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!

(Boom) Boom Pow

I checked the weather last night, and it told me that today's high was anticipated at 56 (it actually got to 58).  I was at a loss for an outfit.  I guess due to our tepid-at-best summer, I just wasn't mentally prepared for the chill.  I got out the door this morning and it was like, boom, POW -- it is fall!   And, to quote those wordsmiths, the Black-Eyed Peas, "I liked that boom, boom, pow."

 

I went with an experimental outfit this morning.  That's what I like to call an outfit who's component parts are untried and untested with each other.  And, it was particularly experimental since I didn't bother to take it for a test drive at home before packing it and putting it on this morning, when it was too late to acknowledge that the experiment failed.  Today's experiment was comprised of individual pieces that made me think fall: pants, instead of a skirt, and a long, cozy sweater, instead of a jacket.  (I'm not willing to put on tights or a jacket until October, no matter what.)  The experiment turned out fairly well, I'm pleased to report.  Its exactly what I like about fall -- cozy without being bulky.  Chilly without being cold.  If I had some chili to eat and some apple cider to drink, it would be the perfect boom, boom, pow into fall for me.

Locker Room.

Last week's short Gym-hiatus had a few unexpected consequences. 

 

First, I've showered more in my own apartment over the last week than I have in the last six months combined.  Between the fact that I try to work out in the mornings 6 days a week (although Saturday always depends on how good or bad my decisions are on Friday night) and that the Gym has a much nicer shower, I usually only shower in my own shower once a week at best.  And, when I say that the Gym has a much nicer shower, I'm not kidding.  Deluge shower with four heads above, four on the walls, you can set the temperature specifically, set the lights to a specific color or ambience (sunrise, sunset, etc), and set a water massage pattern if you wish.  Its really wonderful.  Plus, there is the sauna, steam room and much nicer (and never-ending) lotion than I have at my house.  I have not purchased shampoo in over a year.

 

Second, because of the above, I am accustomed to getting ready with a bunch of friends around me.  Its nice to have a second opinion on whether your experimental outfit works or if you should add a belt or, importantly, someone who will finish zipping that last bit of the zipper without having to wrench your shoulder to do it if you were home alone.  And, these being my friends, we rarely leave the locker room without having complimented each other on something.  Its a nice way to start the day.

 

I apparently have re-set my motivation and have been back at the Gym since Sunday.  Back to the super-duper shower.  Unfortunately, it seems that most of my friends are out of town or busy and I have been getting ready alone -- or, worse, with women who I don't know and it doesn't have that nice comraderie.  I am suffering from Trump-girls deprivation apparently.

Versus

Bed versus Gym. Sleep versus exercise. I like both and generally find a balance. But lately -- and uncharacteristically -- Bed and sleep have been winning the battle. I even made a deal with myself that because I didn't work out for the past couple days due to work that I would get up and work out this morning. I'm awake early but eyes are burning. I suspect that I will break my deal. Maybe I'm just pressing the reset button on my motivation.

To Tweet.

Long story: Heather convinced me. She appealed to my sense of duty to my friends and obligation to help fix her boredom, and mine. And, apparently, its simple enough. I haven't figured out the tinyurl business or how to post a tweetpic but I also haven't tried. I have confidence that as a child of the computer age, I can figure this out.

Short story: follow me on twitter! http://twitter.com/lpelanek

These Kids These Days.

I recently celebrated my fifth year working at the same firm. Five years of practice, although my fifth year of being a real attorney does not ocurr until November 4, 2009. Election Day. Also, the day I can elect to be a member of roughly half of the bars of the United States without taking the bar again. But I digress, I have come to realize that the last five years have resulted in a changed me. I always thought I was super type-A until I started work. Compared to a lot of people with whom I work, I am super laid back and chill. Compared to your average person, I'm still impatient and intolerant of stupidity, type-A.

Despite realizing this change, it does not change the fact that these kids these days are a different breed than just five years ago. Despite the economy, these kids act as though they are too good to do the grunt work that is required. What one person calls document review, someone slightly senior calls deposition preparation, what someone more senior calls trial preparation. You simply cannot avoid it and be a lawyer. And yet, some kids think that its enough to make a token effort and then they are entitled to the reward at the end -- a field trip to meet the witness.

One kid in particular bugs me tonight. He continually implies that I am deliberately excluding him from information and not doing my job. In fact, the opposite is true: I am doing his job in addition to mine. I was sitting at Theory with Missy when his latest email insinuating that I failed him hit my blackberry. Thankfully, I deleted his emails after responding with third party (Missy) approval. But by the time I got home, I really wanted to send him a snotty email. I am taking her advice and going with a face-to-face convo tomorrow. I guess this blog is the best I can do to get my frustration and anger out of my system. But, man!

Nuptially speaking.

Yesterday, I went to a full Catholic mass wedding. I was a stranger in a strange land. Despite the fact that I was baptised, First Communed Catholic and I'm told I attended years of Sunday school, I have managed to forget everything I ever learned. To this day, every Easter I have to ask my mom why people are mad at Pontus Pilot because I just can't remember. And, I assume that is a function of me just not caring that much. I'm not a religious girl. As one of my friends explained, he was a CEO (Christmas and Easter Only) but otherwise a bedside baptist. I think that may be what I say going forward -- its easier than getting the many questions about really? You don't ever go to services? Nope, I don't. I don't know the proper way to cross yourself, what the refrains are, or what the hand-shaking phrase is. (I learned yesterday its
"peace be with you" but I suspect I will forget that in no time.)

Despite the fact that I don't get it, I always find such ceremonies educational. In addition to learning the handshake thing, I learned that adolation of the virgin continues and that Catholics aren't very arthritis-friendly. I also reminded myself that if I ever get married, I am having a destination wedding at most.

The wedding -- at St. Alphonsus in Chicago -- and the reception -- Harold Washington Library -- were lovely. (Another educational bit from yesterday was learning that the Library stop on the El is actually the Harold Washington Library, a beautiful public library at State and Van Buren.) I was the only single person at my table, another reason to love weddings. Thankfully, the alcohol flowed freely and the band was pretty good and danceable. Also, a photobooth was provided. I love photobooth pictues. And, this time, my friend and I came up with a plan for our four pictures, depicting our cheers to red wine, to champagne and sadness at empty glasses.

Dinner and a Show.

Tonight I was a seat-filler at a dinner for a professional organization. Normally, I hate these things. But, two things made me excited for the dinner: (1) the professional organization are my potential clients and/or employers; and, (2) the speakers were Judge Ann Williams and Mary Matalin/James Carville.

Judge Williams was being honored with the Thurgood Marshall Award. Her acceptance speech was so good it made me want to be her clerk, or manicurist or dog walker just to be someone who gets to spend time with her. She seems like an incredible woman AND has an incredible sense of style.

The Matalin-Carville show is what you'd expect and I enjoyed it, even though I've seen it before. They clearly have a schtick but it works for them -- its very endearing. I'm more familiar with Carville than Matalin. I was fascinated by how for such a small framed woman, Matalin's hands were gigantic. I was equally fascinated by their perspective, to be fair to myself.

I actually walked away from the dreaded work event feeling lucky to have been invited. Stranger things have happened.

Homecoming.

"I'm comin home again." I know that Kanye is not the most popular man these days, except in the poll for biggest jackass. Nonetheless, I still like his music and Homecoming is a good song. I came home today after a quick trip to New York. I got done earlier than anticipated so tried to get an ealier flight but nothing -- everything was sold out. And, I had a middle seat on my late flight. Again. But, because everyone in Economy Plus was premier or better, they gave us all a free glass of wine in a plastic cup. Classy. But I digress. I love flying in to Chicago at night to see the building lit up. Missy and I met at Theory for dinner, prosecco and stories. At it turns out, both of us had days yesterday. Theory is like our Cheers. Except that not everyone knows our name . . . yet. They will once we get our plaque. But Theory is just so comfortable. Being there, having a glass of prosecco and debriefing is becoming my homecoming tradition. If you count a tradition as twice.

Going to Extremes.

"There was a little girl,

Who had a little curl,

Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid."

I've always like that little ditty from Longfellow for a couple reasons. First, and foremost, it reminds me of my grandfather. He used to quote it to me when I was being a brat. (He also used to chase me around with a salt shaker to put salt on my lip when I was pouting. Not one to tolerate children misbehaving without some direct commentary, my grandfather. On the other hand, he was a really good foot-warmer and toast-butterer, among many other things that are important to a little kid. He was a loveable curmudgeon in my opinion.)

Second, it generally applies to my days. For the most part my days vary somewhere between unremarkable and awesome. But when they are bad, they are horrid. Today fell into that latter category, although with a work-travel specific focus.

This morning, I was in Chicago and circulated a draft of exactly what was requested to a senior partner who will be supervising me interview a director tomorrow. I got back a reply-all directing another partner to revise my work. The partner who was told to revise called me and essentially told me "good luck in NY" because senior partner is clearly in a mood.

Then, I went down to meet my car to the airport. (Yes, I know that sounds snobby but its better than cabs because I don't have to front the cash and wait to be reimbursed and the firm supports that.) But, my car was not there. My secretary called the car service and eventually the guy showed up. He was apparently across the street at the Trump and got out of the car yelling at me that he "was right there" and why did I call on him? After telling him to stop yelling at me, we got in the car. But, he immediately starts texting while he's driving, going about 20 down Wacker, clearly not paying attention. I had to tell him to stop texting, start paying attention and drive. Not a good sign. Nonetheless, I got to the airport safely and the ride was free (because my secretary called the car company again to report the yelling and the texting and they agreed that was unacceptable).

I had a middle seat on my flight to NY, not desirable. Even less desirable? My seatmate to my right who came on with a bag of McDonald's and once finished eating, immediately put a dip in. I really think dipping is disgusting and the smell of the tobacco can is overpowering to me. The lesser of the two evils was my seatmate to the left who just spent the entire time laughing out loud at her text messages.

But, things are looking up, I hope. I made it to NY safe and sound. I even made it safely to my hotel, despite a harrowing cab ride with a driver who seemed disregard lane lines, the rules of traffic -- and physics. Maybe this bodes well for tomorrow despite the rocky start to today.

Anniversary.

Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of the Lehman Brothers' bankruptcy. I was hanging out with my friend Gym tonight and saw that CNBC is calling it "ONE YEAR: The Week that Shook the World." A tad melodramatic, no? To be fair, it was a helluva week in the financial world one year ago that marked the public recognition of the recession: there was the bailout of Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae, the failure of Lehman Brothers, the bailout of AIG, and Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley became bank holding companies. And, the economy's swan dive was complete.

I remember the week in relative clarity. I was in Colorado for my mom's birthday on September 12th. It was also the day that the case that I had been on for three years settled. My dad and I spent a good part of the weekend checking marketwatch.com to see if Lehman was going to get a deal done with Bank of America or Barclays. The odd thing is, I have an awful memory. I can't remember my childhood, high school is just a few distinct memories, and even college is starting to blur. That I would remember a specific weekend from a year ago is remarkable.

Of course, it may help that I've spent the last seven months investigating why Lehman went bankrupt. I have a chronology of the week of September 8-15, 2008 at the front of my mind these days. To celebrate the one year anniversary, I am going to New York to do an interview for the investigation.

To Tweet Or Not To Tweet.

I have never quite understood Twitter. At least as applied to me. Much like Wikipedia, if I somehow get linked to a twitter feed, I can waste a lot of time reading the various updates. Yet, I just don't think I'm that interesting. I fear I'd be like the Verizon commerical, tweeting that I was sitting on the couch. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WSAShLjEYOM)

But, my friends -- who are obviously biased -- told me that they really thought I should get on twitter. And, more importantly, they said they'd help me so that the word tinyurl meant something to me.

So the question is, to tweet or not to tweet? I don't cook for myself because I don't think I'm worth the effort. I tend to think I'm not worth the 140 characters either but we shall see.

Give and Get.

This Saturday was a charitable day for me. I started the morning at the inaugural CureSearch walk, which raised money to support research for a cure for pediatric cancer. I've actually never done a walk before, even though so many charities do them. You name a charity, and they have a walk in the Chicago area. Including the Arthritis Foundation, which I always think is just mean given my personal experience with arthritis. Depending on the day, walking can be pretty high up on the "Last things I want to do" list.

But, of course, its not mean, its a nice way to raise money for a cause or in honor of someone suffering from whatever affliction. However, the concept of a walk reminds me of back in middle school when you'd raise money by getting people to sponsor you per lap on a track. But a walk really isn't much of a challenge physically for most people of any basic fitness level. Prior to Saturday, I always thought you might as well just donate the money and skip the walk part. I have to say though, there is something about being there. The opening ceremony might be too long, the DJ might be so awful you're actually embarassed for him, and people might walk too slowly but when you have a balloon release representing the children lost to cancer with the accompanying, "I will remember you" being sung, it makes for a worthwhile morning. Actually makes me tear up to think about and I have been fortunate enough not to know any child suffering with cancer. (I have lost a grandfather to it though.)

After the walk, my charity took a break for football. The Michigan-Notre Dame was an instant classic. As an added bonus, Theory had the Texas game available too. I had to do a little colorful commentary on my Hook 'Ems play in the first half but they must have heard me at the half, because they picked things up in the second half and cruised to a comfortable 41-10 win. Not nearly as exciting as Mich-ND which went long and helped me be slightly late to my fundraiser. Man, I love college football.

The Arthritis Foundation Associate Board had its annual Shindig Saturday evening. Normally, its on the fancier side, but this time it was at Zella's, which is not one of my favorite places but is outstanding in how it works with charities. It was a fun event, and really well-attended. My great group of friends all came out, bought raffle tickets, and even were willing to use their own connections to help promote an upcoming Arthritis event. Keeping with an apparent tradition, once again, one of my friends was a winner of the most sought after raffle packages. Being charitable comes back to you, they say, although I don't think they often mean by winning a night at the Ritz.

The Element of Fun.

"In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find the fun, and - SNAP - the job's a game." Mary Poppins said that. (I love that movie. My brother and I watched it and Annie probably 20 times each when we were kids.) And, I actually do believe it. Everything is a matter of perspective. Admittedly, sometimes its harder than others to find that perspective of fun. Nonetheless, this quote and the importance of perspective are the reasons that I will do almost anything if it has the potential to be a good story later. And, you never know what will turn into a good story.

My point: to try to break out of the malaise, I'm trying to find that element of fun again. Today's game was trying to insert myself into a trip to London. As I told the partner, I have my passport in hand these days so I'm ready to go at any moment. I really don't have any claim to the trip other than a day's worth of work today. And, it was a transparent move. Nonetheless, the partner played along. I won't get to go, but it never hurts to ask. Keeps it fun to have the hope of a fun work trip. I've been trying to wrangle another Asian trip as well. Like I said earlier, I don't go bad places for work.

I think this business travel game is hereditary. My dad used to travel a decent amount for work and you've never seen a guy work a frequent flyer program like my dad. It was fun for him to make the worst travel plans possible to get the most segments. Of course, this was prior to the changes in the programs that make them less valuable.