Heed the Horoscope.

One of my friends began reading us our horoscopes every morning as we'd get ready at the gym. Generally, I think horoscopes are so generic and broad that they are hard to be wrong. But, I also think they are fun. So, I spread the fun by sending my brother and a couple friends their horoscopes when they are particularly noteworthy.

This week, it seems that the horoscopes have been both more specific and more accurae. One day, it told me that I was worried about my health. Coincidentally, it was a day where my knees were acting out like children throwing a temper tantrum. That same day, it told my friend that he needed to be careful as he might break something and get into a fight with someone. He had already shattered a glass that morning. He decided to bite his tongue for the rest of the day when people bothered him.

Today, I sent my brother his horoscope. It read:

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): Be on guard today. Some aspect of your private life is going to suddenly be very public, especially in the eyes of bosses, parents, teachers and VIPs. (Gulp.) Incidentally, this includes the police. It will be swift and unexpected. (Check your zipper.)

Rather a specific order to conclude. My brother followed directions and incredibly -- his zipper was open! I've decided its only prudent to heed the horoscopes from now on.

Two Dollar Daydreams.

"Gotta get in it to win it."

"You can't win if you don't play."

The lottery has brainwashed me. Twice per week I buy lottery tickets for the MegaMillions and Powerball. Every once in awhile, I will win a few dollars. Just enough to keep the hope alive. But, more importanty, my two dollars provides me the daydreams of being a megamillionaire or powerballer. They are probably the best two dollars I spend. A lot of people I know take playing the lottery as a sign of job disatisfaction. I don't think they are wrong. I jokingly call it my retirement plan. In actuality, it is my only EARLY retirement plan as I don't see myself coming up with any other way that will allow me to dial back the work and still lead a lifestyle I enjoy.

My daydreams aren't very developed -- I guess reflecting my awareness of the actual odds of them becoming a reality -- but they are delightful. They always start with meeting with a lawyer to figure out tax implications and whatnot. (Even my daydreams are practical.) Then, I pay off my mortgage and about five others for my family and friends. After that, I travel a lot, while coming up with a job that leaves me lots of flexibility and a good feeling. It depends what season we are in where I go first -- a tropical island, Spain -- but I always go fancy.

A girl can dream.

Girls and the Goat.

Back in June, most of the Trump girls attended the PAVE gala. (PAVE stands for Promoting Awareness Victim Empowerment and works with victims of sexual assault.) One of the silent auction items was a gift certificate for dinner for eight at Girl and the Goat. At that point, the restaurant hadn't opened yet but there was still a lot of buzz, given the Top Chef Stephanie Izard getting a lot of press. We got into a bidding war -- including a "take that" on the bid list -- with what turned out to be an amazon of a woman. Ultimately, Melissa won the gift certificate. BUT someone else picked it up! After a couple of months, the issue was resolved and she was the proud owner of dinner for eight. The only problem was trying to find a day that eight people's schedules coincided along with the restaurant -- which, now open, books up weeks in advance -- having the availability to accomodate such a group. That day turned out to be last night.

And what a night. Our table was rustic looking with super comfortable chairs right in front of the kitchen. It smelled incredible. Chef was working right in front of us.

Because we had the gift certificate, the restaurant chose our meal for us. Which was awesome as we were all sort of overwhelmed by the idea of coming up with a food plan for eight people (as its small plates, with two or three per person recommended). Plus, we had more important things to do, like catching up with everyone as the food deluge began. We tried all of their special breads, oysters, green beans, cauliflower, chickpea fritters (yum!), mussels, squash ravoli (my fav), barramundi, lamb shank, and goat. Yes, goat. It tastes like mutton vaguely. That was probably the only one I wouldn't order again -- much too strong for me.

I think all of us were slightly incredulous that the restaurant could live up to huge amount of hype but it absolutely did.



(Chef Izard in the center, the Girls, and well, I guess the Goat, being the random guy photobombing us.)

What a Difference (Eight) Days Makes

I arrived in Colorado last Sunday. It was a "family dinner" night, meaning that my brother and his partner and my cousin and her boyfriend were coming to dinner. They do this every two weeks, coinciding with my dad's weekends off. Add me, my mom's cousin, and my brother's friend and that meant dinner for nine. Usually my mom does this with very little assistance from anyone. But last week, she was still essentially sn invalid. Her energy was low, pain level high and she was in a neck brace and arm cast.

Tonight became a family dinner night as it was my last night here. This time, my mom was itching to cook. She probably did about a quarter of it, against orders. She now has the cast off and her stitches removed. She goes for at least two walks each day, totaling about a mile and does a light workout with weights. In contrast, on Tuesday, on her first walk, she barely made it four houses. Nonetheless, she is nervous to be on her own and wishes I could stay.

So do I, in a lot of ways. She is so much better now that it would be more of a fun visit. However, I think I would get too comfortable. I joked a year ago that my furniture would fit nicely in my parents' newly remodeled basement. Now, given remote working, I could stay quite comfortably for awhile, just hanging out. Actually being a part of family dinner rather than feeling not quite part of it.

I would stay if my parents need me but it's time to get back to my Chicago life. Living in my parents' basement while comfortable (and trendy thanks to the economy), can't be my long term plan. Not unless I stocked up on vitamin D and fully embraced becoming an old cat lady. (Cats come with the basement as a bonus.)

Role Changes.

My poor mom has been essentially incapacitated by pain for the 18 months. She FINALLY got a diagnosis -- after months of tests with normal results, knowing things were definitely not normal -- which required surgery. Well, given that she is the worst surgery recoverer EVER, it actually required two surgeries: one to fix the pain, and one to fix the first surgery's complications.

The second surgery was unexpected and delayed her recovery unexpectedly. As a result, I am out in Colorado for the longest span that I've been since I was in college. My job has to be a mix of trainer, court jester, and care taker. The former has come naturally. My parents have called me Ilsa for years, making fun of my attempts to force them into exercise. However, in past years, my mom has come around on exercise and actually enjoys the challenge getting back in shape now through walks and light exercise while she recovers.

The latter two roles have been less natural. My mom is far enough in her recovery that she can do stuff again. But, she has a neck brace and a wrist brace, or just one functioning limb from the waist up. So, its been a touch of a role reversal and regression for us. I learned how to zip my mom's jacket (proof positive I don't have kids -- my mom tells me that I will spend my child's first seven years zipping jackets) and tie her shoes.

To play court jester, I have reached deep. I started simple: reading Trivial Pursuit questions in the doctor's waiting room. I seriously stepped it up with my sock puppet show about hijinks between the sad hospital sock and the fun polka dot sock. Today, while waiting in my family doctor's waiting room, I read my mom The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

I think that book is fitting. My mom's cocoon is her braces. Once the braces are off, she will emerge a beautiful butterfly with her life back, footloose and pain-free.

Rules of Thumb.

A work in progress:

1. If he can fit in my pants, he is not getting in them. My ego simply is not as healthy as my appetite when it comes to this.

2. Never trust a man in a cape. Possible superhero exceptions include Batman and SuperMan. I'm not sure about the latter though as the "super" reflects the inflated ego endemic to the cape-wearer.

3. Footwear often reflects personality. I often have to sacrifice my prettier heels for flats but I still try to keep them fun. Corallary: no good can come from a man in tassels. Similarily, no one, but especially not a man, should wear sneakers with a suit. Ever.

4. Working in a committee is the surest way to accomplish the least in the most amount of time.

5. Bubbles always make it better. Be it a bad day or a good day, there is always room for bubbly improvement.

To be continued. . .

Do Svidanyia!

Last night was a farewell party for Liz. We were summer associates together and have been friends since. She decided that she is done with the law and going back to her non-profit roots. To do so, she is spending a year doing a fellowship with JDC in Moscow.

Liz is a girl with a diverse set of friends who generally do not overlap. As a farewell, a few representatives from each of the groups of friends got together and planned a farewell party with a Russian theme. People were given a "Hello, my name is" tag with their Russian name for the evening. There was a vodka luge with a hammer and sickle carved in. Heavy-handed makeup and fur hats were encouraged.

Overall, I'd say it was a success. A lot of the ladies in attendance took to the theme dress. I haven't seen so much red lipstick and heavy eye makeup in one place before. (More than one of us felt like a hooker on our way to the party because the makeup was so out of character for our normal, non-theme dress.) The men were less thematic but to be fair to them, I didn't give them much direction when came to how to dress like a Russian. Personally, my outfit ended up taking a folk turn, looking vaguely Russian peasant. If only I could do the Russian dance but my knees preclude that kind of enthusiasm.

Originally, Liz was going to be leaving (on a jet plane) for Moscow today. Luckily, her departure date got kicked until October 12. It was fortuitous in that now she doesn't have to fly with a headache, has more time to try to rent her place, AND didn't have to see A LOT of eye makeup get destroyed by farewell tears.

Do svidanyia, Liz. I hope you have a fantastic year in Moscow!

Detours on the Road to Wellness.

I've lived away from my family since I was 18 (returning most summers while I was still in school). Its not because I don't like them. I like my family a lot and try to stay up to date on matters on the Western front. So much so that I think I annoy them by calling frequently.

Over the past two years, my mom has been severe and inexplicable pain. Of course, it would have been explicable had a neurosurgeon bothered to read the MRI she ordered months ago. As it turns out, due to an accident, her spine was being compressed which resulted in a trickle down of awfulness. Thankfully, another neurosurgeon did finally read the MRI and spotted the problem immediately and scheduled her for surgery.

She had the surgery almost two weeks ago. While the fix-the-spine part was successful, my mom is the worst surgery recoverer ever. There were complications that included what appeared to be a heart attack (turns out the hospital overdosed her). But, she made it home safe and sound and things seemed to be getting better. Not content with just one deivation off the road to wellness, she was back in the hospital for a surgery on her wrist, which was swollen badly. It is to be determined what actually caused that.

Being here -- and not there -- has meant that I've been texting and calling Colorado all the time. Its been a weird two weeks, living my life, going to work, working out, and attending events all the while wondering what's going on in Colorado, when the next shoe will drop. All I can say is that I hope that my mom is now on the autobahn to health with no more exits.

May You Work Out In Interesting Times.

My gym is never boring. Sure, sometimes I get bored with the elliptical or a certain class but that's not what I mean. The members, residents, hotel guests and staff are always interesting. And by interesting, I generally mean crazy.

There are a pair of resident sisters who you never want to shower after because its sounds like a man is in there with all the phleghm being coughed up and spit out. There is a member who wears a wetsuit to swim in the rather warm water pool and then leaves the sauna open to dry the wetsuit out. There is a 28 year old instructor engaged to a 48 year old man, who is currently on a four year anniversary trip in Monaco. There is the woman with ever changing wig colors who's bucket list included joining a nice gym despite apparently never having been to a gym before, judging by the need to be shown what a push up was.

This morning, M and I finished our workouts and walked into the locker room to hear some banging and yelling. My first thought was that it was waaaaaaaaay too early for dealing with loud kids. But, it turned out to be a woman who was locked in a shower. Each time she told the story, the amount of time got longer. At first, it was 20 minutes, then 40, then over an hour. Seeing as how she didn't have a watch on, her guess is as good as mine (although it definitely wasn't an hour because that meant she was trapped when I got to the gym and I guarantee we would have heard her). M and I tried to help her out, explaining which way to turn it. We were hampered by English not being her first language and the fact that the lock was really broken.

We went to the front to get some help. One of my favorites was working this morning. She called maintenance and while we were waiting tried to jimmy the lock open with a safety pin and a gift card. That sucker was really stuck. It ended up taking three maintenance guys ten minutes to free her. She put on a bit of a show of outrage and dismay -- I wouldn't be surprised if she got a lot of free stuff as a result. But, once everyone official was gone, her outrage seemed to disappear. Rather than getting the hell out of there and just going back to her room, she went to the sauna, tried all of the various products and then TOOK ANOTHER SHOWER!

It wasn't funny. It was hilarious.

Forecasting.

For the past six months or so, my knees have been acting like brats. Every time a weather front moved through the area, I could tell you within about six hours of when the precipitation would begin. Tom Skilling had nothing on me. That's the plus side. On the minus side, that forecasting ability meant that my RA medicine was no longer working properly. It wasn't a huge surprise to me that I could build up a tolerance to it after five years on it. When I saw my rheumatologist last month, he told me that I could try switching injections but if that didn't work I would have to go on a medicine that would only allow me to have at most one drink per week. Or, in a nutshell, I would have to choose between walking and drinking.

I am pleased to report that I am cautiously optimistic that I will not have to make the choice. It seems that changing up my injection is working. Its only been two weeks but my forecasting ability appears to be fading a bit. A rain front is on its way here and my knees did not warn me. I will happily take getting wet because I didn't know to bring an umbrella over the alternative. In fact, no umbrella leaves me two hands to hold the drinks that I can still drink!

All Quiet on the Western Front.

I spent last weekend in Colorado. It was my mom's 55th birthday, which was reason enough to go back. But, it was also a week before she has spinal surgery on her neck and almost a year since I was last there. So long that my dog (former dog, definitely more my parents than mine at this point) refused to even give me a wag of the tail for about 12 hours to teach me a lesson. I usually try to go back a couple times a year but the last nine months or so my parents have been out to the midwest three times. I swear, I'm not that bad of a daughter.

It was nice to see the family. My mom is not up for much right now so it was a pretty quiet weekend. We went out to a birthday dinner on Saturday night at what I'd consider the best restaurant north of Denver, Frasca. It was three couples (my parents, my brother and his partner, my cousin and her boyfriend) and me. What's up seventh wheel? Otherwise, did some cleaning, some cooking, mowed the lawn, played with the dog, ran some errands. Generally, just tried to be helpful to make up for my long absence in what has been a stressful past few months.

The weather was lovely while I was there. To take advantage of that as well as get some exercise, I borrowed my mom's cruiser. Its an actual New Belgium Fat Tire, of the beer fame. It rides really upright, has no gears and you have to pedal backward to brake. It is awesome. What is not awesome: a strong headwind and flatland lungs. My attempt at a bike ride had my lungs and legs burning in under twenty minutes.

Sunday in Three Parts.

While today felt like three distinctly different days there was one piece of continuity: I was sweating essentially all day.

Part One: Melissa did the Chicago Triathlon today. Her mom and I went down to the lake to cheer her on at 6 am. We saw her during her swim and then again at the finish. She did really well overall. Especially considering it was 91 today. We were hot and sweaty just walking around and cheering, much less actually doing the triathlon. However, she did so much so that it inspired me. I've decided to do a race next year. Its unlikely that I will do a triathlon unless something magical happens with my knees, but I am planning to do a 5K open water swim next year. A plus to a swim race: no sweat.

Part Two: A friend gave me tickets to Jenner's Sox box. Today's game was against the Yankees and before the game, the Sox retired Frank Thomas' jersey. I like baseball games if the weather is perfect or if I'm in a box. It was a really nice time. Unfortunately, the Sox lost on a bad play. We took the train home and it was almost as though we were in Tokyo with the people-pushers with the number of people that packed onto that train. Outside of the last twenty minutes, where there was no breeze in the box and I was dripping sweat within two minutes of being on the train, Part Two was delightful. Although, I have learned I don't much enjoy remove-the-pitcher conferences or playing base-check.

Part Three: It was Melissa's mom's birthday today. To celebrate, we along with a fourth friend went to Table 52. Since the move, Table 52 is now a walkable neighborhood restaurant for me. Of course, it was still so warm, that the six block walk had me glistening with sweat once again. It was totally worth the walk though. Our fourth friend is friends with Chef Art (Smith) and he went above and beyond, way way out of his way to make our meal delightful. Between what we actually ordered and what they sent to us, I think we tasted at least half of the menu. And, Chef Art came over and sat down with us briefly, even introducing us to his new husband. And, while sweaty, the walk back home was much needed after such a decadent dinner.

Just My Luck . . .

. . . that I would miss this call:



Oh well.

(Turns out it was a cold call from an expert witness firm.)

Brought By the Letter B.

Today was an absolutely perfect summer day. It was a day that I want to remember and recall when its cold and icy. And, it seems to have been brought to me by the letter B.

B was for brunch at the Beachstro. The Oak Street Beachstro is such a lovely view with relatively good food and drink. You can easily forget that you're in the middle of the city when you see the sand, waves, palm trees, and hear the live music. We had a really delightful time.

B was for a bike ride up to a bowling benefit. A server at one of my favorite bars has been going through breast cancer treatment. Her boss arranged for a benefit to help defray the costs of her radiation treatments at Southport Lanes. Southport Lanes is a Chicago tradition, of sorts. They still have pin-setting boys. If you tip (or, some say bribe) them, they will give you a little help on making that strike. It was a great turnout and a fun time.

B was for a BBQ with a bunch of a friends of friends. I saw beer-can chicken made for the first time. Quite impressive. The BBQ was delicious food and fun and interesting people.

B is for Bull and Bear. We stopped by on our way home to scope the place out. Its not new and its close to the office. I have no idea why I have not been before. Rumor had it that it was a very man-heavy bar. Rumor appears to be right. We will be back.

B is for the bit of a burn I got from so much time in the sun. I'm pink. Proof of actually seeing the sun.

B is for going to bed early after a day well-spent.

Challenge Met.

BIN36 extended The Challenge. We accepted it. And tonight, we completed it. Yes, it was a day ahead of schedule. But, we HAD to. I did a little Twitter research and I realized that we had some serious competition for our goal of first to complete (and get an extra $50 for our free dinner).

We got there with the intention of doing two wine flights and one cheese flight. BUT, we ended up sitting near the girl who was our "competition." (Mind you, we knew that this "competition" was entirely in our heads. No one in their right mind would want to finish The Challenge in four days when you have four weeks. No one else even knew that we had negotiated a first-to-finish bonus. M and I made it a competition all on our own.) After one very mild bit of trash talk via twitter, we decided to just end this.

Winner, winner, free dinner (wine and cheese flights for us). And, both of us are very relieved to say that today is the day that we do not have to eat any cheese and go back to our old friend, Bubbles.

The Challenge.

Bin 36 is a bar/restaurant that has always been right across the street from my office, despite my office moving locations. And, oddly enough, I have never gone there very often. Maybe once a year in the six years I've worked here. In fact, I go there more often to buy a bottle of wine on my way to a party than I do to actually wine and dine. But, they started The Challenge which has and will successfully change that.

The Challenge is to have each of their twelve wine flights and eight cheese flights over the course of slightly over a month. If you do both, you get a free wine and cheese flight every month for a year plus dinner for two. (If you only do either the wines or the cheeses, you only get that type of flight for the year, no dinner.)

Melissa and I decided that we were up for The Challenge. But, we are competitive, efficient, and impatient people. While we have a month to complete The Challenge, we set our own goal of completing it by Friday. In part, this is because we get distracted and busy and it would be so disappointing to not finish what we started because our lives got busier than t his week. In part, its because we like a challenge. We have a plan and are on track to complete The Challenge by Friday. Last night, we were having our flights when one of the servers picked up our tracking cards and just laughed at us.

Apparently, our plan is more aggressive and amusing than most people taking The Challenge.

Air and Water

Last weekend was one of my favorites of the entire summer: the Air and Water show. A lot of people in Chicago complain about it. For some reason, every year as the fighter jets do their practice runs during the week, native Chicagoans forget and act like we are under seige. And, if anyone should complain, it should be those of us who live close to North Ave Beach. Traffic was a disaster all weekend, between people looking for parking and pedestrians streaming through the neighborhood on their way to the beach to watch the show.

But, I love it. I think the pilots are incredible. I like the excitement of seeing them buzz the towers. And, I am lucky to have a great view from my own balcony and an even more incredible view from my friend's balcony. Every year, she is gracious enough to share her view with her friends and family, having a fun, low-key party every year.

This year, I invited my dad to come out for the weekend. Years ago, before I lived here, he was in town for work and got to see a portion of it and always wanted to come back for the whole thing. I never knew that until I invited him -- I just thought it would be nice to spend the weekend with him for once (usually, mom and I hang out because she has a more flexible schedule). It was a little iffy whether he'd be able to come but luckily, despite a rain delay in Cincinnati, he made it in and we had a great time. We went to the party, out to dinner a couple times, and just hung out and relaxed.

And, at the party, he got to meet a bunch of my friends' parents. When we were kids, that was essentially one of my parents' prerequisites before I could hang out at another kid's house. Now, I think its such a nice bonus when my parents get to my friends' parents. Especially as I think all of them would actually be friends if they lived in the same place.

MilestOne.

Time flies. Today marks both my half-birthday and one year since my first-ever blog post. And, this will be my one-hundred and forty fifth post, or one post every two and a half days.

That surprises me and probably no one else. I just didn't realize I had so much rattling around in my head. The one biggest benefit to having done this for one year: I can actually remember what I did in the past year. If it was notable (or, not so notable and I was just very bored), I wrote it down.

Blogs: one way to combat a horrendous memory.

Gym Crush.

One of my friends is a very good and consistent worker-outer and has been the vast majority of his life. But even he occasionally needs something to look forward to at the gym. We like to joke about his gym crushes (GOMD, or girl of my dreams). When GOMD is at the gym, it seems to make his entire workout better.

I decided that a completely fabricated gym crush was what my workouts were missing. However, my gym is weird in that most of the people you see there are hotel guests and therefore do not have good crush potential as you're unlikely to see them again. The male gym members are skewed towards older and married. So, really, that leaves the instructors as the limited pool of single and reliably present guys. Luckily, the instructors are fairly attractive.

However, I realized that a significant problem with my gym-crush-on-an-instructor plan is that it is less of a crush and more of an incidence of Stockholm Syndrome.

Tidbits.

- Wednesday was my friend's birthday. The one thing she wanted to do to celebrate was go to a Cubs game. A delightful activity if you like the sun (she does; when I'm putting on my 45, she's oiling herself up) and daydrinking (who doesn't?). Despite Mother Nature not cooperating, we went to see a Cubs victory (rare thing this season), did not get in any fights despite being surrounded by boisterous Brewers fans, and I had my annual beer and hot dog. Both were delicious. A lovely way to spend an afternoon with a birthday girl.

- I thought today would be tooth-fixed day. Sadly, I was confused on the process and today was only get a temporary crown day while they make impressions and whatnot. It actually hurt more than when I broke the tooth. And, it hurt mentally because I'm missing prime salad-eating days (and normal meals generally really) while I wait for this thing to be final. Another three weeks, hopefully.

- Busy weekend ahead for Chicago with Lollapalooza in town and Transformers continuing to shut down streets for filming. Significantly less busy weekend for me as I have absolutely no plans, unless you count laying around as a plan.

Exhilarating.

Refreshing. Brisk. That'll wake you up. All euphemisms to describe my morning activity this morning: a half mile swim in Lake Michigan without a wetsuit.

Twice a week, I swim at the gym -- doing a drill and lap set provided by an instructor -- with a couple other people. Of the three of us usually in class, I'm the only one not doing a triathlon this summer. So, our instructor suggested that we take class to the lake this morning so they could practice their open water swimming. I wasn't too excited about the idea -- I didn't have time to get an appointment to get the preventative course of antibiotics that I think is wise before getting in that water.

Nonetheless, I borrowed a bike and a hot pink helmet and rode down to the gym and beach. We were standing on the beach, the surf just touching our toes when I began to realize just how "exhilarating" this was going to be. By the time we walked ten feet into the surf, my feet were already starting to go numb. But, once the numb was done, getting into a rhythm was fairly easy and before I knew it, I was at the turn around. On the way back, I even passed someone in a wetsuit. (In my mind, wetsuit = serious swimmer and/or triathl-freak, so passing one seemed like an accomplishment. As I later saw, dude was probably late 50s. Oh well.) The swim wasn't so bad. And, it felt good to get a bike ride and swim in before work. Good and hungry. I can't even imagine how hungry Melissa must have been -- she biked twenty miles before meeting up for the swim. By the time I was walking back through the sand, the water actually felt warm.

Of course, its two hours later, I've had a hot shower and hot coffee and I'm still chilled. But very wide awake.

Shenanigans.

Thursday night. A too-quiet night at the Whiskey. Trying to determine where to go next. Division Street is on the way home. Shenanigans? No. Have you ever been there? No. How can you say no if you've never been there? Just no.

I don't know why I disliked the idea of Shenanigans as a gut reaction. Maybe its Super Troopers. Whatever the reason, I should have trusted my gut. And when I ignored my gut, I should have taken the sign out front as a warning. From here on out, I don't enter places that have this on the front door:


Since Thursday, whenever I've told this story, the immediate reaction to Shenanigans is either (1) wow, I haven't been there since college with a fake id; or (2) been there, don't remember it. I am now category (3): been there, will never forget it.

On the plus side for Shenanigans: they have fun music, including rap from the early 90s. It was another one of those moments where I surprised myself to learn that I knew essentially every word to Rumpshaker, Let's Talk About Sex, and the like. Additionally, the service is pretty good.

On the minus side: it is just a nasty bar. There are stripper poles. There are girls using them. The floor is absolutely disgusting. I know this because I became intimately acquainted with it when I slipped and fell on the wet floor, hitting my chin and cracking my front tooth. It was a bad set of circumstances between a wet wooden floor and wooden soled shoes but still. I ended up looking like this:


After confirming that I did break my tooth, like a wounded animal, I bolted out of there. A trip to CVS, a wasted trip to the ER (pack of lies about having an emergency dentist despite having what appears to be a dental chair), and a referral to the best dentists ever, I was back to appearing normal. I have to thank Melissa for two things here: (1) her painfully earned dental knowledge. If you ever have a dental injury, she is the go-to girl; and (2) talking me out of going to work pre-dentist. I may not see anyone during the day generally but as she gently pointed out, I looked country and that's just a no.

A three-quarter crown in two weeks will make it like it never happened. If only it didn't. Go figure but chipping a tooth is a real buzz kill for an evening.

Childish.

There is something to be said for childlike pleasures. This afternoon I indulged in quite a few. Signs of my temporary regression:

First sign: my hair. I put a braid in like a little kid. When I was little, my mom would french braid my hair so tightly that it would bring tears to my eyes as she did it. It was the only way to keep my fine hair tidy. Today, I only french braided a little section in the front and pony tailed the rest, but it still made me feel like a kid.

Second sign: I took a nap. Not unusual really for me on a Saturday but kids are the ones who have to go down for a nap. I used to hate them. In fact, once when I was supposed to be napping, I took a fingernail scissors to my hair, cutting off all of my natural curls. My dad cried. I've never had curls again. Serves me right. Now, I love and treasure the nap.

Third sign: I bought root beer. It was always a special treat when I was young. We'd drive 45 minutes to the closest A&W drive-in for a root beer float. Of course, this time, I bought diet root beer and threw in a splash of vanilla vodka but whatever.

Fourth -- and final -- sign. As I was walking home, I stopped to play on the swings. Ever since I was little, swinging has always, always made me feel happy. No matter what my mood is, swinging is always a carefree bit of fun. Just seeing swings makes me feel happier. Today, I was a total trendsetter. All the kids (literally, not how I usually refer to new lawyers) wanted to swing once I started.

Stars Are Just Like Us.

This week my gym has been celebrity central in Chicago. The actors from Transformers 3 seem to be staying in the area and have been working on their fitness at my gym. I've been in the gym at the same time as Josh Duhamel and separately, his wife, Fergie. I hear that Shia LeBeouf has been using the gym too. That about exhausts my knowledge of Transformers actors, although if a robot was working out there too I wouldn't be surprised at this rate.

Us Weekly (I think) has that section in the magazine "Stars are just like us" where they are photographed grocery shopping or whatever. And, while I guess stars do the normal stuff, they are not just like us. For one thing, they are tiny. Fergie seems to be a pocket person. When I saw her, she was just stretching on the floor. I wouldn't have noticed her but for the gigantic sunglasses she was wearing. Maybe that's what she needs to do in LA but here in the Chi, it just drew attention to her. Her husband is tall but not as broad as I expected. Amazing what the magic of movie perspective can do. However, he is a very good jump roper.

Plus or Minus.

My dear brother has never been great with numbers in a variety of contexts.

He has a degree in finance but until relatively recently, all he
seemed to understand was financing. And, with eight credit cards at
his high point, he certainly put that knowledge into practice.

That problem with numbers also translates to dates and ages. One year,
he lamented to me the fact that he would be turning thirty. Which, he
would be. Just not for another year and a month, not the month he
thought.

This year, he (along with his boyfriend and his boyfriend's sister)
was convinced that the Fourth was his ten year anniversary. Generally,
I have a terrible memory and rely on my brother to fill in the blanks.
But, he is untrustworthy with numbers as you can see. On this
particular number, I have an extremely precise and clear memory.
Actually, two memories but both are from the same summer. In June, I
accidentally outed him. In August, I helped move him and his boyfriend
into a new apartment. Both happened the summer before law school, or,
2001. I felt a little badly bursting his anniversary bubble at first.
But now, I decided that I just gave him the gift of time -- AND
getting to celebrate it twice.

(In a nutshell, in case you're wondering, I outed him -- due to my own
persistence and his own bad lying -- on a family road trip after
noticing something odd at his graduation gift to me, a Dave Matthews
Band concert. I remember helping him move because not three days
later I moved too -- to Texas to start law school.)

The Golden Coast?

Walking home tonight, at the not-late hour of 9:00 p.m., I came across something as out of place as graffiti in Singapore. Let me set the scene:

Its the prettiest street in one of the most proper neighborhoods in Chicago. It was Astor Street on a supremely pleasant summer evening. There are couples out walking their dogs. Groups of people strolling and laughing. And, a girl squatting between two bumpers. As I walked closer, you could hear a stream of liquid hitting the ground.

Oh yes, tonight I saw a girl peeing on Astor, with apparently no concern that no fewer than four people walked by right in front of her. Tonight, I live in the Golden Coast.

The Hits Keep Coming.

The joys of home ownership continue to reveal themselves.

Nothing about my place seems easy.

I decided to replace my bathtub only to have the general contractor tell me, uh oh, your plumbing is leaking. Well, its better to find out before it creates a giant mess, right? Right, except that the plumber didn't ask, bought parts that were incompatible with the bathtub and then refused to fix his mistake. You're going to need another plumber.

The week my parents were here was hot and muggy. My parents are Coloradans unaccustomed to Chicago's humidity. I tried to turn on the air conditioning to make them more comfortable only to learn, uh oh, the unit that was functional at the inspection is now broken. I called a repairman who said, bad news, your circuit board is fried. A new one got installed this morning only to hear, uh oh, bad news -- your breaker is bad. You're going to need an electrician.

At this point, I'm like the woman who swallowed a spider to catch the fly. I live in fear of what will break next and just how many specialists it will take to fix. Maybe I didn't feng shui my money tree in the right place because ever since I brought it home, it seems like money is just flying out the window.

**********UPDATE*************UPDATE*********UPDATE*************UPDATE****************

It was not just a breaker. Oh no, bad news, its a dead wire, residing in a pipe underneath your concrete floor. I get to tune in tomorrow to find out exactly how this is going to be fixed. . . and how much it is going to cost. The nicest, most fatherly electrician -- he brought his son with him to the job -- advised me that sometimes the old copper wires break when you're trying to pull them out. Given my luck, I'm certain that will happen. With luck, I will have a working unit by tomorrow afternoon at not exorbitant cost.

How To Go To A Club When You're 31.

1) Take your definition of "late" and add two hours.

You're no rookie. You know clubs don't get started early. But, your life at 31 means that you're used to going out directly from work, starting early and ending early. So when you think you're going out "late" by leaving your house at 10:00, know that the kids these days are still in their sweats. The music and dancing isn't going to get started for fun until 11:00 at the very earliest. More likely, midnight. You know you're there too early when you're actually hoping that a bachelorette party arrives to warm up the dance floor.

2) Realize that the songs of your youth are now "classics" and/or the kids have never heard of them.

I didn't know this until tonight but I know almost every word to "Pump Up the Jam." It helps that there aren't a lot of words to it but still. The kids seemed to like the beat but I'm pretty sure they hadn't really heard it before.

3) Dancing is a workout.

Especially important to remember at 31. Particularly if you have a hard workout that morning. I did the double this morning which involved a whole bunch of lunges and squats along with one of the toughest spin classes I've been in. 12 hours later, dancing was a workout. Muscles were shaky after just a few minutes.


4) Sometimes the solution is going home.

In your 20's, the answer to a bad DJ, obnoxious people on the dance floor, and overbearing drunks was to just drink more. That was usually a short term, expensive quick fix. Now that I'm 31, I can afford it and my liver is in the best shape of its life. Nonetheless, I am thirty-one. I am too old to listen to a bad DJ, be constantly bumped, or have to put up with people who can't hold their liquor. I had some drinks, I enjoyed myself dancing, but I'm equally happy to be home without trying to force the night to be something it was not.

Now that I've learned my lessons, I look forward to applying them in the near future.

Stretch.

Last night, I was out for a drink with my former trainer at Theory. Theory is a sports bar so I wasn't surprised to see that the backroom was occupied with a bunch of guys watching the NBA draft. What was interesting about the group was that it was the tallest group of people I have ever seen in person in one place (outside of attending a basketball game). Even the overdressed and bored women were taller than average. The men were ceiling-scraping tall, literally in one case. It became apparent that this group did not have a casual or fantasy-sports interest in the draft. No, it was later confirmed that these guys were watching the draft, waiting to hear their own names called.

I hope they did -- sad to let that height go to waste.

W3dnesday.

I set a personal record today: I went to the gym three separate times. (Coincidentally, I think I set a personal record in showering three times in one day too.)

I started the morning with a nice swim workout (W1): 1500, about a third of which were using paddles. By the end, my arms were nicely noodled. At lunch, I skipped not one but two free lunches to go to spin class (W2). By the end, my legs were nicely noodled.

W3 was a challenge though. Mentally, I was losing motivation by 6. But really, the biggest challenge was the walk from the office to the gym. My timing coincided with a huge downpour with strong winds. My umbrella flipped itself three times and its one of those super duper umbrellas, not some little flimsy thing. I was a touch late due to Mother Nature but I made it to my third workout, BOSU class. The class is about 20 minutes of aerobic work, 30 minutes of strength, and 10 minutes of core, all using the BOSU. Its a fun but tough class. I was happy to get a breather when the fire alarm went off. As it turns out, it wasn't a fire but a tornado warning. All was fine and it was a good workout.

And now, my whole body is nicely noodled. W3dnesday was a good day.