Statue of Liberty.

While single and over 30, I have some incredible friends who are my family here. They are my Statue of Liberty ladies, the ones who say "give me your tired, your poor . . . " and will be there. When a job review goes badly, they will be there to listen to me cry and will muster the anger for me. If a relationship goes wrong, they are there to tell me I was always too good for that anyway. And, if something great happens, they are going to buying tickets to the event to cheer. If its Wednesday and we made it over the hump, they will raise a glass. In short, they are the best.

My mom, Missy and I had dinner this spring. It was at dinner, that we realized that our generation is very different from those who preceding us and very lucky regarding our friends. A lot of us have moved away from our biological families to pursue our careers and have made our own little local families of girlfriends in our adopted homes. When my mom had her knees replaced, her mother came out to take care of her. When her mom had a knee replaced, my mom came to take care of her. Knowing that knee replacement is in my future, my mom pondered who would care for me if she was unable for some reason. To her generation, you would never ask a friend to deal with that. It is not a thought that would ever cross her mind. She has a lot of friends, but they are not such friends that she would ask them to see her at her very worst. For me, it would never cross my mind that my friends would not step up. Knee replacement is an ugly thing, with oozing, seeping, and a lot of pain. And, my girls would be there if my mom could not be. A lot of have seen me in the morning at the gym, half-awake and dripping with sweat. Some of them have seen me bereft with disappointment. These are my girls. If I were to die unexpectedly, I know that my friends would do me the courtesy of browbeating my landlords to let them in to tidy my place up so that my parents would not have to deal with that in their grief. Its just what friends do in our era.

Today was an annoying day for me and I just wanted to get out of the office. Missy sympathized and offered up sushi, prosecco and Project Runway if I felt like coming over. Could not imagine better on this rainy Thursday evening. I went home to change and to chill some bubbs before heading over to her place. There is something important about having a friend who knows you well enough to accept you in your sweats, to order food and drinks prosecco, watch TV and have a perfectly lovely, rainy Thursday night.

Due Diligence.

Halloween is a mere three days away at this point. I am generally awful at coming up with costume ideas. Thankfully, this year, it was done for me. Melissa came up with a group costume for the Trump Girls, the Lauras, Andrea, Missy and Heather. We're going to be the Spice Girls! According to Melissa, some of the casting was just so obvious: Heather as Posh, Andrea as Baby, Laura as Sporty and me as Ginger. I always end up as the redhead despite my protests -- I was born a redhead but am not a redhead now, except in the right light.

As part of our costuming, Melissa found herself some leopard print leggings, black wedge boots and a gold sequin skirt. I ordered a British flag dress (which because it is crazy-short and its almost November and chilly, will be worn with jeans) and some red, vinyl, platform boots. The boots are just awful -- they are PERFECT. Heather has it easy with a tight, black dress and stilettos. Laura has the most comfortable with gym clothes. Andrea's actually might be tough -- its hard to find pastel, babydoll dresses these days.

Honestly, I was concerned that we had overdone it.

That is, until I did my due diligence and watched Spice World tonight. Scary Spice wore so much animal print it was, well, scary. As it turns out, I was well cast as Ginger is depicted as being a fountain of useless trivia. However, I also learned that Geri NEVER wore pants. She must be Lady Gaga's role model. As noted, I will definitely be wearing pants so I guess I won't be true to character.

All that is left to do before Halloween is to download the best-of album to play at our pre-party. So excited to spice it up on Saturday!

Lessons Disregarded.

As part of payment of my debt to society -- or at least, that portion of society represented by insurance companies --for making an illegal right turn on red, I spent part of Saturday doing online traffic school. During the course of which, I learned a few things:

1. In Illinois, it is illegal to change lanes within 100 feet of an intersection, coming or going. They must write this rule in extremely fine print based on my observations. It seems like you're lucky when people don't change lanes in the middle of the intersection.

2. A full stop is defined to be your odometer at zero, and your car rocking back and forth. By that definition, I'm not sure I've ever come to a full stop on my own volition at a stop sign. Unless someone is in front of me, fully stopping, I apparently do rolling stops -- I never rock back and forth, even though my odometer is at zero.3. The traffic school recommends that every time you have a green light and proceed through an intersection, you should take your foot off the gas and cover the brake with your foot, so that you are prepared to stop at any moment.
Online traffic school is a good way to avoid a ticket on your record. Unfortunately, the program will not do it at your own speed, and much like in driving, my speed is fast so I was a bit bored. And, while I noted the above lessons and others -- I got 100% -- on my test, I have to admit that I've already disregarded these lessons in favor of not getting in an accident for following all the rules while driving in Chicago.

3.

I blame Britney Spears for this post.

Missy and I planned to have lunch today to share the details of our weekends, specifically her date on Friday night. While we had plans, we had company that was not quite appropriate for the details. So, we agree to meet for a drink post-work and training.

Missy got to Theory first and snagged us some seats at the bar. After a long, unproductive day, I had gotten on a roll in the last few hours so I was a little late as I finished something up. Thankfully, three people next to Missy at the bar had kept her entertained during my tardiness. How? By openly and loudly, discussing a possible threesome they might have. When I walked in, they were debating the pros and cons, including how to deal with anyone feeling left out. Considerate to themselves, I suppose but I would rather they be considerate to us and leave the rest of us in earshot out of it. I was trying to eat, after all!

And, it ruined the date-detailing. Not to steal from Sex and the City, but I do think that living in a big city does rob dating people of romance and what is considered basic courting manners in other places. Last week, Missy and I were both extremely impressed by the idea that she was going to have a "car date," that is, he was going to come pick her up. And, for an actual dinner at a restaurant. Usually, a date in a city is meeting for drinks. Not only did this guy drive over to pick her up, he double parked and actually came up to her door to get her. Setting the bar high right there.

And, yet, while listening to this impressive date story, I kept hearing interjections related to threesome logistics or seeing the threesome making out. And, now, the lyrics to Britney Spears' song, "3," are stuck in my head. "1,2,3, not only you and me. . ."


In case you're curious, it seems that the threesome didn't happen, instead they all agreed to meet for breakfast instead. I guess it is a Monday night, after all.

Bart.

Bart was my family's dog since I was a freshman in high school. He was an adorable little puppy -- almost entirely black with white paws. We debated calling him something to reflect his coloring (Spats?) but realized that we like people-dog names (Bart, Buffy, Beau, Sunday and Shelby are included in my family's dog ownership . . . I guess all of our names are B.S.). When he was a little adorable puppy, too young to be left long, my mom would tuck him in a picnic basket and bring him to whatever freshman game I had to cheer that day. It wasn't long before we robbed that adorable little puppy of any dignity and put a purple scrunchy (yes, scrunchy, it was 1993) on him and declared him our mascot, the puppy-Panther.

He grew into a neurotic but loving dog. He may have slept on my brother's bed when my parents weren't paying attention but he was always my mom's dog. As he became a very senior dog, it was clear that he wasn't escaping the maladies of old dog-age. He had trouble getting up some times, or his back legs would just slip out from under him. He couldn't see very well any more and he was partially deaf. But he still knew how to cuddle up under feet and sat vigil if my mom was sick.

The old-man Bart had to be put to sleep on Friday. After a good morning, eating most of his breakfast and stealing Shelby's ball, he had a stroke. While he had trouble standing earlier, he still had his dignity and would growl when someone would lift him to his feet. This time, he didn't growl. It was time. My mom called me on Friday night to tell me. My poor mother has had to put two dogs to sleep alone now. Mom and I cried on the phone for awhile but you have to know that he was a good dog, with a good life, who is hopefully chewing on his Frisbee up in dog heaven.

Fashion Forecast.

I should have known what the weather would be in Chicago today without even checking. For the past six months, every time there has been an event that required (1) glamming up and (2) some Schwartz in my life, it has poured. Chicago Singles at the Museum of Contemporary Art: raining cats and dogs. Glamorama: Steady downpour, decreasing as the night went on. Gala: Took 20 long, hair-deflating minutes to get a cab. Which brings me to tonight: Macy's presents Chicago's Fashion Focus, which was a VIP cocktail reception at the tent in Millennium Park, followed by a fashion show, and concluding with an after-party at the Shrine. The forecast? Sprinkles in the morning, growing heavier as the day went on. My boy, Tom Skilling, was not wrong. By the time I drove home tonight, there was enough water on the streets that I think there was the potential for hydroplaning, depending on the car.

However, neither rain nor flood will stop fashion. The show was super. My friend, Andrea, opened the show, explaining that it consisted of both designers that Macy's currently carried and those fledgling designers who were in the Fashion Incubator, a Macy's-sponsored and Chicago-supported project to encourage design in Chicago. The show featured 106 looks. I had never been to fashion show before but I LOVED it. While some of the models had hip bones so sharp I was afraid for them (and those around them who might accidentally get sliced if the girl should stumble into them), there was actually a wide variety of model size, including one plus-sized model who owned the runway and crowd like no one else. She arched her eyebrow and that crowd went wild. Incredible. Anyway, I thought it was great and saw some clothes that I would very much like to own.

From there, we went to the Shrine, a club, and site of the afterparty. Due to the rain, I was near my physical limit anyway. A friend of mine works at the Shrine and I was hoping that knowing him would guarantee my tired knees and feets a seat. Thankfully, not much standing and lots of sitting and chatting took place. It was nights like tonight that I most hate my arthritis -- the music was good and I like to dance but it was not an option. Missy and I decided to call it a night around 10:30. But, the Shrine is located in a cab dead zone so we gave up and ran across the street to Cuatro, a restaurant, that was still serving and had a snack while we called a cab.

Overall, it was a very fun night and so different from my professional world. Unfortunately, my body was a casualty of the rain. Sadly though, the greatest casualty from tonight was Missy's camera. Its tiny and cute and now apparently lost. I have an APB out on it -- calls in to Cuatro and the Shrine - but so far nothing. Photographic proof of the good times tonight (and others) may be lost, but at least we still have the memories. In my case, that might not last very long but for others, I'm sure it will.

NYC You and Raise

I'm in NYC again for work. This time, though, I finally was able to
meet up with a friend for dinner. My friend from UVA is here. When we
were in college, we spent many hours throwing each other around. We
met in karate class, would spar with each other, then we'd race around
the city getting slurpees or going to the driving range. He is a
really smart, funny, generous guy who happens to be a trader and
living in NY these days.

He is also a relationship guy. Essentially the entire time I've known
him -- not quite 10 years -- he has had a serious girlfriend.
Unfortunately, he recently broke up with his girlfriend because they
realized it just wasn't going to work. And, those breakups are the
hardest. Its much easier (long term) to have a breakup where someone
does something awful and then you hate each other. Just not being
quite right sucks because you still like each other. Sucks even more
when you are still living together because NY apartments can take
awhile to find.

So he picked me up in his "city car" and off we went to dinner at
Colicchio's craftbar. (Note: the "city car" is a porsche, the "country
car" is a Ferrari that apparently bottoms out just trying to get out
of the city. Traders.) Whenever I see him, its just like UVA level of
friendship even though we are really bad at staying in touch and only
see each other infrequently. For example, he and his girlfriend stayed
with me in Chicago for about a month some years ago while he worked
out a job situation. The next time he was in town -- a year and a half
or so later -- he showed up with a different serious girlfriend. Bad
friending by me and him but whatever. We had a good discussion,
including our current problems. He saw my job problems, and raised me
relationship problems. And, I fold -- especially as he, being a
self-made, self-directed guy offered me an idea of how to go out on my
own and side-step firm life. Unlike his trader-self, I'm risk-adverse
but its something I will at least consider.

Anyway, we had a great time and it was so good to see him. Plus, it
made me appreciate even more just how hard it is to be single,
especially if you're not as lucky as I think I am to have some really
good and reliable friends. Got to witness the difficulty of his
position when his ex-girlfriend joined us later for dessert and drink
after what she described as discouraging apartment-hunting.

Sloth - 1, LP - 0

It is 9:40 p.m. on Sunday and I'm already in bed. Quite possibly the earliest I've been to bed in ten or more years. I can't decide if I'm bored or tired, but I actually think it might be that latter. Its inexplicable that I could be tired after a weekend that was 97% laying around. I did work -- although from a prone position on my couch -- and my laundry is done and house de-cluttered and relatively clean, but that's all I can say I accomplished. I'll be optimistic and call it re-charging after a long week and preparing for an even busier week ahead. Sure, that's it. It can't be that I just succumbed to my inherent laziness and comfort of my couch.

Work Hard, Play Hard.

I had lunch with my buddy Ray yesterday. When I told him of my various events this week (Monday's reception with Virginia Madsen, Wednesday's StyleChicago event at Pops for Champagne with the 35 pound goodie bag, and that evening's wine-tasting for charity), his response was to ask me if I remembered a couple years ago when all I used to do after work was workout. Its true. My week nights used to consist only of working out and occasionally re-hydrate at a nearby bar with Missy. (As an aside, as I've switched gyms due to closings, I've also switched bars. My gym has classed up over the years and so has my bar, with a giant leap for liver-kind in the last year. My gyms, in order: Lakeshore on Wabash, Lakeshore on Ontario, and Trump. My bars, in order: Rossi's, Timmy O'Toole's, and Theory. And, I've liked each of my gym and bars, in their own unique way.) But, now that I workout at Trump, for the first time in my life, I am now a painfully-early morning worker-outer.

I am also a work-hard, play-hard kind of girl. That was the unofficial motto of my undergrad and it continued at law school. Last night was a wine-tasting benefiting BUILD, Inc., a charity focused on involving urban youth in positive things. The wine-tasting was up in Lincoln Park, on a rather desolate stretch of Elston, at the Wine Discount Center. Prior to heading over, I drove Missy over to Wicker Park to pick something up. Traffic was way better than we thought and we arrived at the wine-tasting 20 minutes early. Given the desolate area, we decided it was best to trade our prime parking space in favor of a bar to occupy us. Neither of us knew the area well so we soon ended up at Lalo's on Lincoln. The place was deserted due to some rather icky weather outdoors. We enjoyed our first-ever strawberry vodka soda (strangely like a smoothie but without the calcium) and chatted with the bartender, a super-nice and super-bored guy who offered us a shot to try to get us to stay. But, we had our commitment so back to the Wine Discount Center we went.
It was a nice event at an odd location. There were six tables of six bottles each for tasting. The pours were rather stingy -- they were taking "tasting" seriously -- and there were quite a few people who were more interesting in education than drinking. (Obviously, not me. I wanted them to stop learning about the wine to make room at the table for me.) Their education left me thirsty. We stayed maybe 45 minutes and then headed on.

I suppose this is where the work-hard, play-hard part of me comes into action. I had left work early -- 6:30 -- for this event and I just wasn't ready to call it a night at 8:15. If I'm not working, I best be playing. So, we decided that dinner was in order. Because I was driving Missy home anyway, we figured we might as well eat in the West Loop. We tried Sushi Wabi (packed), WestEnd (busy and no parking), and were getting frustrated when Missy had a brilliant idea: Province! Its one of my favorite restaurants but for some reason, I never think of it as a random dinner place. Its a reservation-restaurant in my head. But, we were able to get in with minimal wait.

Things to love about Province on Thursday:

1.) The food is always so incredibly delicious and satisfying.

2.) Our waiter was a character.

3.) Best of all, the couple behind us was ridiculous. A clearly gay guy who strongly believed himself to be straight on what we think was a date with a girl who could not possibly have been less interested, given that she didn't smile, laugh, or even say a word (other than to order) for 35 minutes. The man more than filled the void. For one thing, he really thought he was Very Important. And, he was so quotable. My favorite quote from him was "Every single woman that I've been engaged to, I've loved to death."

4.) Our character-waiter gave us a free dessert because we had trouble making a decision and we opted against his favorite in the end.

It was a perfect way to finish what was an already-fun night. Nights like last night make getting up early each morning to workout worthwhile.

Licensed.

Six weeks ago, the City of Chicago took my license for making a right turn on red during a prohibited time. Whoops. But, I admitted my wrongdoing, paid my fee and requested traffic school. And, waited for them to mail me my license back, as promised. And, then I waited some more. It took over three weeks for the clerk of courts to acknowledge receipt of payment. An automated system directed me to wait until October 13th to call if I had not yet received my court diversion information. October 13th came and went and I still did not have a court-diversion envelope in my grubby mitts. More importantly, I STILL did not have my license back.

So, I called the number. I was informed that the court diversion envelope would arrive four to six weeks after the clerk of courts received payment. However, I was also told that I should have received my license back weeks ago. Four phone calls to various divisions within the clerk's office, I was left with the inescapable conclusion that they lost my license. (I was also left with the need to write a rather snippy letter to the clerk's office complaining of their procedures and attention to detail. They essentially revoked my license and imposed an additional fee, in direct contradiction to what is allowed by statute which provides for no discretion for traffic violation sentences. That's a no-no.) They purportedly mailed it on September 26th and place the blame squarely on the post office. The post office in Chicago is an easy scapegoat, given its multiple winnings of the title of worst post office in the country. But, they did not mail it in any trackable form. Given that, my phone calls to the post office were met with a mix of condescension and incredibility. Despite six calls and multiple message (that were not timely returned), I was left with only one option to get my license back: get a new one.

I walked over to the Secretary of State's office at 2:00 pm on Wednesday, expecting the worst and armed with various pieces of identification and proof from the clerk's office that they lost my license. All entirely unnecessary. It cost me $5, 15 minutes, and a social security card to get a replacement. It was so easy it actually made me uncomfortable. I just hope nothing bad -- e.g. identity theft -- comes of my lost license as there is nothing more I can do at this point. Perhaps my license will be someone's fake ID. Although I pity the child who to tries to pass themselves off as a 30 year old. The wrinkles will give them away.

Marathon Day.

Sunday was the Chicago Marathon.

As I like to say, my favorite thing about having arthritis is that it gives me an excuse not to do something I've always hated anyway. I just do not understand running being fun. I think people lie when they talk about a runner's high. And running 26.2 miles? With so many other viable transportation options these days, its inexplicable. I don't drive 26 miles per week, why would you want to run in it one day?

That said, my friend, Liz, was crazy (and dedicated, focused, etc.) enough to run it on Sunday. Missy came up with a plan of being a roving cheering squad. I got up at 7:00 am on a Sunday to go out into the sub-40 degrees to go over to Missy's house. From there, I borrowed her cruiser while she rode her tri-bike. It was my first time riding a bike for more than 30 seconds in probably 20 years. Thankfully, the old saying is true -- you just don't forget. Although, riding as an adult in a large city is significantly scarier than riding my bike in the driveway as a kid. And, I say this having lost my two front teeth at the age of 6 by going over the handlebars. As Missy said, the righteous anger and survival instincts of being on a bike when cars ignore you is quick to come.

We biked over to my neighborhood -- Old Town -- and settled in at O'Brien's, a restaurant on Wells St that was mile 10.2 of the course. Laura tried to meet us but got barricaded out by road closures between her place east of us as the marathon course crossed twice in between. We had a perfect vantage point though. Delicious omelets, a couple mimosas and coffee, and just in time to see the crazy-fast Kenyans run by. We also got to see the wheelchair competitors. All just incredible displays. At about 9:45, we first saw Liz running and looking good.

From there, we biked over to the West Loop, to cheer her on again at mile 13. We had to get creative to cheer her on at mile 17 -- we took Lower Wacker to avoid the marathon course. I always say that if you drive Lower Wacker, you really live in Chicago. Its a scary -- but fun -- drive. (If you've seen Batman, you've seen Lower Wacker -- the armored car race with the Joker? That's Lower Wacker.) Well, its A LOT scarier on a bike. We did it for as short as possible but it worked -- we're alive to tell the tale and we got across the course.

After that, we weren't sure where to head other than south. Neither of us had a map with us, assuming we could just pull it up on our blackberries but the website seemed to be having difficulties. We headed toward the south loop and stopped for some coffee at a grocery store. We ran into some people with a map and planned our next stop -- Mile 25 on the south side (22nd and Michigan).
We saw some incredible displays during the day. In addition to the pro-runners and wheelchair athletes, the guy who stood out the most for me was a man missing a leg but did the entire 26 miles on crutches. He was moving too. We saw him all four times and by mile 25, he was so excited to be almost there he raised his crutches in accomplishment and just hopped for awhile. We were cheering everyone on. In fact, we sort of lost our voices in the process but we felt like we had to make for the people who were just standing there, not clapping or cheering even when their person came by, just taking up space. (Side note: anyone running a marathon would be well-served to print their names on their shirts in large and legible font -- it makes cheering so much easier and the runners really seemed to appreciate it as they actually said thanks.)

After mile 25, we headed back to Missy's to drop off the bikes and get some tea to warm up. Tea and a Top Model marathon devolved into sushi, lots of prosecco and Knocked Up. Really, a fun day but exhausting. And, we didn't even run the marathon!

Free.99

When I left work on Friday, I officially had no plans for the weekend. In fact, I was tentatively planning to do nothing. Don't judge me. I think laying around time is very important. Blame it on the RA, blame it on inherent laziness (no, Jamie Foxx, don't blame it on the Goose), but I like having time to just hang out in my apartment, take a nap, catch up on my DVR, perhaps even tidy the place up. I did just that on Friday evening -- catching up on the DVR, at least.

On Saturday, I met my friend, Laura, at the farmers' market (one of the last outdoors ones of the season). We got there with 3 hours to spare before it closed so we decided that it made more sense to have a mimosa and some breakfast and THEN shop the market. Five jumbo mimosas and a $5 breakfast later, we missed most of the good stuff at the market, but very much enjoyed ourselves and our conversation at the bar. From there, we decided that we should stroll down to Macy's to see an event with Clinton Kelly, of What Not to Wear fame, that Andrea, my friend and Laura's sister, was overseeing. On our walk, we also did Laura's tour of free stuff on Michigan Ave. A stop at Williams Sonoma for some snickerdoodle bread samples. On to the Ghirardelli store for a sample piece of chocolate. She noted that if I signed up for texts from Foodlife (a fantastic food court in the Water Tower building), I would be in free food for weeks, cookies, slices of pizza, etc.

We finally made it to Macy's just in time to see the tail end of Clinton Kelly's presentation. He seems like a really great guy and did a wonderful job making women over. Just for walking in, we were given a key that could possibly open a box of Lancome products from which we could choose any product we'd like. Laura and I received the exact same key so we just kind of assumed we weren't getting any free stuff. I should have known better given the overall cost theme -- Free.99 -- of our afternoon. We both walked away some wonderful Lancome moisturizer.

From there, we did a little browsing, looking for new bedding. Missy met us after a trying afternoon and we decided a drink was required. Macy's Walnut Room now has a wine bar. So, we sat ourselves down, enjoyed some sparkling wine "tours" and a cheese plate while we vented. We were good enough customers, apparently, that we received a free cheese plate on our next visit. Loves me some free. From there, we made a quick trip over to another store so that Missy could get her Halloween costume.

Some nine hours after leaving for the farmers' market, I returned home. It was a really unexpectedly wonderful day. But, a dirty one -- I wasn't planning on being gone so long so I hadn't showered before leaving. And, thankfully, Clinton Kelly did not catch sight of me because I'm pretty sure he would have had some tweaks to my ensemble (again, farmers' market-intended, not shopping and sipping).

Liver Functional.

Ever have one of those days where you just want to get drunk? Bad day at work? Feeling blue? Frustrated? Whatever the reason?

When I was younger, I didn't understand the lyrics from the Barenaked Ladies song "Alcohol." I liked it -- catchy beat and all -- but I did not get it. "Alcohol, alternative to feeling like yourself." But now, I see the wisdom in the words. Well, probably not actually wisdom, but I definitely relate to the lyrics:

"I thought that alcohol was just for those with
Nothing else to do
I thought that drinking just to get drunk
Was a waste of precious booze
But now I know that there's a time
And there's a place where I can choose
To walk the fine line between
Self-control and self-abuse . . ."

Due to my crappy memory, I have trouble deciding if my strong liver is due to pain or stress or something else. Alcohol is a great pain killer. For me, in the most significant part (90% or more), physical pain. I drink more on Fridays, aka shot days, than any other day. My shot of medication runs its course by then so by Friday, I'm usually in the most pain of the week. But, lest we forget, alcohol is a great mental pain killer. Or, at least, duller. As I've said, I think my life is generally pretty great. Definitely room for improvement in certain areas but overall, I enjoy myself. That said, there are days, like today, where I just want a nice buzz to take off the edge. Today, about 6:45 pm, I was unnecessarily thrown under the bus by a colleague and vague friend because he didn't want to accept any responsibility for something that was partially, if not primarily per protocol, his responsibility. I was already thirsty, but after that I was parched.

Being a mostly responsible person, I headed home to the safety of my apartment to get a nice buzz to forget the frustration. Unfortunately, my liver is in better shape than anticipated. On the plus side, at least one part of me is in peak condition apparently . . .

Pump (it up) kin.

Pumpkin Workout. For some reason, when I read the description in my gym's monthly newsletter, as the monthly featured class, I thought pumpkin carving, pumpkin pie, fun and yum. Man, was I wrong.

As it turns out, pumpkins can be really heavy, especially when you use them in place of a kettle bell for swings, presses and the like. Now, I suppose my muscles could be yelling at me because I did two circuit training classes in one day but really, I think they are mad at the pumpkins. Those bitches get heavy. Quickly. And, can be hazardous. Missy -- while super athletic and talented, tends to be an accident magnet -- almost dropped the largest (20 lbs?) pumpkin on her face when her grip slipped. Thankfully, it landed on her head and no serious damage was done to girl or gourd. Despite the potential for mishap and pain, it was a really good workout. I admit that I am just a little scared of the potential of a Butterball workout in November for so many reasons.

That said, pumpkin workout on a Thursday was nice. While I was tired from a long week, I felt it to be a fun and good workout with the pumpkins mixing it up a bit. And, of course, I enjoyed my post-workout hydration (bubbly splits) and nutrition (yummy salad) with Missy at Theory. It was only too bad that Cathy, Laura and Andrea couldn't join us.

Moral: pumpkins are wonderful in their pie form, woeful as a weight.

Function Over Fashion.

Today was one of those days that beginning at about 2:00 in the afternoon, all I wanted to do was go home and get in my sweats. I thought about it all afternoon. I left before I was actually finished because I just couldn't take being there and not home and comfortable any longer.

Even in college, I knew that sartorially speaking, the law was not suited to my personal sense of comfort. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good suit as far as ease of dressing and appearing put together and possibly even chic -- depending on just how good of a suit it is. When I can't think of anything else to wear, I always default to suit because I know it matches. But, I hate wearing suit jackets. I don't particularly find business wear or even business casual comfortable. I always wanted to switch majors with my nursing school friends just for the scrubs. Nothing else about their major appealed to me -- definitely not the sick people -- but man, do I love scrubs. And yet, you will only catch me in sweats in public at the Gym. I don't even wear sweats to work on the weekends.

Beginning in college, and possibly earlier due to my fading memory, the minute I get home, however, I always immediately change into some version of sweats. You will never find me just sitting around in my work clothes, even if my work clothes happen to be jeans. Visit me at home unexpectedly and you're getting an entirely different wardrobe than what I present to the public. In fact, this is so ingrained in me that when I travel for work, I always pack a set of laying around the hotel room clothes. They are as essential as my suit.

Moral of my story: I'm not sure I could have been happier anywhere else in Chicago tonight than on my couch in my sweats, despite the fact that I still had to do some work.

The Dread.

Every Sunday, at some point in the afternoon, the dread sets in. I know I'm not alone in having it. That "I don't wanna" go back to my office, deal with the people, get dressed in professional clothes. Hell, Office Space made having a case of the Mondays famous. I really think that my job would be better if I could work from my couch in my sweats all the time. Of course, I wouldn't get a lot done because I'd be constantly napping but trade-offs.

I try to combat the dread in various ways. Lately, Missy and I have made something of a habit of Sunday Night Football, sushi and wine as a way to finish the weekend and ease into Monday. Not every Sunday but a few times. Unconventional but delicious. Another avenue of avoiding the dread I've tried is attacking Monday by getting up and going to spin class. Last week, I was thwarted by no spin instructor. But today, Sonja was back and spin was a hard, sweaty workout. I really do love Sonja's spin classes. You can make the workout as hard as you want and the woman always has good music to go with it. The only problem is when she gets on an electronic music kick. Those are the songs that never end, and only go on and on, my friend, some people started playing it, not knowing what they were and now they keep on playing them forever just because those are the songs that never end . . .

And, it worked. The day went by fairly quickly. The only thing I'm combating now is a case of the sniffles.

Finery.

This weekend I got dressed up to attend the Arthritis Foundation's annual gala. I usually go to one or two black tie events per year. I usually find black tie events to be just kind of "eh" as far as ways to spend an evening. But, I was really looking forward to attending this event for two reasons.

First, I love my dress. I've worn it a few times already but I love that it's both comfortable and pretty. Its a rare find in shades of blue. For fun, I got my nails did (yes, did) in a navy blue. Perhaps not the most professional color but I've always had a love of funky nail colors, going back to high school where I'd paint my nails a different color every day -- yellow, bright blue, green, hot pink, you name it, I'd wear it, except for black.

Second, this time as my "date." I was bringing my friend, Laura. She is a natural at these events. Actually, its basically her job. I love watching her work. Its incredible. I've seen her speak and now I've seen her in action. She has a book coming out in February on the networking power of social events. I need to pre-order it because she is a master. And, best of all, she actually enjoys these events.

Coincidentally, her sister and my friend, Andrea, was invited to a gala for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra on Saturday as well. Her "date" was our friend Heather. The Trump girls were dressing up on Saturday. We normally see each other in sweats and sweating but we do clean up nicely. Post-Galas, we planned to meet for some bubbly, as is only fitting when Heather and I are involved.

The gala was really fun. The food wasn't bad. Laura made friends with our server who rewarded her friendship with extra polenta, a special fruit and cookies plate that no one else was offered. We danced to a pretty good band. It was a good time. And so was meeting up with our girls later. As one of my male friends pointed out, we are pretty lucky that we can bring a friend to a black tie event and not have anyone give it a second thought. Its not quite as easy for guys. Chalk one up for the ladies!