Fall in the air, but you can still feel summer hanging on.  A girlfriend of mine and her friend are heading to our apartment as we speak because we're all going to the Dave Matthews concert tonight at Wrigley.  I'm so excited!

I bought these tickets for Mike as a way of making up.  No we didn't fight, but the last concert we went to was John Mayer, and I blew it.  See the thing is, we never actually got to see Mayer perform, because I passed out.  Ha, you're probably thinking it was amateur night and I got too sick.  Wrong.

It was August 14th and a beautiful, hot, sticky day in Chicago.  The concert was in Tinley Park, so we decided to go early and grab a bite to eat.  We went to a little pizzeria in the darling downtown area.  Well, the pizza was amazing, so we ate every last bite.  I also downed 3 RC Cola's, because let's face it, when else am I going to be able to drink RC?  Then we went to an equally darling ice cream parlor, and I ordered a single scoop of Butter Pecan ice cream.  Single really meant triple, but instead of protesting, I licked up every single ounce.  Once we arrived at the concert, we realized security wouldn't allow any tailgating, so Mike and I quickly downed a bottle of wine.  Once we got inside, he bought me a HUGE plastic guitar shaped frozen margarita.  Considering it was 90 degrees out and we paid $14 for it, I chugged the whole thing.

We then went to our seats and watched about 10 minutes of the opening act.  That's when just like a kid I wined, "I don't feel so good."  We then went back to the main area, and I started to black out. I took a drink of water...and that's the last thing I remember... until I woke up on Mike's lap with water coming out of my nose.  I felt awful, so we decided to leave.  As he was walking me out, I chirped, "Well honey, I guess it's for better or worse, right!?"

When I got home, I googled "Passing out after eating too much" and apparently it's pretty common.  My blood sugar was on a roller coaster, until finally I couldn't handle it anymore.

So tonight is a chance to redeem myself.  If I stay away from frozen margaritas, Butter Pecan ice cream and two tons of carbs, I should be okay.  Wish me luck.

God Bless Chick-fil-A

Chicago is a little bit brighter and happier today.  Sure it rained most of the morning, the sun only peeked out for about 20 minutes all day, and the chill of fall is in the air, but Chicago is a better place because......drum roll please...we just got our first Chick-fil-A!

That's right, for all these years Chicagoans have been missing out on the juicy goodness that's known as the Chick-fil-A nugget.  We've been deprived of the succulent sweet tea.  Our mornings have been drab without chicken biscuits. 

Now, that's all going to change.

Chuck Berman, Chicago Tribune

At 6 a.m. this morning, Chicago's first Chick-fil-A opened in Aurora to an anxious crowd already waiting.  Yep, fans were willing to wait for a juicy party in their mouths.  The fun doesn't stop there--there are plans to build 3 more Chick-fil-A's in the city, including one near Loyola University. 

You may ask why I'm so excited about what may be considered commonplace for many communities.  Here's the thing: Chicago doesn't have many chain restaurants.  Sure, we have delicious deep-dish pizza,  amazing breakfast restaurants, and places where you can get life-changing pasta.  But we don't have places like Carrabba's, Taco Bell, KFC, Outback, etc....you know, the kind of places where you know the menu, and have a favorite that you've loved for years.  I heard E! News Host Giuliana Rancic explain it well one time.  She said she loves chain restaurants because you know what to expect and your favorite dishes always taste the same.

So to Chick-fil-A: thank you for giving the Windy City a chance.  We won't let you down.

Yellow Death Machines

I know sometimes I joke that Chicago cab drivers are crazy in their yellow death machines, and perhaps you think I'm exaggeratting a little bit.  Well, I'm not.

I decided to join a Delta, Delta, Delta alumnae group to meet new people.  On Monday, we had a meeting at 6 p.m., so I hopped in a cab around 5:40 p.m.  The cabbie must have thought I was in labor, because he decided to peel out even before I was completely in the car.  Then going out of my neighborhood, he tried to illegally pass another cabbie who was going too slow, a.k.a. the speed limit.  However, a bicyclist got in our way, so we had to screech back into our lane, all while the bicyclist was justifyingly cussing us out.  At the stop sign, my cabbie decided to give the whole illegally passing thing another shot.  While doing so, he rolled down the windows to curse out the other cabbie.  I ducked to avoid potential bullets that would soon be flying. 

Then we proceeded down Randolph Avenue at a death-defying clip.  Somehow we fit our tiny yellow death machine in-between a semi truck taking up a lane and a half and construction cones on the other side.  We then revved up to about 40 mph, all the while dodging pedestrians.  Then we took a turn on two wheels, and voila, I made it to the meeting in a record 8 minutes.

The fare was $6.42, so I gave the cabbie an even $7.  Sorry, nearly killing me does not equal a tip.

To cab driver #5113--you clearly were on a suicide mission or just learned you have two weeks to live because I've never been more afraid in my life.

Pay It Forward

Many of us hear stories about how our parents lived when they were our age, and let's face it, they were stinkin' poor.  (Sorry Mom, I have to tell stories.)  My mom always had uneven hair because she cut it herself.  She made her own clothes, and let's just say she'll never appear on Project Runway.  She hand-washed my brother's cloth diapers to save money.  She picked up the skill of being able to make an incredible casserole out of only ketchup and a can of olives.  As I got older, I can remember her never spending a dime on herself, that way she could afford things like new school clothes and braces for me. 

When my mom visited last week, she took me shopping for new clothes, and still only bought a few things for herself after I insisted.  She bought Mike and I dinner, and would only let me buy one lunch after I kept insisting.  I've been feeling badly, because here's the thing: I'm 32 years old.  I should be Paying It Forward, and buying her clothes.  Mike and I should be paying the dinner bills when we go out with our parents.  We should be giving them gas money.  We should be offering that they move in with us if they lose their jobs.

But we're not.

When is it our turn?  I know a lot of people in my generation feel like we owe our parents a lot for all the years they've suffered to make sure we never did without.

For me, I'm still waiting to get a fabulous PR job, or to publish my first book, so for now, I can only thank you Mom.  I promise, someday it will be my turn.

Beefy and Cheesy

What is it about a lack of sleep that makes you crave really bad food?  Like it seems the only way you can stay awake is if you stuff your face with cookies or grease, or cookies dipped in grease.  No wonder most people who work in morning TV instantly gain 15-20 pounds.  When you get up at 1:30 a.m., you somehow feel justified eating White Castles at 8:00 a.m.

I didn't get much sleep last night, and I had to get up for work at 5:30 a.m.  By 11 a.m., I was ravenous.  I felt like Christopher Walken in that famous SNL skit, because my mind was saying, "I got a fever, and the only prescription is a little more cowbell."  Only my cowbell was really just cow.  I decided I must have a double cheeseburger from McDonald's.

The closest Mickey D's to my work is at Randolph and Wabash, and it's a little ghetto.  The McDonald's itself is really nice, but there are always bums hanging out there.  I've also noticed that nearly every time I go there, someone tries (and usually succeeds) to cut in front of me.  It's also the most expensive McDonald's, and there's no dollar value menu.  But today, I didn't care.  I ordered my double cheeseburger, fries and a coke.  I ate it there because I knew I couldn't wait the 5 blocks it would take to walk home.  While I was enjoying the delicious party in my mouth, I noticed the wrapping on my burger described it as "beefy and cheesy."  It sure is!  That marketing person hit the nail on the head.

Now I'm home and should be working out to burn the 1,000 calories I just consumed, but instead, I think I'll nap.  It's time to dream about that beefy and cheesy goodness that I know I won't eat again for at least 6 months.

Ever had a crazy neighbor?

For those of you regular blog followers, you know that I'm in a feud with one of our neighbor's. (Yep, I haven't made friends with anyone on our floor, just enemies.)  As I mentioned before, we live on an all-dog floor, so everyone of our neighbor's has a dog or dogs.  A couple of months after we moved in, Mike and I came home from watching Avatar to find a nasty-gram at our door.  It said our dogs were awful, barked all the time, and if we didn't do something about it, our neighbor was going to turn us into the management staff.

Suspect #1

Suspect #2

Frustrating, right?  What made it even more annoying was that it wasn't true.  I was unemployed at the time, and afraid to venture out in Chicago (hence the Sweaty Armpits), therefore I was home for at least 22 hours a day and knew our dogs rarely, if ever, barked.  I thought maybe the neighbor had us confused with someone else.

But being the good neighbor I am, I was vigilant to make sure our dogs never barked or growled.  However, this neighbor seemed intent on getting them riled up.  She began playing fetch with her dog in the hallway.  She'd run up and down the halls with her dog, yelling, "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" until dogs on the entire floor were going nuts.  She'd let her dog sit at our door, and sniff my dogs underneath the crack.  Yesterday, I got out of the shower to catch her tapping on our door, as if instigating them.  I decided to no longer punish my doggies, I actually wanted them to bark at this snot bucket.

Then last night, we came home from a wedding to find another nasty-gram.  Yep, she says it makes her uncomfortable to have our dogs barking when she's waiting for the elevator, and she wants us to do something about it.  Is this girl crazy? 

Let me just say, "It's on crazy wiener-dog owner who I don't know your name!"  You think you're uncomfortable now?  Just wait until I have Mike walk the dogs in a thong.  Then we'll chat.

9/11--We will never forget

This is a tough day for every American.  I always get weepy and sad on September 11, and I know I always will. 

I'm sure you're like me, and remember exactly where you were that day.  I was working in Cheyenne, Wyoming as a Master Control Operator at a tiny TV station.  Since we were on Mountain time, we didn't show the CBS morning news live, instead it was an hour behind.  I never really monitored the live feed, but for some reason, I looked behind me that day and saw it, right after the first plane hit the tower.  I decided to take the live feed, and just seconds after that, the second tower was hit.  For the next two weeks, I watched 8-hours of post 9/11 coverage everyday.  It was awful.  I cried everyday and felt overwhelmed at times.

To all the heroes from that day who ran into the building's without a moment's hesitation--thank you.  Your bravery and selflessness will not be forgotten.  To all the people who lost their lives that day--we honor your memories and will never forget you.

There are a lot of video tributes out there that are still too painful to watch, but I really like this one.  It's a commercial Budweiser did, but only aired once so as to not make money from it.  It's very touching.  9/11 Commercial

God Bless America.  Be sure the hug your loved ones a little tighter today.

To Have and to Force....

One advantage of walking everywhere in Chicago is that I can easily eavesdrop on people's conversations.  (I'm mean, c'mon, if they're going to talk that loud, it's fair game.)  Today I heard a man complaining to his co-worker that he has no free time.  He said after work, he has to take his kids to sports games or practices 3 days a week.  Then he said, "And now Deb has me volunteering one night a week!  Can you believe it?"  So this poor gentleman is committed to being busy at least 4 nights a week, thanks in part to his wife.

It got me thinking about the things we do, sometimes by force, for our spouses or girlfriends/boyfriends.  Then I thought, hey wait a minute...Mike doesn't do things just because I insist!  He's getting away scott free!  For example, I really wanted to take dancing lessons before our wedding.  For years I've envisioned us wowing our guests with our ballroom dancing skills.  I actually pictured in my mind Mike picking me up and lifting me over his head Dirty Dancing style.  How cool would that be??

But he said no.  Trust me, I asked for months and months, and he always said no.  He said he didn't want to look like a "pansy."  I insisted that Max and Derrick on Dancing with the Stars are totally hot, but he didn't agree.  I finally decided it would be silly to force him to go because he wouldn't enjoy it, so I gave up.  I knew our no rhythm, 9th grade homecoming dance style would just have to do.

So what am I doing wrong?  How can I force him to do things?  (I think it's what you do once you get married.)  Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. 

Brrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

10:11 a.m.

Um, excuse me.  What happened, Chicago?  Just this morning you were sunny and warm and perfectly appropriate for wearing a skirt.  By this afternoon, everything changed.  Apparently the shocking news that our mayor of 21 years, Richard M. Daley, will not run again for office has thrown our weather into a frigid tailspin.

5:15 p.m.

Earlier this week, I was getting back-sweat as soon as I walked two blocks.  My flip flops would flop off because my feet were sweaty.  Our pool looked like an episode of Jersey Shore with a bunch of muscular men sitting in the water, Miller Lights in hand, trying to hit on the lovely bikini-wearing ladies.  My Chihuahua's were crying until I let them out on the patio so they could sunbathe.  My hair was going instantly flat, yet frizzy as soon as my locks hit the non-air-conditioned air.  People were selling bottles of water on the street.

Now?  Today's temperatures dropped quicker than Marie Osmond on Nutrisystem.  People are wearing cardigans, sweatshirts with their college logos, scarves wrapped around their necks and yes, even coats.  Two Canadian women came into The Loft today and bought coats because they were freezing.  Really??  If Canadians are cold, you know it must really be Arctic.  I bought jeans today just because I couldn't bear the thought of walking home in the blustery winds in my denim mini skirt that was perfect at 10 a.m.

To every person who complained this summer because it was too hot (myself included) shame on us.  Now look at what we've done!  It's going to be snowing in no time.

To all of you in Egypt, hello!

I just realized there is a very cool feature on blogger that allows me to see the stats of this blog.  For example, I can see which posts are the most popular.  So far, my "Dating in 2010" has been the most viewed.  That was followed closely by "Did Rainbow Bright get sick?" The fact that my dating advice has been the most popular really doesn't surprise me considering so many people are in the midst of a relationship or trying to start a new one.  I hope my advice to the ladies to not cry too much or warning men not to be douches is helping people everywhere!

This is crazy...I also found out I have readers in Alaska, Canada, Australia, The United Kingdom, China, the Philippines, and Egypt!  Are you kidding me?  That is so cool!  I really just started this blog as a way to share my experiences of living in a city after being born and raised in Wyoming.  I had NO idea someone in Cairo would or could care.  To all those people reading, thank you!

However, there's suddenly a whole new pressure to write daily and be witty.  So I'd better go now..I've got to go get yelled at by a tourist or nearly run over by a cabbie so I have some funny fodder to tell you about.  Talk soon.

The season of weddings

Mike and I are getting ready to go to a wedding tonight at the Fairmont Hotel.  Yay!  I'm so excited.  I just love weddings.  Luckily we have two more after this one.

Today I've been thinking about what makes weddings so magical.  First of all, it's so fun to dress up and actually have a reason to blow out and curl your hair.  It's fun to wear a pretty dress.  It's great seeing two people in love who want to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.  It's nice to drink for free for a whole night.  It's fun to catch up with old friends.  And for me, it's super nice not being the bride.

Sure, I loved our wedding more than life itself, but being a guest is so much easier than being the bride.  Here's why...
*  It doesn't take two people to help you lift up your dress so you can pee
*  People aren't asking you a million questions, like Jeannie where are the shuttles picking us up?  And Jeannie, what should I wear?  (Believe it or not...people were calling me the day of our wedding asking for directions.  Shame of them for not being better prepared!  Of course, that's Karma because I used to be that disorganized guest.)
* You can actually eat because you don't have an upset stomach and your dress isn't altered so tightly your ribs will hurt the next day.  And the day after that.
* You don't have to make small talk with every guest, even the ones you don't know, but pretend you do.
* You can drink freely and really jam to Miley Cyrus without worrying about getting too buzzed in front of your grandma.

Holla!  Party on tonight!

Think before you eat

The other day the elevator stopped on the 15th floor and a man got in.  He immediately pulled an apricot from his bag, and began eating it with such desperation I thought he must have just gotten off of a 15-day hunger strike.  He slurped the juices like a little kid slurps the last of his milkshake.  It was so gross.  As we were getting off, I turned to Mike and said, "Wow, did you enjoy that apricot as much as he did?"

I can appreciate that life is busy and we sometimes have to eat on the go, but I wish people would think about where and how they're going to grab a quick bite.  For example, have you ever been on an airplane and someone suddenly opens up their onion with a side of poop sandwich?  It's the most potent thing you've ever smelled, and the stench lingers all the way from Chicago to Denver.  Seriously?  Couldn't that person have eaten their steaming pile of poo sandwich before the got on? 

And couldn't Mr. Apricot inhale his juicy fruit after he got off the elevator?  He could save that kind of grossness for his 15-minute cab ride.  The cabbie wouldn't hear a thing over the screams of people trying to get out of his way while he cruises down Michigan Avenue at 90 mph.

Did Rainbow Bright get sick?

There comes a time in every ex-newsgal's life when she realizes she doesn't need a bright turquoise blue blazer anymore.  Or a sunshine yellow one.  Or a pumpkin orange one.  Or a...well, you get the idea.

In television news, the brighter the better.  For the 8 years I worked as a reporter and anchor, I bought every rainbow colored jacket I could find.  I searched high and low in department and speciality stores trying to avoid the typical grays and blacks, but instead finding raspberries and chartreuse's.  My closet looks like Rainbow Bright vomited after a night of drinking Green Apple Martinis.

Recently, I've made 3 revelations... 1) I love writing, so I really don't want to work in front of the camera anymore 2) I live in Chicago where the only women who wear these colors have matching top hats and push shopping carts around, and 3) We're moving out of our 31st story apartment in a couple of months, so I don't want to schlep this stuff through another move.


So I've found this really great website called www.tvnewscloset.com where current or former TV people can sell their suits, blazers, jewelry, etc.  That way poor recent college grads breaking into news and making slave wages can actually afford some clothes.  I think it's a win win!


I've decided to pack up 75 of my suits and blazers to consign there.  75!  I finally have room to hang up my winter coats, holla!  Plus it feels good to pack up the past so I can move forward to a brighter, but not raspberry bright, future.